Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (2 page)

I didn't say another word as I let him untie the side sash of my blouse, then undo the final button holding the thing together. The blouse joined the skirt on the floor.

Suddenly hyper aware of my near nudity, I pointlessly crossed my arms against my chest and tried to shield my body from him.

He let out a chuckle, light, condescending—and as infuriating as him blasting past me in the lobby without a second look. It reeked of entitlement and shook me from my obedience.

I maneuvered around him in a huff and bent down, gathering my clothes. I must have had a moment of insanity because now, with him so certain that I’d drop my panties just because he was powerful and hot, I knew I'd take a job at Dairy Queen before I’d work for him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, an edge to the question.

"Leaving," I said icily. “You know, that thing that one does when they no longer want to be someplace.”

His foot was on the hem of my skirt and when he didn't budge, I shot him a look of warning. He stepped back, but didn’t lose the infuriatingly sexy command in his voice. "We both know you're not going anywhere, Leila."

"Is that right?" I said sarcastically, sliding my skirt over my hips.

"That's right," he said matter-of-factly. "The starting salary of a research aide at Whitmore and Creighton is more than generous, you'll get behind the scenes access to the meatiest public relations catastrophes in the world, and we have an excellent benefits package."

I let out a snort as I zipped up my skirt. "So it's a good job. And my interview involves spreading my legs? You dangle a check and health insurance like a bone and I'm just supposed to have sex with you?"

"No," he said, eyes burning into me. “You haven’t earned sex. But you’re going to submit to me because you want to.”

Submit to him? “I’m pretty sure I just said I wasn’t interested,” I said stubbornly, not looking him in the eye because he might see that couldn’t be farther from the truth. “I’m not a whore.”

“I never said you were,” he said smoothly. “But I do think you’re curious.”

“Curious?” I snorted.

He nodded. “That’s right. You’re going to submit to me because you're curious."

"No, I'm not." But I'd stopped redressing.

"I can tell you're a woman that's used to being in charge. A leader." He was back in front of me, invading my personal space in the most delicious way. "You're going to submit to me because you're curious about what it would be like to give everything over to someone else.” He leaned in and his virile scent flooded my nostrils, making me close my eyes as I breathed him in. "You're going to do what I say,” he continued, sending a wildfire of passion over me. “Because secretly, you wonder what it's like to be on your knees."

Omigodomigodomigod.

Just as my resolve wobbled and I opened my mouth for a retort, he linked a finger at the curved hip of my underwear, trailing down until he hit the curly tangle of my sex. I should have snapped my knees shut and pushed away from him, but I stayed still. Painfully still, because as he began to stroke at the heat between my legs, I wanted to vault my hips forward until he plunged the digit inside.

Once he began to breach my sex, my breath came out in husky gasps and I began to squirm.

His voice was like a whip, reining me in. "Stay still."

I let out a moan of protest but managed to obey, trading the writhing for trembling thighs. How could I remain still with him touching my most intimate place, lighting my most secret desires? I could tell he was ripping at the frays too, moans suppressed behind the line of his lips.

With my eyes closed I melted into him, forgetting everything but this until my eyes popped open. He wasn't touching me in a company stairwell where it was a sure bet that someone, anyone, would walk in on our erotic act, but he couldn't possibly be the only one with access to that door. A janitor, a secretary—what if there were cameras? What if that security guard was watching us right now? But all the questions paled in comparison to the one that screamed in my head: How did he know that I secretly craved this?

My eyes popped open. This was too much. I couldn’t do this. "Mr. Whitmore-"

"Jacob."

My eyes rolled back in my head as he continued to tease my opening, slipping just inside before darting back out. I wanted him to take my protests seriously, but how could he when they were flanked by moans?

I brought a hand to cover his. "No, don't-"

"Yes," he said huskily. "Oh, God
yes
-"

I shook my head but spread my legs wide for him. "I think I should...oh...
Oh
!"

