Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (67 page)

“I’m sorry,” I offered, turning to the window and looking at the bright blue sky. After a few weeks of triple digit weather it was actually pretty nice outside. Perfect for a nice stroll in the park.

Or a spanking on the patio
, I thought mischievously. I turned back to the front, banishing the delicious images and sensations that came with a vengeance. My body revolted against my attempts to keep things professional. It took me back to the spanking bench, feeling the leather against my heated skin, the fear colliding with anticipation for the first strike. Knowing the apprehensive, straight and narrow girl that walked into Whitmore and Creighton all those months ago was a stranger and in her place was someone adventurous.

And touching yourself with him on the other end of the phone is another adventure...

“Don’t pity me too much,” he said, bringing me from the ledge. “This is the part I love. Meetings. Debating. Winning.”

I could almost make out the yummy smile that curved his lips. Personally, I knew if I were in London and I spent most of the time handling business I wouldn’t be a happy camper.

The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace...I wouldn’t mind the lines or the dreary weather if it meant I’d get to experience the culture of the city. But where sightseeing made me salivate, Jacob lived for the boardrooms and nitty gritty that made Whitmore and Creighton a powerhouse.

“How are things at the office?” he asked.

“Same ole,” I shrugged, swiveling my chair from the left to the right. “Your calendar’s been updated to accommodate the London trip for almost 48 hours now but I’m still getting a steady stream of calls for you.” I eyed the list in front of me, ranging from board members to prospective clients who hoped personal appeals would give them an advantage over those who used their assistants to query for representation.

Tucked in between calls rom celebutantes and squirrely investors was a thread dedicated to Alicia alone. After call one I told her that Jacob was unavailable and was utterly swamped...and it was a waste of breath. Every call started out with an apology about Macy and spilled into a list of other reputable planners and businesses that could make all my dreams come true. Every call I was quiet instead of telling her it wasn’t
my
dreams because the only one that got ME was the very woman she fired.

Since she wasn’t actively trying to end me and Jacob, I didn’t want to rock the boat but that left me fielding calls from a woman that had a new project: turning my wedding into an event talked about for years to come. I didn’t have the guts to tell her I didn’t need a legion of planners, florists, and staff to make my day special. The only thing I needed was Jacob.

But I hadn’t talked to him either. As much crap as I gave Megan, her words got through. We needed to talk about what he wanted. What I wanted.

Well at the moment, I need something to distract me from being so horny that I’m actually entertaining the idea of phone sex.

“You’re really quiet,” he observed, his deep voice taking on the concerned edge that made me want to spill my heart and soul to him.

But I drug my feet, fidgeting in my chair and suddenly not feeling chatty at all. He’d barely blinked at lunch after his mother said she was trying. That she wanted this to be their fresh start. if I told him a huge, lavish thing was pretty much my nightmare, I knew he’d hear me and tell his mom to back off and I didn’t want to cause any friction between them. And the important thing was Jacob, right? Loads of brides hand over the guest list to their parents and focus on things like the dress and the cake and the bridesmaids.

Either way, I needed to say something if I didn’t want him to know how stressed I really was about this whole thing.

“I’m just thinking about wedding stuff.”

“So my mother’s been harassing you, then?”

Ding ding ding
. “She’s just...”
Too much? Completely nuts?
“Really excited.” I opened my mouth, the truth lingering on my tongue. I could even give him the watered down version. ‘It sounds nice, but I think we should consider doing something smaller.’ or ‘What do you think about doing something a little more low-key?’.

“You know, I’m at the point where I’m just gonna let her have at it.” Just when I was ready to hurl the phone across the room he finished with, “As long as I get to call you my wife at the end of all of this, the how’s aren’t important. We’re important.”

Great. He was simultaneously uber sweet and contradictory without meaning to be. I’d never get tired of hearing his excitement about making me his wife, but the reason I was gritting my teeth and gripping my phone tight was because I felt like we wouldn’t be represented in the ceremony. All the right people behind the scenes, all the right names on the guest list. A ceremony worthy of the Whitmore name. It was so far removed from the essence of me and Jacob that you could just copy and paste another society couple into our places and none would be the wiser.

