ROSA

I was alone. Well, if you didn’t count the unblinking eye of the security camera in the corner of the room. I made sure to keep out of sight of it as I fiddled with the collar around my neck. I didn’t want him to see me and think I was having second thoughts about this.

I was having second thoughts but they weren’t going to stop me going a little bit further. I’d seen behind two of the doors. The Rose room and my bedroom for the next nine nights. That left three doors still to look through. Could I cross the corridor and see for myself?

The bedroom door was locked. I was stuck here. What would happen if I said the safe word when he wasn’t here? Maybe I should have asked that instead of why are you doing this?

That would have been a sensible question but I had no answer. It was a philosophical question really. If you scream thorn at the top of your voice and the billionaire isn’t around to hear it, have you made a sound?

It had been a blur of emotion since the door had locked us together in the corridor. Taken into the Rose room, asked those most intimate of questions, all the while feeling his eyes on me, reaching into me, seeing further and deeper, passing by all my protections. Except one.

He had asked about my father. I refused to tell him anything about that. No one needed to know about that. He’d give me sympathy but I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted the past to remain where it belonged, not come reaching its claws into the present where it had no business being.

He’d seen the scars, he’d been told where they came from. That was an end to it. Luckily he hadn’t questioned me too much about my hospital visits. If he had, how long before he saw through the lies, realised what had really caused the broken leg, what had caused my mother and me to move from my real birth town, all the way up here, to get away from the past, to make a fresh start, before I even really knew what was happening.

It was over. I didn’t talk to her about it. I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. It was my secret and that was all there was to it.

I explored the bedroom, not that there was a huge amount to see. Four poster bed with curtains to draw around it for privacy. Mattress, firm, not too firm. Blankets that felt expensive. Thick, warm, dark colours.

Cabinet that I’d so recently bent over. I chose not to think about that. There was a deep tingling inside me that I didn’t trust when I thought about that. I wasn’t even sure I’d tell Emma. Wardrobe. Armchair in one corner. Desk next to it. That questionnaire laid waiting to be answered. In the other corner a TV was attached to the wall, small cupboard underneath.

The door next to that opened into the bathroom. I headed in there. A vision in blue and white tiles, no expense spared. Shower, rainforest shower head, claw foot bath, sink that was almost as big as the bath. Mirror that reflected my own startled face back at me.

I stood in front of the mirror, examining the collar. I should have hated wearing it, taking it off the moment I was alone. But I didn’t. It was a strange feeling. From the moment the collar clicked in place around my neck, I felt like I was his, like I belonged to him.

It was a surprisingly reassuring feeling. I’d felt the same when he’d told me he was going to make my decisions for me while I was here. I never expected that to feel liberating but it did. All I had to do was what I was told. It might only be for long enough to get the story but where was the harm in me enjoying it a little too? I could just edit that part out when I told Simon and Emma about it afterwards.

I also wouldn’t tell them that this was the first time I felt attachment to a man. The one boyfriend, the one I’d mentioned during his questioning, that was nothing like this.

Little Barry as Emma called him afterwards, trying to reassure me, make me feel better about what he’d done, about the fact he hadn’t taken no for an answer and there was no safe word to get me out of that situation.

The collar was made of leather, soft around my neck. It fitted perfectly, a metal ring at the front. Was that for a name tag? If lost, please call Jamie Spencer. Maybe he’d feed me in a bowl on the floor. Let me curl up on his lap.

I smiled at the thought, it was a distraction from what I had been thinking about.

I walked back through, fingering the collar. I was his. It might be fleeting but the billionaire businessman with the grip of steel was going to take care of me, going to think about me. What had I done to deserve that?

A thought occurred to me as I sat down at the desk next to the armchair. What if it was more than ten days?

I shook my head. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t let obsession creep in. I needed to keep control of myself. He was doing this to prove a point to me, that he could make me confident, not because he wanted me. I was no doubt just one more in a long list of people who’d slept in this bed. He clearly hadn’t set up these rooms just for my benefit.

But if it was more than ten days, what then? Then the tingling and bubbling feeling inside me grew and my heart started to thud. I thought of lying asleep next to him at night, how safe I would feel. He’d not wake me each morning to ask me to pick up more soya milk or to complain about the poor quality broadband. He’d wake me by slipping a hand around my waist and pressing his lips to mine and what a fine way to wake up that would be.

Did that make it right or wrong that I had lied to him? Told him I would remain Sub Rosa, keep his confidence while planning to write about him as soon as I was out of here.

I felt the same guilt I’d felt when he talked about things being held in confidence. I was going to screw him over and despite his arrogance, despite the way he acted like he ruled the entire world, I didn’t like the idea of deceiving him. It had to be done though. It wasn’t like he’d be able to mind. He hadn’t told me his confidence training would involve locking me in a bedroom and spanking me though. It was like Emma said, this was nothing more than sexual harassment. So why did it feel so good when I’d bent over for him?

