His Dark Secret – Billionaire BDSM Erotica

By: Olivia Fex

Part 1 of Billionaire Desires: Complete Series


Erotica Story Genres:


“Good morning, Miss Hale.”

“Good morning,” I echoed, then stopped dead in my tracks. I felt my pulse quicken, urging blood through my veins and into my face. My cheeks were reddening; I could feel them smoldering just under my eyes. This was not what I had been expecting.

There were three men in this room. I’d expected there to be one, and to be honest, that would have been nerve-wracking enough. Knowing that my fate was in the hands of a single individual made my stomach turn, but seeing three men there, all silently staring at me as I walked through the door, gave me a different feeling entirely.

It made me feel like a sheep strutting into a den of wolves.

“I’m Morgan Kane,” the first man—the head of the company and the one that I had been expecting—said, standing up from behind his desk and gesturing to the two others. “This is Gary Rouse, head of logistics and the man you’d be reporting to directly, and this is Barry Silverman, my HR director.”


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I could feel my knees turn to jelly as I approached them, trying desperately not to wobble in my high heels. I rarely wore anything other than sneakers or flats, but I’d though high heels would make me look more mature and professional. All they did was make me even more uneasy about how I looked and gave me one more thing to worry about.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile as I took Gary Rouse’s hand. My lips felt numb, and I wasn’t sure if I’d actually managed a grin or if I looked like I was having a stroke.

Whichever it was, Mr. Rouse only smiled in return and gave my hand a firm shake. “And you as well,” he said, his dark eyes glinting beneath a thatch of even darker hair. When he smiled, it was more like he was baring his teeth than wishing me well.

“Likewise,” Mr. Silverman interjected. I turned toward him and barely got to stick my hand out before he seized it between his own and shook it vigorously, his jowls trembling with the effort.

When I looked to Mr. Kane, however, he hadn’t extended his hand at all. He only nodded to the chair set up between Mr. Silverman and Mr. Rouse. “Go ahead and have a seat, Miss Hale. We’ve all got a few questions for you.”

I did as I was told, grateful for the chance to get off my feet. They were aching already, and I could feel pins and needs prickling at my toes.

Mr. Kane took a seat, entwined his fingers as if in prayer, and leaned forward on his mahogany desk. His shoulders were bunched like a lion ready to pounce, and the pale radiance of his glacial eyes made me wither under his glare.

“Now, then. We’ve all reviewed your resume, and it would appear that you are technically qualified for the position at hand. There’s just a few questions we’d like to ask to make sure you’re a good fit for Kane Holdings Corp. Sound good?”

I nodded. What else could I do? It wasn’t as though I could object. I needed the job—desperately—so whatever these men wanted, they would surely get.

A quick glance at Mr. Kane made my stomach somersault. The way he was looking at me, intense and so very focused, made me wonder what he wanted. Self-consciously, I tugged down the hem of my red tulip skirt and cleared my throat.

“Sure. Sounds great,” I said, preparing myself for the interrogation that was sure to follow.

Mr. Silverman was first. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief before asking: “I couldn’t help but notice you were terminated from your last position. Why is that?”

I frowned. This had to be some kind of trap. If they’d contacted my employer, they ought to know exactly why I was fired.

Regardless, I tried to hold his gaze as I answered.

“The department manager just so happened to be my ex-boyfriend,” I told him, fidgeting with the clasp on my purse. The metronomic clicking put me at ease. “When we broke up, I lost my job. There isn’t a whole lot more to it than that.”

Well, there was a little more to it than that, but that was all personal information that ought to have no bearing on my ability to do this job. I had eight years of experience as an administrative assistant, and two at an executive level. Why focus on the one and only position I’d been fired from in my whole life?

“I see,” Mr. Silverman said. “And were you two involved before or after your employment with his company?”

The question hit me like a kick in the stomach. I knew there was no right answer to this one. If I said it was before, that meant he’d got me the job, even though he hadn’t. If I said we’d become involved after I was hired, they’d see me as someone with a history of office romances.

This was the trouble with being a woman in the corporate world. No matter what you did, you never earned it—you only received it from the efforts of the men around you. And if you dared sleep with any of them, that meant you were a liability, a slut, a hussy. HR would never say anything like that, of course. They’d use gentler language, like “she has a track record of inappropriate fraternization,” but it all meant the same thing.

I was still fidgeting with the metal clasp when I caught Mr. Kane’s stare out of the corner of my eye. It was magnetic, like every time he fixed it on me, I was pulled toward him. Then his eyes dipped to the purse in my hands and my fingers steadily working the metal, filling the room with tiny, staccato clicks. That heat rose in my face again, and I stopped.

“After,” I said. Before he could draw any conclusions, I futilely tried to explain. “But he wasn’t a manager when we met. He was just another employee like me.”

Mr. Silverman and Mr. Rouse shared a look. Then Mr. Silverman went in for the kill.

“According to your previous employer’s HR department, you and Mr. Simmons filed the appropriate paperwork disclosing your relationship the day after his promotion. Is that accurate?”

Both my stomach and my dignity dropped to my feet. I couldn’t believe they’d brought me here for this. Why couldn’t they just ignore my follow-up e-mails like any normal company? Why was this humiliation necessary?

“It is,” I said. Then I looked Mr. Kane right in his eyes, hoping to appeal to the only man in the room who seemed not to have made a judgment just yet. “The day that George—Mr. Simmons received his promotion, he invited me out to celebrate. We’d been flirting for months, and at the restaurant, he told me he’d been working up the courage to ask me out, but hadn’t because at his salary, he wouldn’t have been able to afford taking me out anywhere nice like I deserved. Then he asked me to date him, and after months of waiting, I happily said yes.

“I wasn’t thinking about his pay raise,” I continued, now setting my sights on the slovenly Mr. Silverman, “or his new position with the company. All I was thinking was, ‘finally, a girl like me gets the guy, after all.’ It was never a money or status thing, Mr. Silverman, and I don’t appreciate the implication that it was.”

Mr. Silverman’s beady eyes blinked and a dribble of sweat escaped the creases in his forehead, trickling down one side of his nose. He looked at Mr. Rouse, who only regarded him with amusement. I tried to look as calmly indignant as I’d sounded, but on the inside, my organs were Jell-O.

Mr. Kane was smiling. It was more than just amusement in his eyes, though. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, but I thought he almost looked impressed.

“Fair enough, Miss Hale,” Mr. Rouse interrupted. “I think Barry’s got all the answers he can handle. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions of my own.”

 

As long as they’re not about my love life, I thought, but I didn’t dare say it out loud. I didn’t want to push my luck.

“Do you have any experience whatsoever in logistics?” he asked me.

Feeling a little calmer, I shook my head. “No. But I’m willing to learn.”

Mr. Rouse leaned forward. “My concern is that we’re looking for more than just your typical admin. We’re looking for someone who can tackle the filing, the reception work, and answer the phones, of course. But we’re also looking for someone who can help out when we’re a man down, someone who will take the initiative to learn all our processes and software and fill in when need be. And if you don’t have any experience in the field, you may find it difficult to tackle those responsibilities.”

I did my best to refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course they were looking for someone like that—every company these days was. They all wanted something for virtually nothing. Why hire a guy with an MBA specializing in the field who might demand sixty grand a year when you could convince an admin to do it for thirty or twenty-five?

 

I swear, “administrative assistant” is the most abused title in the world, I thought sourly, but regarded Mr. Rouse only with a smile.

“I can see why you’d be concerned, then. But I have a bachelor’s, and I’m sure I can pick up on things quickly. I’m even happy to do some studying in my own time, if it allows me to better serve the company.”

Now it was Mr. Rouse’s turn to go quiet. His eyes shifted to Mr. Kane, who nodded silently. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“Well, Miss Hale, you’ve answered all our questions satisfactorily. We’ll let you know in a few days whether or not you’ve got the job.”


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I stood up. I knew I’d said all the right things, recited all the words I knew they’d want to hear, but as I looked around the room, I was completely unsure as to whether or not they’d believed any of them.

