Ya Like That by +Iyana Jenna
GENRE: BDSM •
Contemporary • Erotic Romance • Fiction • Gay
LENGTH: 12,776 words/ Novella
Evan Foster is left with nothing after his father
screwed up their family company. Evan's father ended up in jail, his mother in
a mental institution, and they lost all their possession to the bank. Evan
dropped out of college and he still has to pay for his mother's treatment. He
has a job at a diner but it isn’t nearly enough.
Brian Donaghue is a millionaire with a multinational company but isn’t lucky in love. When he sees the picture Evan sends in with a resume, he’s immediately interested. But the way he ropes Evan into his company is far from conventional. Brian makes Evan an offer he can’t refuse.
Or can he?
Brian Donaghue is a millionaire with a multinational company but isn’t lucky in love. When he sees the picture Evan sends in with a resume, he’s immediately interested. But the way he ropes Evan into his company is far from conventional. Brian makes Evan an offer he can’t refuse.
Or can he?
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
Evan’s heart constricted looking at
the huge manor standing before him. It reminded him of his family’s former
house although that wasn’t as big as this. He shook off the mental picture and
strode to the security post, another thing different from his family’s home.
“Hi. I’m Evan Foster. I have an appointment with Mr. Donaghue.” The security guy looked him up and down, making him squirm.
“Can I have your driver’s license?”
Evan gave the man his driver’s license and got a visitor’s card in return.
“Thanks.” He turned toward the house.
“Wait. There’s a message for you.”
“Huh?” Evan took the envelope from the security guard’s hand and opened it. There was only one small piece of paper inside and he took it out.
Go into the house and come to the room at the end of the hall.
Evan frowned. It sounded like a line taken from a bad porn movie. Or perhaps Mr. Donaghue just liked to joke around.
Evan climbed up the short flight of stairs to the porch and reached out for the door knob.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the large empty hall. Inside, it was dimly lit just like it was outside the house. Evan braced himself. He had permission to be there and instructions. He might as well do what he had to do.
Evan knew he had to get to the room at the end of the hall but he couldn’t help but feel intrigued and wanted to look around. Everything a mansion should have was here in this house: a vast welcoming area for guests, carpeted stairs spiraling up to the next level, and old portraits hung on the walls above the railing. Once he almost strayed, completely spell bound. He shook himself mentally and turned back to the hall.
After passing several rooms and doors, he got to the end of the corridor. He guessed it was the one on the left, for the one on the right was some feet before that. Evan tried the door. It was unlocked and dark inside. He felt around and found the switch. His breath hitched at the sight he was welcomed with. The room was bare, save for the thick red rugs on the floor and another piece of paper. Evan was written across it. He picked it up, turned it over, and read another message for him. Suddenly all of the air felt like it was being sucked out of his lungs. His sight blurred and his knees turned to jelly. He staggered until his back hit the wall, the pain throwing him back to awareness. He looked at the paper once more, hoping that it was just a figment of his twisted imagination. It wasn’t. The message still read the same.
Take off your shirt and shoes. Kneel on the floor in the middle of the room. Put your arms behind your head.
What was that supposed to mean? He signed a contract to be a personal assistant and not some ... sex slave or something. Or was that what they meant by personal assistant? Bile bubbled up in his throat. So it was for this reason that they paid him high, huh? A high-class whore? Evan wanted to run away, not having anything to do with them or the man named Brian Donaghue, whoever he was. He just wanted to forget he'd ever brushed with this ... this kind of stuff.
“Hi. I’m Evan Foster. I have an appointment with Mr. Donaghue.” The security guy looked him up and down, making him squirm.
“Can I have your driver’s license?”
Evan gave the man his driver’s license and got a visitor’s card in return.
“Thanks.” He turned toward the house.
“Wait. There’s a message for you.”
“Huh?” Evan took the envelope from the security guard’s hand and opened it. There was only one small piece of paper inside and he took it out.
Go into the house and come to the room at the end of the hall.
Evan frowned. It sounded like a line taken from a bad porn movie. Or perhaps Mr. Donaghue just liked to joke around.
Evan climbed up the short flight of stairs to the porch and reached out for the door knob.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the large empty hall. Inside, it was dimly lit just like it was outside the house. Evan braced himself. He had permission to be there and instructions. He might as well do what he had to do.
Evan knew he had to get to the room at the end of the hall but he couldn’t help but feel intrigued and wanted to look around. Everything a mansion should have was here in this house: a vast welcoming area for guests, carpeted stairs spiraling up to the next level, and old portraits hung on the walls above the railing. Once he almost strayed, completely spell bound. He shook himself mentally and turned back to the hall.
After passing several rooms and doors, he got to the end of the corridor. He guessed it was the one on the left, for the one on the right was some feet before that. Evan tried the door. It was unlocked and dark inside. He felt around and found the switch. His breath hitched at the sight he was welcomed with. The room was bare, save for the thick red rugs on the floor and another piece of paper. Evan was written across it. He picked it up, turned it over, and read another message for him. Suddenly all of the air felt like it was being sucked out of his lungs. His sight blurred and his knees turned to jelly. He staggered until his back hit the wall, the pain throwing him back to awareness. He looked at the paper once more, hoping that it was just a figment of his twisted imagination. It wasn’t. The message still read the same.
Take off your shirt and shoes. Kneel on the floor in the middle of the room. Put your arms behind your head.
What was that supposed to mean? He signed a contract to be a personal assistant and not some ... sex slave or something. Or was that what they meant by personal assistant? Bile bubbled up in his throat. So it was for this reason that they paid him high, huh? A high-class whore? Evan wanted to run away, not having anything to do with them or the man named Brian Donaghue, whoever he was. He just wanted to forget he'd ever brushed with this ... this kind of stuff.
Iyana lives in
Jakarta, a city famous for its traffic jams, a lot of cars and motorcycles, and
people selling stuff on the roads. You can spend two hours on the road going to
a place you can reach in half an hour in a normal situation. Thanks to the traffic
jams, though, Iyana can come up with a lot of stories, mostly shorties, as she
prefers to spend the time during her trips writing into her cell phone rather
than sleeping.
Another thing
Iyana loves is kitties. Right now she has five of them. Their names are Larva,
Nyil, Cil, Betsy, and Horus. When she doesn’t write, she plays with them, or
they would play with her when she writes.