I thought about the film Emma had made me watch. Was this what I was? Was I a natural submissive? That would explain why I’d been so happy when he told me he was going to be making the decisions for me while I was here. Just knowing that made taken a weight from my shoulders that I hadn’t even known was there. Was that what he did? Was that how he made his clients more confident?

The hardest question to answer was why he’d chosen to do this to me for free. Was it all just a game to him? Take the pauper under his wing for a big laugh when he was done. Well, the joke would be on him if that was the case because the secrets would soon be out about what happened in here. There would be one hell of a story once I was out.

If I could get out of here. I was going nowhere until he came back with the key so until then there wasn’t much point thinking about it. Don’t see myself as kidnapped. See myself as a journalist chasing a story. Fill in the questionnaire instead. That would be a good distraction from the neverending list of questions in my head, the doubt that kept niggling away at me, the obsession that bubbled under the surface and made my fingers tremble as I held the  pen.

I ran my eyes down the pages, answering as honestly as I could. Fantasies. Desires. Hopes for the future. So many questions. I answered some, left others blank. He’d just have to live with that.

Do you like being spanked? He already had the answer to that one.

He knew I did. How had he worked that out?

It had felt good too, even as I’d tried to deny it to myself. He’d told me to bend over in that cold commanding voice, the same one that got me to hand over the notepad when I first met him. I was bent over before I knew what I was doing and then he did it. His hand slapped down on my ass and it stung and it felt so good and I wanted more and then he was gone.

I finished the questionnaire and then moved over to the bed. I made sure the camera couldn’t see me before getting out my phone. I sent a quick text to Emma.

OMG. One hell of a story coming for you. Text later.

Then I switched it off to save the battery and hid it under the bed. That way he wouldn’t find it on me if he checked.

An image of him frisking me entered my head and I sighed. That could work. What would I tell Emma? The truth? Or a version of it?

I didn’t know enough yet. I needed to know more. I also wanted to feel his hand on my ass again. How good would it feel if he came in and demanded I get on my knees, open my mouth for him? Distract yourself. Don’t think like that. Don’t obsess.

I realised I hadn’t looked inside the cupboard or the wardrobe. I got up, crossing the room and pulling open the doors to a hanger of clothes, all in my size. Dresses, blouses, even neat piles of underwear. Shoes too, each pair worth more than my entire wardrobe at home.

Inside the cupboard were books, CDs and DVDs. I ran my eyes along the labels. All things I loved. How did he know that?

Secretary was amongst the others and that gave me my answer. I’d announced on social media that I’d just watched it with Emma. My profile was public. Anyone could read it. He’d read it. He’d told me to do my research and in the meantime he’d been doing some of his own, investigating me, finding out what I liked based on what I’d written online. Had I said anything about him? I thought hard. I was fairly sure I hadn’t mentioned him. I hoped.

I looked along the bookcase. There were a few romances I hadn’t read. I picked one up and carried it over to the bed. It was the classic boy meets girl, boy kidnaps girl, boy and girl do all manner of steamy things together.

Was that how my story was going to go? He had spanked me. Surely, it wasn’t too big a step from there to him coming to join me in this enormous bed? I was wearing his collar. I belonged to him. Why would he ask such detailed and intimate questions otherwise?

As I read, I found myself sinking under the blankets, the scenes coming to life in my head only it was me as the heroine and Jamie as the hero, kidnapping me, forcing me in here, demanding I give myself up to him. I gave gladly.

My body was heating up the more I read, the more I pictured myself in the story. I shifted my thighs, an ache building between them. It had been a long time since I’d felt like that. I usually enjoyed the happy ever after in these books but this time I was enjoying the steamy scenes more, an aid to my imagination as the heat between my legs started to grow.

The camera couldn’t see me. He was gone. I’d hear a key in the lock if he came back. There was nothing stopping me from easing that ache.

The minutes passed and my free hand slid slowly down under the covers, running down my chest, my nipples tingling in response to my touch, hard enough to feel through my bra and top.

I kept reading. The heroine, brazen hussy that she was, bent over, skirts around her hips, begging the hero to prove his love to her.

He slid into her and as he did so, my hand went lower, slipping into the waistband of my skirt, brushing the top of my panties, feeling the skin there, ignoring the ache for as long as I could, thinking of him doing that, of him bending me over and…

A noise and I bolted upright. The door was opening. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He told you there was a way to unlock it on his phone. Shit, shit, can he tell?

I leapt to my feet, hoping my face didn’t look as red as it felt. My nipples brushed the inside of my bra, still tingling despite my shame as he walked in and looked at me. “I told you to hold the questionnaire to the camera,” he said, his voice cold. “You didn’t. You will be punished.”