It's not like it would suck. Nothing less than fantastic would get that woman's stamp of approval. And even though Jacob would rather chop off his arm than admit it, I knew there were pieces of him that wanted a connection to his mother. To try and grow and move past the things that happened in hopes that the future was their chance to get it right.

I released my choke hold on my lip, tucking away the tiny voice that whispered ‘What about me?’ and listened instead to how much I missed him.

"Have a date yet for when you're coming home?"

"We're getting close," he answered. "Two more days if I had to guess." There was a shuffle, and my body warmed as I imagined him rearranging in the bed. Muscles rippling, golden lines of his chest roping me in and making my temperature rise despite the frosty air flowing from the vent a few feet away.

"You miss me?" I said, my voice breathy. Hot.

"More than I can say." His voice was just as thick, burning with a need that made me tremble.

Thick with sleep!
The part of me that knew how dangerously close I was to sliding the hand on my thigh a little closer to the hem of my skirt, under it, was trying desperately to hold onto the illusion that this conversation wouldn't end up where we both knew it was headed. Even with all the wedding drama, I could feel my body drawn to him like he was in the room and not millions of miles away.

And it's not like you've followed that whole 'professionalism' rule
, the inner desire whispered. I didn't want to fight. I wanted to hear what he wanted to do to me. How badly he needed me.

"What are you wearing, Leila?"

I swallowed hard, every syllable of the question rippling over me. I was gonna do this, but no way would I not lock the door. With my luck the mail clerk would decide to deliver the mail right when I was in the throes, moaning wildly; too wild to explain away.

"I'm just gonna lock-"

"Don't you dare," he growled. I froze like he was towering above me, blue eyes glaring me into submission.

Truth was I could slip over and lock it and he wouldn't be the wiser, but I rooted myself in place, letting out a, 'yes sir'.

"I don't need to repeat myself, do I Leila?"

I frowned, my cheeks flaring. I answered his question. "I—" Oh. The first question. I glanced down quickly, suddenly forgetting. My brain was a fuzzy mess, everything hazy except the steady throb between my thighs. I fingered a button on my blouse. "I'm wearing a black button down blouse-"

"The sheer one?"

My mouth curved upward, pleased he noticed enough to commit it to memory. "Yes."

There was a pause and I swore I heard him moving. Pulling up into a seated position because I had his attention.

"I know you look beautiful," he said, his deep voice sure, like he was stating fact, like how 1+1 equals two or the earth revolved around the sun. "What else?"

"A charcoal gray skirt," I spread my fingers down the front of it. "It stops at my knees when I stand up."

"And now?"

I felt the heat spread, not leaving a single inch of me untouched. "Right now it's mid thigh."

He let out a rumbling sound that came from the back of his throat and shot to my groin, making me clench. I knew my panties were going to be a sticky mess by the time this was all said and done and I didn't even care.

"And beneath?"

I pushed my chair back a few inches, spreading my thighs. "A black bra and a black thong."

"If I were there-"

"If you were here, I'd drop to my knees and suck you until you exploded in my mouth." It came out as a single word and I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, squeezing my eyes shut. Jesus...it was like it had been a lifetime since he touched me. It had only been two days, but even that seemed too long. Too much to bear.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, knowing that I'd interrupted him. What devastatingly sexy thing would he leave unsaid to discipline me?

"Don't apologize," he said smoothly. "You'd get no complaints from me. I'd love to feel your mouth on me. Your hot little tongue sliding up and down the hardened length."

My heart jumped in my chest when I closed my eyes as he let out a deep groan. Was he touching himself? Imagining my lips around his thick shaft? I was dying to touch myself, to sink my fingers inside.

"Jacob," I whispered hoarsely.

"Not yet," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. So he
was
punishing me. Suddenly two words were more harsh than any spanking he'd dealt. "I still have to tell you what I'm going to do to you."

