Tame Me (The Billionaire’s Submissive)
Simone Holloway
Copyright ©2013 Simone Holloway
First published by Simone Holloway 2013
Distributed by Al Romance
I stared down at the instruments on the table. One in particular caught my eye: a long black leather handle gave way to a metal wheel with spikes sticking out of it. The object-no, toy- as James was always so quick to correct me- looked menacing. The spikes threatened torture on the wheel, ropes, whips, handcuffs… My heart began to race.
I looked down the table. A cat o’ nine tails was laid out beside the pinwheel. The leather tendrils snaked out over the edge of the table. I ran my finger over the coarse leather delicately. I quickly pulled my hand back as if it had been burned by fire. My skin began to sting with the memory of the leather.
My mind went back to the first time James whipped me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The sensation made me smile. Each device on the table had a story. Maybe some day one of them would tell my own…
It began on a hot autumn day. I sat in the office’s lobby with about a hundred other girls.
The number was actually closer to fifteen, but I felt so intimated by the competition it may as well have been a thousand.
I shook my foot nervously and waited to hear my name called. The job was an entry level position: Executive Assistant to Mr. James Quinn. The title made me laugh. ‘Executive Assistant,’ sounded important, even respectable. In truth, I would be the errand girl: fetching coffee, filing papers- menial tasks, but I was grateful for the work. The job market was tough and I needed the money.
I scoped out the competition. The room was filled with pretty girls wearing designer clothes. I looked down at my own outfit. I’d bought it at the mall, but I still thought I looked good. I wore a tight, black pencil skirt with a plum colored button up shirt and high heels. On closer inspection the fabric looked cheap and slightly faded, but I hoped Mr. Quinn wouldn’t notice.
I pulled a loose thread from my skirt and began to feel even more nervous. The girl beside me wore Louboutin heels and carried a Prada bag.
When she caught me staring, my face turned red. I was in over my head. I would never be able to afford expensive bags or designer anything, but, so what? It was the woman who made the clothes, not the other way around, right?
I sat up straighter, feeling a momentary surge of confidence. Then, my name was called.
“Summer Jacobs!” the receptionists shouted.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Present,” I responded as if this was high school roll call. Shit, I thought, I really am nervous.
“I mean, yes-” I cleared my throat. “I’m here.”
The woman eyed me over the edge of her computer. “Mr. Quinn is ready to see you now.”
I rose and tripped as I made way to the receptionist’s desk.
“Last door at the end of the hall,” she said.
I nodded and began the long march to the man who would end up changing my life
forever.
Before entering his office I stopped. There was an elevator to my right. The doors were so shiny I could see my reflection perfectly. I looked myself over. My skirt was straight, my shirt ironed crisp.
A strand of hair came loose and fell into my eyes. I quickly unpinned and re-pinned my hair into a chignon. I thought it complemented my high cheekbones well. I smiled wide at my reflection and checked my teeth. I was relieved to see there wasn’t any lipstick smudged on them.
I began to walk toward the door and stopped. I felt like I was missing something. This was a common theme in my life: there was always an indefinable, ‘something’ missing.
Restlessness had followed me through high school and college. No matter what I did, nothing satisfied the longing inside me for more: more life, more excitement, more everything.
As I stared at my reflection I knew this was it. I was stuck in a rut and if I didn’t get this job, I would never get out of
Simone Holloway
Copyright ©2013 Simone Holloway
First published by Simone Holloway 2013
Distributed by Al Romance
I stared down at the instruments on the table. One in particular caught my eye: a long black leather handle gave way to a metal wheel with spikes sticking out of it. The object-no, toy- as James was always so quick to correct me- looked menacing. The spikes threatened torture on the wheel, ropes, whips, handcuffs… My heart began to race.
I looked down the table. A cat o’ nine tails was laid out beside the pinwheel. The leather tendrils snaked out over the edge of the table. I ran my finger over the coarse leather delicately. I quickly pulled my hand back as if it had been burned by fire. My skin began to sting with the memory of the leather.
My mind went back to the first time James whipped me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The sensation made me smile. Each device on the table had a story. Maybe some day one of them would tell my own…
It began on a hot autumn day. I sat in the office’s lobby with about a hundred other girls.
The number was actually closer to fifteen, but I felt so intimated by the competition it may as well have been a thousand.
I shook my foot nervously and waited to hear my name called. The job was an entry level position: Executive Assistant to Mr. James Quinn. The title made me laugh. ‘Executive Assistant,’ sounded important, even respectable. In truth, I would be the errand girl: fetching coffee, filing papers- menial tasks, but I was grateful for the work. The job market was tough and I needed the money.
I scoped out the competition. The room was filled with pretty girls wearing designer clothes. I looked down at my own outfit. I’d bought it at the mall, but I still thought I looked good. I wore a tight, black pencil skirt with a plum colored button up shirt and high heels. On closer inspection the fabric looked cheap and slightly faded, but I hoped Mr. Quinn wouldn’t notice.
I pulled a loose thread from my skirt and began to feel even more nervous. The girl beside me wore Louboutin heels and carried a Prada bag.
When she caught me staring, my face turned red. I was in over my head. I would never be able to afford expensive bags or designer anything, but, so what? It was the woman who made the clothes, not the other way around, right?
I sat up straighter, feeling a momentary surge of confidence. Then, my name was called.
“Summer Jacobs!” the receptionists shouted.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Present,” I responded as if this was high school roll call. Shit, I thought, I really am nervous.
“I mean, yes-” I cleared my throat. “I’m here.”
The woman eyed me over the edge of her computer. “Mr. Quinn is ready to see you now.”
I rose and tripped as I made way to the receptionist’s desk.
“Last door at the end of the hall,” she said.
I nodded and began the long march to the man who would end up changing my life
forever.
Before entering his office I stopped. There was an elevator to my right. The doors were so shiny I could see my reflection perfectly. I looked myself over. My skirt was straight, my shirt ironed crisp.
A strand of hair came loose and fell into my eyes. I quickly unpinned and re-pinned my hair into a chignon. I thought it complemented my high cheekbones well. I smiled wide at my reflection and checked my teeth. I was relieved to see there wasn’t any lipstick smudged on them.
I began to walk toward the door and stopped. I felt like I was missing something. This was a common theme in my life: there was always an indefinable, ‘something’ missing.
Restlessness had followed me through high school and college. No matter what I did, nothing satisfied the longing inside me for more: more life, more excitement, more everything.
As I stared at my reflection I knew this was it. I was stuck in a rut and if I didn’t get this job, I would never get out of
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