“It was a pleasure meeting with you today, Miss Kane,” Mr. Rouse said, standing up to shake my hand again. When Mr. Silverman did the same, my hand came back soaked with sweat. He muttered something halfway polite and I smiled, pretending to have heard him, before making my way toward the doors.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mr. Kane offered, and in just a few quick strides, he’d crossed the room to be at my side. He pulled open the door, allowing me to walk into the reception area, and then straight down the tiled hall toward the elevators.

I tried to hold my head high, but my heart was racing. The whole thing felt like some sick joke, a way to set me up and watch me squirm for their own amusement. I curled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms the more I thought about it. It was all I could do not to turn around and let Mr. Kane have it.

As he pressed the “down” button, he turned to me and offered a smile. “Sorry,” he said, “the boys can be a little overzealous when it comes to the screening process. Barry’s a stickler for anyone who seems like a liability, and Mr. Rouse likes to make sure he’s getting the most bang for his buck.”

I looked up at him, angrily swiping a strand of my auburn hair behind my ear.

“You mean your HR department sees women as some kind of risk factor and your department manager wants to hand out jobs to the lowest bidder,” I translated, unable to keep the fury out of my tone.

Every word tasted hot, burning my lips on the way out. In that moment, I didn’t care if it hurt my chances of getting the job. I was already pretty sure I hadn’t, and even if I had, I needed to make it clear that I wasn’t going to tolerate that kind of work environment.

Mr. Kane shrugged. “Sounds about right,” he told me. He seemed nonplussed by my anger. “Look, I know it was a little rough in there, and I even understand why you might be upset. Just do me a favor—take my card.” He pulled it out of his pocket and pressed it into my palm, his light blue eyes trained on mine. “And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. Getting references can be tough, especially given your situation with your previous employer.”

There was something about the way he said “anything,” something about the way his fingers lingered on mine just a little too long that made my blood rush in my veins. I could feel myself blushing yet again, this time all the way up to the tips of my ears. Despite the fact that I held no fondness for Mr. Kane, I couldn’t deny that his authority and magnetism had an effect on me, one that made me a little damp between my thighs.

I stared at the card in my hand. It was very professional, printed on sturdy, matte cardstock with all the sans-serif lettering embossed into the linen material. But like the rest of Kane Holdings, it had no soul.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Thanks.” And then the elevator arrived, saving me from having to fake any additional gratitude for Mr. Kane’s thinly-veiled gesture.

I knew his type. I knew his game. Billionaire playboys like him were always on the prowl for anyone they perceived as a challenge. Women were just toys to them, games to play until their amusement wore out. From the way he’d looked at me during my confrontation with his lackeys, Mr. Kane clearly viewed me as exactly that: a prize to be won, then stored on a dusty old trophy shelf with the rest of his conquests.

I stepped inside the elevator and hit the button for the lobby, leaning back against the wall and casting one last glance in Mr. Kane’s direction. He smirked and held my gaze until the doors closed and the car lowered me down.

A few days. That was how long the assholes at Kane Holdings had said it would take to get back to me about the position. But it had been two weeks, and in that time, I hadn’t had so much as an e-mail telling me if I had or hadn’t gotten the job.

Their silence made it pretty clear I hadn’t, but it was still adding insult to injury. After the way they’d treated me at our last encounter, it would have been the least they could have done to extend me the courtesy of a phone call.

I let the feeling of resentment fester as I lounged on my second-hand sofa drinking wine straight from the bottle. It might not have been the classiest I’d ever looked, but I was tired of putting effort into my life. I’d worked hard at my last company and even harder at my relationship with George, neither of which had worked out in my favor. What was the point of pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into something if it was just going to come back to bite you in the ass later?

I put my feet up on the coffee table and tipsily scrolled through my Netflix options. There wasn’t much on cable, as usual, but I thought a little Mystery Science Theater might make me see the bright side of life, if only temporarily. I turned it on and curled up in my pajamas, letting the wine do its work.

In just an hour, my limbs were leaden and my eyes were glazed. I was completely buzzed, laughing too long and too loud at quips from the MST3K crew that weren’t even that funny. It should have struck me as pathetic, but drunk-me was in no mood to judge. If anything, drunk-me was in the mood to fuck.

