Before I could say another word, Mr. Felton flipped me onto my stomach and pinned me to the bed. With a slight movement, he moved my hair from my neck and whispered in my ear.

"While here, I don't answer your fucking sarcastic questions, Ms. Downs." And that's when I felt a burning, but pleasurable pain from his hand on my ass. I grabbed the comforter, and another semi-soft slap came, and another, and another, and then my arms were pinned against the wall, and he was touching my clit from behind. I pushed my ass onto his erection, and he groaned.

"Concentrate on how you feel. Tell me," he said, gently.

I closed my eyes letting my body respond to his touch.

"I want you to fuck me. Not soft, but hard. I want to be your whore, your dirty, little sex slave, and have you come so hard that it hurts. I want to make you feel like I do." I pushed into him, feeling his dick ache for me.

Still behind me, he forcefully pulled me against him, my back to his chest, and trailed one hand up my waist as his other continued to explore below. I grabbed my nipples and pinched, allowing the sweet sensation to shoot through my body.

"You're so fucking hot," he said into my shoulder, biting the curve.

A warm and tingly sensation spread from my clit to my vagina. My toes began to curl, and I knew I would soon lose myself in the rhythm. Every part of my body tensed, and I cried out in satisfaction until each inch of me relaxed and melted into him. I leaned against his bare chest, and he wrapped his arms around my stomach, and placed his chin on my shoulder. For a moment, I thought I felt his face contract into a smile.

"I want to please you," I said to the wall that I still faced.

"You couldn't fucking handle me, Ms. Downs." He gave a small slap to my ass and then moved himself from the bed and began to dress.

"Mr. Felton," I whispered.

"What we do in here is a lesson to help you understand what your body likes and craves. I can't have an inexperienced virgin running around."

"So this was protocol?"

"Understanding your body will allow you to better please our clients."

"Clients? You are always the fucking asshole," I muttered and lay down on the bed.

"I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction. Oh, and get dressed, Ms. Downs. We don't sleep where we play."

The next morning, I woke to cool sheets and an empty bed. Curtains allowed streaks of dim light to stack and spread among the wooden floor. Morning had barely come, but my body woke with an eagerness to start the day.

I needed to know more about Finnley Felton. I opened the browser on my phone and searched his name. 1 million pages showed. Finnley Felton, Sexiest CEO Under Thirty. Pictures of him with women on vacation, in suits, at movie premieres; he was everywhere.

I found pages of gossip sites with rumors of him and celebrities and countless interviews. I searched the web for an hour, trying to soak up as much information about him as I could. Mr. Felton was only five years older than me, and known for being a bastard in social situations. Someone pinned the tail on the ass that was my boss.

The floor felt cold on my feet, so I slid on the pink slippers and slipped down the stairs.

Surprisingly, Mr. Felton sat at the table sipping a cup of cream-filled coffee as he read the paper. Before making myself known, I watched how he acted when he thought no one was looking.

Completely comfortable in his skin, he chuckled as he read and sipped. Although it was barely light outside, Mr. Felton dressed professionally in a brown vest, cream dress shirt, and a checkered tie that brought out the red hues in the browns. I realized how early his days must begin. I supposed being the CEO of a successful sex corporation, and being ranked as one of the sexiest men in business, wasn't easy.

"Come in, Ms. Downs. Have a seat." His eyes never left the newspaper.

Damn it. Busted.

Gently, he folded the newspaper in half and then interlocked his fingers. He greeted me with a soft smile although it never reached his eyes.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmhmm, like a baby."

"How rude of me. Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea, even? I'll make it how I like it. You do know the English are known for excellent coffee and tea, and for many, many other things."

With a purpose, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Cups tinkered together as Mr. Felton hummed a soft tune. He hummed, too?

I couldn't help but fantasize and replay the events of last night. The way he straddled me, and held my wrists above my head, or the way I wanted it.

A delicate coffee cup and saucer with a cookie scooted in front of me. Steam rose from the top and the sweet scent of cream and sugar smelled like heaven.

"It's hot, be careful."

I picked the thin glass cup and blew the steam from the top, then placed it back on the saucer with a smile and a thank you. The tension pulled at the pit of my stomach, and I wanted to talk about last night, but didn't. Awkwardness stretched on for minutes before either of us spoke. With hopes for a distraction, I took a small nibble from the soft, honey-covered cookie. Sweet warmth filled my mouth, and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing.

"Would you like another?"

"Oh no, no thank you. Did you make them?"

"Does the sun rise every morning? It's my mother's biscuit recipe, passed down from her mother's mother, and so on."

"Biscuit? I thought that was a cookie."

"Not quite."

The thought of him mixing flour and salt and sugar to create something so fulfilling, warmed me.

"Finding a man who enjoys and appreciates cooking is a delicacy. Maybe one day I'll share my secrets with you. Cooking can be fun, you know."

I laughed. "I hate cooking."

"You must have never been taught to really cook. It's rewarding to mix different ingredients together and create a concoction of something you want. Something that your body needs and desires. Something that satisfies you, but leaves you wanting more. And although you might want to share, and others may want a bite, you know deep down inside it's best to be greedy, and keep the secret to yourself. I don't particularly like to share."

Lips, luscious and full, mixed with soft, sensual words created a sexual tension that almost drove me from my seat. I swallowed, and my pulse quickened. I couldn't stop imaging his hands on me, touching me, teasing me, pleasing me. We weren't talking about recipes, or biscuits. No, it was much bigger than that.

"I'm a man who always gets what he wants. But recently, I've found myself caught between wants and needs, and am unsure of which path to take. Life. It's funny, isn't it?"

He sipped his coffee and watched me over the rim of the cup. I hesitated before I spoke, but I had to know.

"What do you want in life, sir?"

"A question I've yet to discover the answer to. Now it's my turn to ask you the same."

Long eyelashes and messy hair made up Mr. Felton. A perfect picture of poise and sex.

"I want happiness."

"It seems like a simple answer to a simple question, but it is much deeper than that. Seems like something is missing in your life, and you are steadily trying to fill the void."

Ding. Ding. Ding. Is he a mind reader?

"That may be true, but I think you struggle with the same thing. The two of us aren't that different from one another."

"It's not easy being this intelligent, or good looking," he said.