I squirmed, knowing that would do nothing for the ache, but loving it. Nothing was as sweet as giving him control. Nothing was more sexy than submitting.

"I wouldn't come," he continued. "Not yet anyway. I'd pull you to your feet by those wild curls and bend you over the edge of the desk."

I gripped my knee, feeling the desire leak from me.
A spanking. God yes.

"I know what you're expecting. My hand to turn you red. But not today, love. Today, I want to touch you. Finger fuck you." He paused and I could hear how labored his breathing was. "Would you like that? Me plunging my fingers in and out of you?"

"Y-yes."

"Touch yourself, Leila."

If my skirt gave me any trouble I'd already decided to grab the scissors in my cup and cut myself free. Luckily, my hand slipped under the material easily, fingertips straining until I brushed the crotch of my panties. I pulled them to the side and sunk two hands in and a long, desperate moan poured out of my mouth.

"How wet are you?" He asked, his voice tight.

"Sopping," I eked out, feeling my delicate folds quiver as I went deeper.

"Don't stop," he ordered thickly. "I wouldn't—not before I got to feel how hot and wet you are with my cock."

"Oh Jacob," I sighed in between moans. In between thrusts. My legs were splayed open but that wasn't enough. I threw my leg up on my desk, pen cup, folders flying.

"You know what you do to me?" he said, his voice no longer controlled but unhinged. Wild. "I need you. No one else. No one else...don't stop, Leila. Not until you come."

I was rolling my hips, thrusting the air wildly. When I used my other hand to touch that knot of nerves, the swollen button that would set me free, I knew I was close. But I didn't want to go there alone. I needed him too.

"Come with me," I begged, hoping for an answer soon because my whole body was alive, nerves tingling with the electric current that shorted everything but the two of us. Everything except this pleasure.

"I'm close," he said brusquely. "Are you ready?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body tilting precariously on the edge. "Yes...I...
I
..."

"Come."

The pressure was unbearable.

Beautiful.

Agony.

Release.

I knew I was groaning, crying out for him.
Jacob
. And he said my name, pulling together the pieces of me. Making me whole again.

"Fuck a few days," he said with a rumbling laugh. "I'm taking no prisoners." His voice deepened, making me grin because I knew what it meant. "Get some rest."

He didn't need to say more than that. When he got home, he was going to blow my freaking mind.

I grinned, pushing aside the whispers about the wedding.
Bring it on.

****

"I
guess this means I'm out of the dog house."

I rolled my eyes so hard they practically rolled out of my head. It would have just made things worse if Mom would have seen it, but she was preoccupied with trying to figure out how to sit her seat up.

At least I could roll my eyes in peace. I had a feeling peace, calm and lack of drama would be non existent for the next few hours.

"You feel the lever on the side? Pull it up to bring the chair up and push it down to recline."

"Well I'm certainly not going to recline," she huffed. "If I recline anymore I'll be horizontal."

I watched as she brought the seat to an awkward ninety degree angle before I put the car in drive. I was trying to keep my eyes on the road, but she kept fidgeting and squirming in her seat.

"Everything alright, Mom?"

"It's just the leather is so stiff." When I gave her a wary look, she tacked on, "Not that it's not a beautiful car, honey. I'm just not used to all these frills."

You'd think we were riding in a Bentley instead of a ‘13 Hyundai Sonata. I knew she was just being herself, ornery with a smile, but I couldn't help but take offense. This was the first car that ever had my name on it. I put down the hefty downpayment myself and signed the dotted line and upgraded from my rust bucket to something shiny. And
mine
. I felt so empowered. Proud.

When I came over and presented it with a flourish, she took every ounce of air from my sails by asking if it was a gift from Jacob.When I told her I bought it with my salary she gave me this pointed look that all but said that wasn't that different. And then there was her lackluster ‘Awww’ when she saw the ring. I was totally unprepared for it since she’d hounded Jacob, trying to figure out why I didn't have a ring.