It was the sort of affliction I always faced whenever I’d been drinking. George took advantage of that often enough, but apparently, even drunk-me’s insatiable appetite hadn’t been enough to keep him around.

I scowled at the thought of pulling out my vibrator yet again for some fun. I loved toys, especially expensive ones with g-spot stimulation, but there was something to be said for a real cock—a thick, pulsating dick pistoning between my legs, attached to a man with abs so good they might have been Photoshopped.

I sighed wistfully. I didn’t have any fuckbuddies in my life, and none of the men I knew seemed to fit the bill for the kind of thrill I wanted tonight. They were all either married or otherwise in committed relationships. That was the pitfall of making friends as a couple: you tended to befriend other couples, too.

The thought of my lost job opportunity sunk into my brain once again. If they had called me back, I might have been able to meet a few new people and have some single friends by now. And even if he had taken a passive role in the interview process, Morgan Kane could have stopped those vultures at any time. As far as I was concerned, this was all this fault.

I chewed on that for a minute. All his fault. Well, he’d given me his card and told me to call him if I needed anything. And I needed to be fucked.

Who cared if he was a billionaire playboy? Who cared if he only wanted to use me? All I really wanted was to use him. And besides, the fact that he’d fucked dozens, if not hundreds of women meant he’d be experienced. That sounded good to me.

I pushed myself off the couch a little too fast and stumbled over to the kitchen counter where my purse was. Head reeling, I fished around inside it, pulling out lipstick tubes and crumpled up receipts until I found what I was looking for.

I held up Mr. Kane’s business card triumphantly. This was my Golden Ticket to a satisfying orgasm. I just knew it.

I dialed his number, the one preceded by a “C” for cell phone, and waited as it rang. Normally I would have been fretting about what he’d think of me, but drunk-me wasn’t interested in other people’s opinions, especially those of out-of-touch billionaires content to walk all over people to get what they wanted. In the grand scheme of things, that seemed like the greater evil.

“Hello?” he answered finally. I shuffled back to the couch, afraid that if I lifted my feet, I’d end up flat on my face in the carpet.

“Mr. Kane, it’s Allison,” I said, then added: “Ally. Ally Hale. Um, the girl from the interview, with the red hair and…”

“Miss Hale,” he said, a touch of surprise in his tone. I imagined that someone like him wasn’t often surprised by anything. “I’d been wondering if you’d call.”

“I assume I didn’t get the job,” I said, unable to stop myself from calling him out on his bullshit. There was an awkward pause, but I quickly filled the silence. “That’s fine. There’s something else you can do for me, instead.”

“I’ll happily write you a letter of recommendation, or act as a reference,” he told me. I could hear the sounds of a car. Was he driving? “I think you’re a truly capable worker, Miss Hale. Regrettably, you’re just not a good fit for Kane Holdings.”

I wanted to argue with him that it was really women his team didn’t find a “good fit” for his company, but I hardly wanted to get into a gender studies debate right now. I wanted sex, and I wanted it now.

“That’d be great. But I want something else, too. Stop by my place on your way home. I’ll give you my address.” I didn’t want to go to his place—not yet. I didn’t trust Morgan Kane as far as I could throw him, and given his muscular, solid build, that wasn’t very far at all. My apartment, old as it was, was also my safe haven. If he wanted me, he’d have to show up at my door.

There was another pause, this one not nearly as awkward at the last. I could practically smell the smoke coming out of his ears, could see the gears turning in his head. From his hesitation, I could only assume I wasn’t being forward enough.

Drunk-me said: “I want to fuck you, Mr. Kane. Or rather, I want you to fuck me. And you did say to call you if I needed anything,” I reminded him, bolstering my courage with another long draught from my wine bottle.

I was running low. If he didn’t take the bait soon, I’d sober up and back out. I just knew it. Sure, I wanted him regardless of how buzzed I was, but it was the liquid courage that gave me the strength to ask him—no, demand it of him.

Fortunately, those were just the words he’d been waiting to hear.

“Very good, Miss Hale. Text me your address. I’ll see you shortly.”

He hung up, and I giggled gleefully as I texted him the address for my apartment. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the job I wanted, but I was certainly going to get the man I wanted—at least for tonight.

