TAKEN FROM THE PRECIPICE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

DICKINSON

A smirk, that was my first reaction the moment I ended the call.

"We will see."

That had been her response—no enthusiasm or eagerness.

That stayed with me.

I set the phone which I had held for longer than necessary onto the table.

Then, I loosened my tie, removing the cufflinks and rolling up my sleeves.

My study was quiet, illuminated softly by the chandelier hanging low.

I walked across the room to the liquor cabinet to pour myself a glass.

My throat was dry.

I needed it.

I didn't bother doing back to sit down, downing the glass in a blink.

The liquor burned down my throat and almost made my eyes water.

I had drunk it too fast.

The image of her—Elsa—in that sparklimg gown flashed across my mind.

The corners of my lips curved.

"Interesting woman," I murmured, and even the silence didn't dare to disagree.

She thought she could escape me.

No one ever did.

She wouldn't win, not this one.

I strode to the table to tap the intercom.

My secretary answered, never sleeping, always at my beck and call.

"Sir? Do you need anything?"

I sipped my drink.

"I need the report on the lady," I said to him, "the entire record."

"Alright sir."

I leaned against the table and waited for the papers, replaying the auction over and over again.

I did so in my head till the liquor in my glass had vanished.

Elsa Etxebarriia—the vixen.

I recalled the way she raised her hand or sat with her legs crossed gracefully.

I could never forget the unhurried way with which she acted, nothing dramatic.

She had bid 10 Billion as if the number meant nothing to her, acting like the entire auction room belonged to her

She hadn’t even smiled when she won, only doing so when I looked at her.

It was as if that was what mattered.

She knew power.

She had tasted it.

And as for me, I always craved women who had had a wholesome taste of power.

They were satisfying to break.

And I would break her, take her from her pedestal and eventually own her.

She'll never see it coming.

I picked up my tablet and scanned the screen when the device chimed.

It was the report, sent via email.

I abandoned my empty glass and leaned back to dive into the information.

Elsa Etxebarriia.

Her name sounded like power, and she came from old money with clean trails.

There had been no scandals tied to her family name, not even love affairs.

It seemed like she was a conservative woman or she hid them well.

Her bank account was obese and she had assets spread across the borders.

She had dipped her hand in every pie possible, even the bid I had wanted.

Still wanted, rather, needed.

I laughed softly at her records because no one ever became that rich without one or two evil deeds at least.

She was an expert at being clean and that pleased me more than it should.

Academically, financially, romantically, physically—she was excellent.

There were no red flags.

And that was the red flag.

I lifted my frame and headed to the window with the tablet still in my hands.

"She's a brilliant woman, self aware," I muttered with a tsk sound.

It was apparent that she was a woman who didn't like to chase, only attract.

My mind instantly wandered to her, standing before me, in that dress.

I could clearly envision the soft swell of her breasts underneath the bodice.

Desire rushed through me like water bursting out of a collapsed dam.

I remembered the way the sequin had caught the light each time she moved.

Or the way her thighs had glowed when she had crossed her legs, deliberately.

Warm sensations travelled down my body, straight to my c**k, hardening it.

I was certain she had been aware of every single eye on her skin, bored by all.

The way she had looked at me when she had found me staring was peculiar.

It was as if she had wanted me to look.

“She wants something,” I continued. “And she thinks that she can take it.”

This was no coincidence—she wanted me and I wanted her, badly at this point.

The corner of my lips lifted.

"So do I."

I gently tossed the tablet into the couch on my way back to the liquor cabinet.

I poured myself a glass of brandy.

I took a sip of the drink and felt the heat settle in the lower part of my body.

My c**k was pressing against my fly, taunt and hungry for her—Elsa.

I poured another glass.

But the alcohol was useless.

It only made things worse.

I needed relief, but it was too late to have women sent over to my estate.

I would have to take care of it.

I drank every last drop of brandy in the glass and settled into the couch.

The room smelled faintly of her now or maybe I imagined it.

That didn’t matter.

What mattered was what I was about to do.

My hands roughly unclasped my fastening, impatient to get to my jerking c**k.

My member spring free the moment I pulled back my underwear.

I was hard as diamond.

I leaned back into the back rest and closed my eyes, my hands closing around it.

And I imagined her—Elsa.

I pictured her standing afore me, almost naked in a two piece red lingerie.

I would have her stand there, watching me quietly without a single sound.

I would not let her touch me, would never give her the satisfaction of that so early.

I would rather she watched, needy, yearning for c**k for a long time.

She would be mine to use as I wanted, mine to control, mine go f**k senseless.

"f**k," I whispered, the thought causing something to tighten inside of me.

I was going faster now, rubbing up and down like my life depended on it.

I spread my legs slightly apart, allowing my self more room to rub my c**k.

She might not now, but she would fold when I was done with her.

She would resist and play hard to get just enough to make it interesting.

And I will let her because I liked games, until she would succumb, finally.

My hands glided over my c**k, rubbing the head gently as I envisioned her.

"Elsa."

My voice was hoarse.

The desire was clogging my throat.

I imagined her on her knees afore me with red cheeks and torn lingerie.

She would beg, plead desperately for me to take her, to allow her orgasm.

Only then would I knee, her on all fours, ass presented to my c**k like tribute.

Her cheeks would be red and swollen, designed by my palm imprint.

Then, I would ease myself into her and take her hard and fast for my pleasure.

I would do so because it was what she deserved—whatever I gave.

Nothing else.

My c**k jerked as something was building steadily inside of me—my release.

I was so close.

She would scream my name as I pounded her, begging like a w***e.

And I would press her face to the ground with a hand, silencing her cries.

Her pleas would be muffled, her moans, whatever sounds she would make.

And when I would raise her head by her head, her face off the floor, she would say my name, begging for release.

And I will make her c*m.

The power and control I wanted to have sharpened my delight.

It always did.

My c**k jerked again in my hand and then stiffened before it all fell down.

I came so hard I thought I saw stars, my body shaking as I groaned.

Pleasure blinded me for a while as I shot my warm seeds all over my pants.

“Don’t move,” I said under my breath to the image of her, kneeling, degraded.

I imagined a cumshot all over her ass and her back, marking her as mine.

Then, I allowed myself to bask in the triumph I had created.

I wallowed in the ecstasy with a relaxed posture, letting the feeling dwindle.

When I opened my eyes, it was to a mess, sticky white ichor all over my hands.

I reached for the tissue box and cleaned myself up as well as I could.

A smile graced my face because it had been a long time since I have had a good orgasm.

If just the image of Elsa had brought me this amount of pleasure, what kind of delight would the real Elsa bring?

The question remained unanswered in my head as I reached for my phone.

There was a text from her.

Elsa: Don't send me flowers again. You're not a stalker, or are you?

I couldn't help but chuckle.

“You think you are different just cause you managed to beat me once?”

My finger hovered over the screen while I thought of a befitting reply.

“She wants to play,” I spoke to the empty room. “I will teach her the rules.”

I typed a reply.

Dickinson: I can be whatever you want Elsa.

I set my phone aside with a smirk.

“When she finally gives in,” I said quietly, “I will make sure she won’t even remember when it stopped being her choice.”

I stood with a satisfied grin.

Then I turn the light off and walked out of the room, already planning my next move.