My words were cut off at the knees as he forced his fingers inside me. I was already wet and dripping from the tease and they dove between my folds with a hearty smack. Foreplay with past boyfriends usually consisted of putting on a condom and living with my rents, I hadn’t touched myself in nearly two months. With his fingers knuckle deep inside my heat, I devolved to my innate hunger, humping and gasping for more. I looked into his fiercely handsome face, desire and lust simmering behind his eyes and I said yes. Yes to this feeling.

Yes to him.

There were no more words, only moans as I gave into the overwhelming sensation of his touch. I could die on the spot and it would be worth it. The bliss, the ecstasy, it was everything. It blotted out rationality and common sense leaving nothing but a need that only he could fulfill.

His fingers slid back and forth and the building monsoon at the heart of me made everything spin into one. I wasn’t sure where I stopped and he began and I didn't care.

"Come for me," he ordered, ratcheting up to a furious pace.

The sounds of my moans and my core sticky and wild whipped around us and I let go with a scream that he smothered with his mouth. My orgasm was magnified as his tongue dove in and swirled about mine. He tasted like sex and peppermint and I cried out as my body slammed and tumbled against him until his kiss became something less ferocious and close to tender. Sweet.

When my heart stopped racing and my legs stopped shaking, he rounded it off with a peck and took a step back.

Red flushed my cheeks as I stood there awkwardly before bending to pick up my clothes. As I redressed I watched him gingerly pluck a handkerchief from his breast pocket. When I looked at him, I stopped cold.

There was a look so hollow on his face, so full of regret. It was a familiar look, a look born from nights with too much alcohol and going home with guys who in the light of morning were a colossal mistake.

Oh God. Did he think
I
was a mistake?

"Mr. Whitmore-"

"If you follow the stairs you'll find your way back to the lobby." His back was taut. I was so confused, but there was no mistaking the remorse in his final words. "I lost myself, Leila. It won't happen again."

****

"M
iss Montgomery?" A deep rumble followed the question. "Uh, Leila Montgomery?"

My eyes fluttered and readjusted to the sound of my name and I snapped upright, remembering the feel of Jacob’s lips against mine, his firm body powering through his sleek suit.

I’d fallen asleep in the waiting room.

I glanced down at the magazine sitting on my lap. It was the front of
Entrepreneur Monthly
and Jacob's aqua eyes bore into me from the cover. When I licked my lips, I could taste him on my skin, lusty and powerful.

“Miss Montgomery?”

Embarrassment made me turn fifty shades of red as I flashed the secretary behind the desk an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry. W-What were you saying?"

"Mrs. Delacourt will see you now."

I gave her a small nod and steeled my nerves as I rose to my feet. I gently placed the magazine on the table beside the chair and gave the front of my skirt a nervous sweep. "Of course. I mean, thank you." I forced my shoulders back and straightened my spine as I walked up to the closed conference door. For a moment, I stood looking at the mahogany, wondering if I should just push in or knock first.

"You can go on in, sweetie," the secretary said softly. I wasn't sure if it was pity or condescension behind her tone and shook it off at any rate. Yes, she saw me drooling in my seat, but she wasn't the one I had to impress.

I pushed the door open a little too forcefully, creating a gunshot that was heard around the world and melted into a puddle when saw that the Mrs. Delacourt was sitting beside none other than Jacob Whitmore himself.

Mrs. Delacourt’s thin lips formed into a scowl, clearly agitated that she'd actually asked this idiot girl that was hard of hearing and all thumbs in for a job at their company. But Jacob, his face smooth with eyes and lips that made any hot blooded woman swoon, was a blank slate. He was completely unaffected by my clumsiness. Unaffected by
me
.

"Quite an entrance, Ms. Montgomery," he said, not even looking up from the manila folder in front of him.

"Sorry." I quickly tried to change the subject and began again. "I just want to say that I-"

"And quite an impressive resume," he continued, ignoring me completely. "Student council, honor society, president of several clubs." He let out a sigh and slapped the folder shut. "I'd say the only thing missing is Girl Scout troop leader or savior of abandoned kittens."

My nostrils flared at the jab. "Excuse me?"

