His Passion (By His Command #4) (4 page)

“Open your eyes.”

When I did, I found Jonathan Black staring
at me. He had since taken his suit jacket off, telling me that he
had watched me fall asleep, then got up to deal with business. I
had to understand that no matter we were doing, he still had a
massive global company to run. It wasn’t that long ago I stood in
his office, thousands of miles away, making plans to fly to
California. We were supposed to go to California to handle
business, which turned out to be Oliver Rush creating his own
deathbed.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Almost there. Do you like snow?”

“If I’m with you, I like anything.”

“Good answer.”

His hand moved from my face to my shoulder,
forcing me to my back. His hand left my body but only for a few
seconds before touching me at my stomach. His fingers curled,
lifting my shirt followed by his fingers twisting at the button on
my pants.

I moaned and reached for him with my right
hand. I cupped his thickness, surprised that he was already hard. I
had mastered the zipper on his suit pants by now, that tiny smooth
zipper that barely made any noise.

His fingers were moving down into my panties
with speed, seeking out my sweet curve, leading to my wetness. When
his fingers touched my slit, he groaned as though he was surprised
that I was wet. I looked at him and smiled. Of course I was wet…
Jonathan Black was gorgeous and my body couldn’t resist it.

He touched me with gentle care, the tips of
his fingers penetrating me. He circled and stretched me, slipping
two fingers into me. His other hand pulled up my shirt right to the
bottom of my bra, leaving my stomach exposed for whatever he had
planned.

My hand was inside his pants, digging
through cloth, finding his warm, hard skin. I pulled, yet another
mastering feat of mine, and took Jonathan out of his pants. He was
long and throbbing, my hand moving faster and eager.

Jonathan’s fingers were going right for the
orgasmic kill. My hand remained tight on his shaft and I stroked
him, giving it right back. I stared at him as he stared at me, our
breathing obviously loud. We were able to release all the emotions
we wanted to, the ones we held back while we were in the
stairway.

I could feel the plane starting its descent;
that wild lose-your-stomach feeling.

We were going to be on the ground in a few
minutes.

The way Jonathan’s eyes burned at me, I knew
what he wanted. He wanted to come before the plane landed. That was
my next challenge.

No problem.

Besides pumping him with my hand, I used my
body to bring Jonathan to climax. I planted my heels in the bed and
thrust myself at his fingers, working into the same motion and
speed, increasing the pleasure for myself and feeling for Jonathan.
The more he moved – and the more I moved – the hotter and wetter I
became. As I approached my own orgasm, I gripped him tighter,
pulling harder and faster. I turned my body just a little, allowing
the tip of his erection to graze my stomach.

I stroked him root to tip, the way Jonathan
liked to be pleased. At his root, he thrust and my fingers were
tight, pulling, wanting his warm release on my body. At his tip, I
squeezed, adding that extra pressure to the most sensitive part of
his sex.

His fingers were relentless inside my slit,
fingering me through my orgasm. I whimpered and opened my mouth,
letting out small cries. I didn’t need to tell Jonathan I was
coming, it was obvious. My walls were tender, hopeful that Jonathan
would thrust himself into me again, but that wasn’t going to happen
right now.

I continued to pump myself at his fingers,
even as he slowed. In my hand, his erection started to engorge,
thickening and hardening to its final state. Jonathan started to
thrust himself at my hand and I moved as fast as I could, bringing
my pace to one he could keep up with. My hand still touched
everything on his shaft and with a long, satisfying grunt, Jonathan
started to come.

I placed the bottom of his shaft to my
stomach and felt the pouring release on me. I cried out and
continued to stroke him, opening my hand and rubbing as fast as I
could on the top of his cock while the bottom was against my
stomach. As I breathe, it increased the pressure, and he continued
to come. His right hand still touched between my legs, his fingers
tensed, tight, and sexy. His left hand had slipped behind my head,
taking a handful of my hair. He twisted it, making my moan.

When he finished, my stomach was smothered
in Jonathan. I stopping stroking him but Jonathan didn’t stop
thrusting. He continued for a few more seconds, allowing my eyes to
stare down and absorb it all. Watching his perfect sex running
between my stomach and my hand.

Why couldn’t we just fly around the world
and have each other’s bodies?

The plane then landed and Jonathan
instructed me to clean myself up and get ready. As I moved from the
bed towards the bathroom, he called my name…

“
Isabella Grace?”

I turned and smiled, watching him put his
jacket on. I stood holding my shirt up, his orgasm clinging to my
stomach, trying to run down towards my open pants.

“Yes, Mr. Black?”

Jonathan smiled. “You’re going to want a
winter jacket. I have a few here for you.”

“Winter…?”

“Oh, Isabella Grace, I told you we were
traveling.”

“We’re not back in California?”

Jonathan shook his head. “My father likes to
hide himself anywhere he can. He has houses in all fifty states,
along with plenty more across the world.”

“Like father like son?” I asked, regretting
it the moment I asked it.

Jonathan’s face dropped. “Never compare me
to him. Dress warm, we’re in the Rockies.”

-6-

It appeared to be a small cottage, something
quaint and for the use of those in need of rest, relaxation, or
maybe a gathering with family and friends during or around the
holidays. A picture perfect setting with snowcapped mountains, sun
rays massaging but never breaking up the snow. The air was bitterly
cold but an almost refreshing kind of cold, the kind where you take
a deep breath and actually feel alive and well.

The best part was the distance we now had
between ourselves and the corpse of Oliver Rush. I promised myself
that would be the only time I would think of him, but I knew it was
a lie.

The place looked empty and dark, and
something told me that was done on purpose.

When Jonathan took the first of three steps
to get to the front door, he stopped.

“He’s knows we’re coming,” he whispered. He
shook his head and moved from the steps to the ground, his hand
tight in mine. “He’ll want to show off. For you.”

“For me?”

“He knows. Everything.”

Hearing that from Jonathan about Jonathan
would be hot. Hearing from Jonathan about another man wasn’t so
much. I preferred to be left what I was before Jonathan Black chose
me, a hopeless intern wanting to prove my worth in hours and
dimes.

We walked around the cottage and I admired
it some more, seeing obvious signs of aging and maybe even a touch
of neglect. Part of me believed I was going to meet Jonathan
Black’s father and see him as a rugged mountain man, living off the
land.

I had questions but I didn’t want to stir
the emotion pot that was Jonathan Black.

When we arrived to the back of the cottage,
there was a back deck that overlooked the mountains. It was just
minutes from darkness and the sunset was at the front of the house
telling me the sunrises were off the back deck. The sunrises must
have been beautiful. Well worth living in a cottage that needed a
little work.

“The view is beautiful,” I said.

“Don’t be fooled,” Jonathan said.

He pulled me to his side and his hand went
to my hip. He held me tight and we stood in place, staring at the
cottage. As I started to ask him what exactly we were doing, he let
out a series of quick whistles. A second later, the ground beneath
our feet started to shake. I thought the mountain had given way and
we were going to be part of an avalanche, but then I heard the
mechanical hum of machines working. My body jumped as the ground
moved down.

“Jonathan…”

Jonathan squeezed me tighter and put his
lips to my ear. “I told you to call me Mr. Black. You’re going to
pay for that one…
sweet Isabella Grace
.”

The ground continued to move, small patches
of snow cascading down around us. We were now standing at an
extreme angle, staring at a large, silver garage door.

“No way,” I whispered.

“He likes gadgets,” Jonathan said. “You
think he’d find better ways to invest
his
money.”

Jonathan put an emphasis on the word
his
telling me that Jonathan Black was not some silver spoon
kid turned into man. Maybe I’d find out. Maybe I wouldn’t.

The garage door came up as Jonathan started
to walk again, taking me with him.

The slow moving door brought into view the
figure of a man, standing with his arms folded, his face cross, and
black shiny hair. His head was back and his lips puckered as though
everything happening was a complete waste of his time.

When we were close to enough to talk, he
spoke first.

“Jonathan.”

“Father.”

Father.

It sounded childish coming from Jonathan’s
mouth.

“I believe you are to call me Mr. Black,”
his father said. He smiled with a vindictive smile, digging fingers
into old wounds so fast.

This was going to be an interesting
visit.

“Unfortunately, I’m Mr. Black,” Jonathan
replied. “May I remind you of the global enterprise I started, on
my own, and still continue to run, on my own.”

“Big shot,” his father replied. “I forgot.”
His father looked at me, his eyes deadset on my eyes, the same way
Jonathan looked at me.

The effect was nothing near the same.

I could instantly tell Jonathan’s father was
manipulative, calculating, and cold. The stare was so cold and so
deadly. My body shivered and I sought the comfort in Jonathan’s
hold on my waist. There were obvious features in Jonathan’s father
that compared him to his son, but there were lines along the corner
of his eyes that time had created along with crater like patches on
his cheeks that suggested whiskey. His jaw line had the potential
to be like Jonathan’s, rewinding time maybe, and the stubble on his
face teetered between needing attention or just leaving it go to
grow into actual facial hair.

He unfolded his hands and stepped from the
garage towards me. His hand was out, looking for a handshake.

I didn’t know what to do.

Disrespect Jonathan Black.

Or disrespect Jonathan Black’s father.

Jonathan made the decision for me, his hand
going to my elbow and pushing at it.

I shook his father’s hand and everyone still
remained silent.

It must have been a family trait. Break
people down with silent stares.

Jonathan’s stare was erotic. His father’s
stare was evil.

“You must be
Isabella Grace
,” his
father said, letting my name roll of his tongue. “I wasn’t so sure
I’d welcome your company, considering the events leading to this,
but I can reassure you my position hasn’t changed. You can call me
Mr. Black.”

“No, she won’t,” