Ruthless terms: A Billionaire's plaything.

"We're here, miss." The cab driver's voice pulled Isabelle out of her thoughts. "Oh… okay," she said softly, digging into her purse for money. "Be quick. I don't want a parking ticket," the driver snapped. "Sorry," she mumbled, handing him the fare. She stepped out into the night. The cold air kissed her skin. She pulled her jacket tighter. Her eyes went to the tall hotel building in front of her. The Pearlton Hotel. She reached into her purse, grabbed her phone, and sent a message. "The Pearlton Hotel. 8pm. Come alone." Sent. Her fingers trembled as she placed the phone back inside and zipped her purse. Her chest felt tight. What if he doesn't come? She took a breath. Looked up at the hotel. Big glass doors. Too clean. Too quiet. The guard opened the door for her. She nodded at him, didn’t smile. Inside smelled like lemon and new money. She walked up to the front desk. “Do you have a reservation?” the woman asked. Isabelle gave a slight nod. “Yes. Under Isabelle Hart.” The woman tapped the computer, then handed her a key card. “Room 304” A man in a dark vest came around. “Would you like me to take your coat?” “No, thank you.” Her voice came out a little too fast. She turned before they could ask anything else and headed to the elevator. She took the elevator to the third floor. Room 304. In the elevator, alone, she took out her phone. "Room 304. It’s urgent" She hit send. The elevator's doors closed. Here goes nothing. _____ A knock. She froze. Her heart nearly stopped. Another knock. She looked at the mirror. Her makeup was a mess. She rushed to fix it. Powder. Lip gloss. She wiped her tears away. More knocking. She swallowed. Breathe. Just breathe. She opened the door. He was turning to leave. "Wait!" she grabbed his hand. He turned to her. "Isabelle?" He asked surprised. He glanced inside the room, "Why did you call me here?" He asked. Her eyes met his. Cold. So cold. She looked down. Couldn’t look at him. Her stomach twisted. Her knees felt weak. "I… I wanted to talk about my father," she whispered. Her voice was barely there. "Your father? After what he did, that's why you called me?" He snapped at her. "I know what he did was wrong," she continued. "But… I wanted to ask for your mercy. Please… don't send him to jail." She felt her eyes sting again. He stood still. Silent for a moment. "There's nothing to talk about. He stole my money and I've decided on what to do to him already" he told her, turning to leave. "I’ll do anything," she said quickly. The words came out before she could think. Her hands shook. She held onto her purse like it was a shield. He looked at her for a while, "and just what do you think you'll be able to do?" He asked as he stepped in, "in a place like this" he added. She closed the door behind him. The air in the room changed. Heavy. Charged. She felt it in her skin. Like static. He sat on the bed. "You said you'd do anything?" he asked, eyes looking around the room. "Yes" She answered, nodding. Her body was shaking. She wrapped her arms around her body, like it'd calm her down. "Then strip." Her breath caught. She looked at him. No smile. No laugh. Just hard eyes. "Strip, or your father goes to jail." The words hit like ice water. Her hands moved before her brain could stop them. She took off her jacket slowly, folding it over a chair. Underneath, she wore a simple white blouse and black pants. She felt her cheeks burn. Her fingers reached the buttons of her blouse. One by one. Her skin tingled as cool air touched her. She was wearing a bra. Lace. Pale pink. She had thought of this happening but having it happen now was too sudden for her. Why does this feel… exciting? She pulled off her blouse slowly. Then slowly unzipped her pants, sliding them down. Her thighs trembled. She was left in her underwear, standing in front of him. He said nothing. He just watched as she took her clothes off. She used one hand to cover her chest, the other to cover between her legs. She felt stupid. Exposed. Small. He said quietly, “Move your hands.” She reluctantly let them fall. He kept looking — not boldly or crudely, but directly. He noticed their softness, their smallness — the way the chilled air made her n*****s stiffen. He felt a rush of warmth, a rush of blood. His c**k stirred, growing heavy, straining faintly against his pants. He tightened his grip on the armrest — a silent confession of his own growing need. "Get on all fours and crawl to me" he said. She froze. She looked at him. He didn't seem to want to repeat himself. What kind of man says that? What kind of girl obeys? But her feet moved. Her knees touched the floor. She got down, slowly, her arms shaking as she leaned forward. She crawled. She felt every inch of the carpet beneath her palms. Every breath she took felt too loud. She reached him until her face was just above his lap. He reached down, tilting her chin upward with a finger. “Look at you… so small… so vulnerable.” "Good girl." The words sent chills down her back. His voice was calm. Almost amused. But why did her stomach twist in heat instead of shame? He grabbed her breast with one hand and patted her head with the other. "Have you been with a man before?" he asked. She shook her head. "No." He was quiet. He fondled on her breast and pinched her nipple "From now on, you'll call me Master. Understood?" She nodded. He pinched harder on her n*****s. "Do you understand?" Her lips were dry. Her voice cracked. "Yes… Master." Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t blink. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She didn't want to amuse him further with her tears. "Good. Be a good little girl." And in that moment, part of her wanted to run. To run away from all this humiliation. But another part stayed. Excited by what was happening. And obeyed. He let his finger ease. “Now… let’s make use of that mouth of yours.”