"Your university accolades are commendable, but this isn’t a job for Most Likely to Work Herself Into an Early Grave," he said, tone as frosty as the air that flowed from the vents. "You are aware that the position you are applying for is the research aide?”

"Y-Yes," I said, my cheeks going hot again.

"A position you are extraordinarily overqualified for?"

"Yes," I said slowly, taking a step forward. "But I believe that-"

"Perhaps you
believe
that this could be a-" He raised his hands and made quotation marks with his fingers. "‘Starter’ job. Something to whet your appetite until something juicier comes along."

Juicier.
That word, combined with the things he'd done with those fingers, made lust flare between my legs. It would have been easy to cross my legs and relieve the pressure if I’d made it to the seat in front of the conference table, but he'd attacked with one foot still practically out the door.

"I’m flattered that you chose Whitmore and Creighton to pop your cherry, but I have no interest in training you then biding our time until you inevitably leave us for a position better suited for your extensive resume."

His words were like a slap across the face, but I pushed away the hurt and indignation for the moment. I knew enough about reading people to know that when he glanced at a clock ticking away behind me I was losing him. When he leaned in to whisper something to Mrs. Delacourt, I knew it was now or never.

I took a step forward. "Clearly you hold this position in high esteem, Mr. Whitmore." He opened his mouth but I blazed through, not letting him derail me. "Why else would the boss sit in on the interview of a lowly research aide?" I said a prayer as I strutted to the seat in front of the table and let out a silent sigh of relief when I didn't stagger or fall on my face. The surprise in those intense eyes emboldened me.

Good. I had his attention.

"I know I'm over qualified Mr. Whitmore, but I’m a perfect fit for this company—you're the best at what you do, and as far back as I can remember, I was the best. I
am
the best.” I captured his gaze and held onto it for dear life. "I'm applying for the research aide position because it was the only opening you had. I'm passionate about publicity and if I have to scrub toilets to work at the most progressive, tenacious PR firm in the world, so be it. Because I can't stop, I
won't
stop until I get exactly what I want." I stopped to catch my breath and saw he was watching me intently. Measuring me. "I'll work nights, weekends-"

He cleared his throat, cutting me off. "That's not necessary. The aide position is Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm."

Did that mean...
"I've got the job?" I looked at Mrs. Delacourt and she turned to look at him, just as surprised as I was.

He rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket. "Maria, expedite her paperwork. I want Miss Montgomery in tomorrow morning."

I leapt to my feet and stepped in his path, jutting out my hand. "Thank you so much, Mr. Whitmore! You won't regret this."

He strode past, not even giving me a second look. I couldn't let him leave without knowing how much this opportunity meant to me, even if a niggling part of me worried that our rendezvous might have something to do with it.

"Mr. Whitmore," I said behind him, trying to keep my voice low. "If I could just get a minute of your time to talk about earlier-"

He slammed to a stop and I took another step, reaching out toward him. The ice in his voice made my hand hang in the air and my words caught in my throat.

"Give us a moment, Maria."

My interviewer rose from the table without another word. Every inch of her was business in her tailored suit as she strut from the room. The door clicked shut with an ominous thud before silence rushed in.

He pivoted to face me, his features hardened to stone. "I thought you had something to say, Miss Montgomery."

The formal tone in his voice was a blow to my ego, but I didn't show it. Fear would be blood in the water...and he'd eat me alive.

"I just wanted to say thank you for giving me a chance." He perked a brow, not oblivious to the meat of why I really wanted a moment. "And about before-"

"There was no before.” He cut deep when he shrugged a shoulder. "If that's all-"

"It most certainly isn't," I interjected. My voice was doing that thing where each word was louder than the last and my frustration hung on each syllable, but I kept going. Him pretending it was nothing, that
I
was nothing, was more than I could bear. "You marched me downstairs like some petulant child and practically forced yourself on me!"

He let out a cruel laugh. "Oh please, spare me the damsel in distress bit. You wanted it." His eyes dropped to my lips as he took a step forward and god help me but I wouldn't have shoved him away if he kissed me.