Mr. Kane showed up at my door right on time. Not that we’d scheduled a time for him to show up, but he arrived right after I completely killed the wine bottle I’d been nursing all night and had the courtesy to show up with another one.

He raised his eyebrows as he walked through the door. “Nice place,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic, but I didn’t really care. He was here to satisfy my needs. I wasn’t too fussed if he didn’t approve of the curtains.

“I think you’ll really like the bedroom,” I said. It might have been a bit heavy-handed, but I was sure the more opportunity I gave him to open his mouth, the less horny I was going to be.

He set the bottle of wine down on my coffee table as I took his hand to lead the way. I gasped as sparks flew between us again and a familiar ache burgeoned between my thighs. I hesitated just long enough for him to pull me in close, pressing his body against mine as I looked up into his crystalline eyes.


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“Ally,” he said, “are you sure you want to do this?”

I frowned. I hadn’t been expecting that from him. He was the sort of man who just took what he wanted without any regard for anyone else. I was sure of that. Wasn’t he?

“Yes,” I told him, trembling as I felt the rigidity of his bulge snug against me. He was so hard for me already, even though I was only in some old, flimsy tank top and flannel pajama pants. What did he see in me?

He erased my self-doubt a moment later when he bent his head and captured my lips with his, his hand snarled in my hair, keeping me from pulling away. Not that I wanted to. His mouth was fire on mine, consuming, controlling, and passionate beyond reason. I moaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling his corded shoulders ripple as he lifted me and carried me to my bedroom.

I clenched my thighs around him, shuddering as I felt how perfectly his narrow waist fit between them. Every moment was a blur as we kissed and stumbled to my bed, his strong hands groping my ass and up the back of my shirt to find I wasn’t wearing a bra. Then he let me down on my back, and as I bounced against the mattress, he climbed on top of me and whispered into my ear.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight, Ally. I promise.”

For the first time since I’d met Morgan Kane, I believed him.

I lifted my shirt in response, exposing my breasts and my small, rosy nipples to his view. He took one in each hand, kneading my sensitive flesh and rubbing my nubs between his thumbs and forefingers. Electric currents of joy and desire jolted down into my clit, and as I throbbed for him, I worked eagerly at his belt with my hands, dying to see the monster I’d felt pressed against my thigh only moments before.

“Morgan,” I breathed, tracing my fingertips down his Adonis lines and toward the band of his boxer briefs. Then I pulled them down, freeing his cock and drawing in a sharp breath as I watched it rise to full attention before my very eyes.

He was even larger than I could have imagined. Every inch of his girthsome shaft was riddled with thick, pulsating veins, and his reddish tip was swollen with lust. I cradled his low-hanging balls in my palm, caressing them softly, looking up into his face as he groaned and shivered at my touch.

“Be careful,” he told me. “I don’t want to get worked up.”

But I saw no point in obeying that command. After all, I wasn’t the type of girl who dealt well with authority, was I?

I lunged forward and took his tip between my lips, sucking softly, slowly, twirling my tongue just under the ridge in all the ways I knew would make him melt. He tasted like pure sex, and when he throbbed, I moaned to make my lips vibrate around his shaft.

“Shit,” he gritted, holding me tight by my hair. I swirled my tongue around him, wriggling it over every inch I could fit into my mouth until he was very nearly down my throat.

I looked up at him to see if he approved, but what I saw made my blood run cold and the hairs on my nape stand on end. There was something wild there, something fierce and dangerous. Part of me wanted to stop right then, declare this whole thing a drunken mistake, and save myself from whatever dark desires were nearing Morgan Kane’s surface.

But another, strong part of me wanted to free those desires and have him inflict them upon me. That was the part of me that was wet and wanting, and the part of me that desperately needed to be satisfied.

I took him all in, suppressing my urge to gag as he filled my throat. I felt him swell up, and a moment later, he pulled my head back by my hair so hard I saw stars. His dick popped out from between my lips, long strings of saliva still connecting us as he forced me to look into his eyes.

“I warned you,” he told me.

“I know,” I replied as he spun me around onto my belly on the bed.

Morgan pulled hard on my pajama pants, tearing them down over my feet and tossing them into the darkness of my room. He was more careless with my panties, ripping them off my hips before grabbing my thighs and hoisting my ass into the air.

“You’re a dirty slut,” he told me, spreading my legs with his knee. “And you need to be punished.”

Then his hand came down hard onto my ass cheek, and I yelped at the sharp, prickling sting.

No man had ever done this to me before, and I was completely unprepared for how intense it was. By the second strike I expected the pain, but not the searing pleasure that followed. I whimpered into my comforter, wriggling my ass as each blow came harder than the next, swifter and stronger until I was a puddle in his hands, my inner thighs drenched with a depraved lust even I couldn’t fully comprehend.

And then, just like that, Morgan’s dick was inside me, violating my tight hole and plunging into my most intimate depths.

I wailed, throwing my head back as he made me weak with rapture. I felt his base disappear between my folds and his balls strike my clit as he wedged himself inside me, drawing low, guttural moans from somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach. He grasped my shoulders, his fingers sinking hard into my flesh as he bucked into me, pummeling my pussy with every bit of strength he had.

“Fuck!” I cried, whimpering as he tortured my spot with each thrust. “Morgan! Yes! Fuck me, Mr. Kane! Make me take that huge cock!”

Morgan groaned behind me. I felt his dick throb between my tight walls as he picked up the pace.

“Call me Mr. Kane again,” he panted, slipping one hand around my throat just beneath my jaw. “Now.”

“Mr. Kane!” I shrieked, not giving one shit who might hear. Morgan forced me back onto my heels, his dick still inside me and my back pressed against his hard, unyielding chest as he pumped into me, his lips right at my ear.

“I’m going to make you cum now,” he told me as his free hand tormented my breast. “You’re going to gush all over this cock.”

I gasped. “But I don’t know how to squirt…”

“You’re going to do it,” he repeated, “because I own you now. You’ll do what I say, when I say it. Is that clear, Miss Hale?”

“Yes,” I moaned, turning my face so that my forehead pressed against his strong jaw. “Yes, Mr. Kane. I’ll cum for you.”

“Good girl,” he praised me as he began to slam his dick right into my sweet spot.

The pleasure was overwhelming. I could feel my pussy filling, could feel the pressure building and churning until I had to fight just to hold back. Morgan hadn’t told me to cum yet, and though I wanted to so badly, I also didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t know why, but his approval suddenly meant a lot to me.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Mr. Kane. Let me cum on your cock.”

He gave a soft grunt, then a growl against my ear. He sunk his teeth into my neck.

“Now,” he snarled. “Cum for me now, Miss Hale.”

The dam broke at his command, and for the first time in my life, I was gushing all over a man’s cock. My walls seized, milking his shaft as I bucked and flailed, unable to control my body for all the pleasure coursing through it. I babbled incoherently, writhing and shuddering as a deluge of my lust covered his cock, dripping all the way down his balls and soaking the comforter below us.

“Mr. Kane!” I was crying over and over again. “Mr. Kane! Mr. Kane!”

And then, as he pushed me back down onto my hands and knees, he was cumming inside of me, filling me up with his hot seed, scorching my aching walls with every spurt from his thrumming cock. I felt my walls clench around him, my cunt begging for more, and I bit my lip, reveling the sensation of being so full with a man’s cum.

Then he sat back, his cock still inside me as he recovered. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. What could I say in the face of such perfection?

What we’d done was different. Intense. And maybe a little bit wrong. But I’d never been fucked so good before, and Mr. Kane had awakened a dark lust that would now have to be sated on a much more regular basis.

I wanted more.

As he withdrew, I turned around to tell him so, but he was already dressing. There was a strange expression on his face, a tightness that drew his features flat and pale. His hands were shaking. There was anger in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Miss Hale,” he told me, hastily going for the door. “Do not call me again.”

I sat up, prepared to object, but by the time I opened my mouth, he was gone. The only evidence he’d been here at all was the bottle of wine on my coffee table and the hunger in my pussy, begging for more.

I sat back against my pillows. What had I done?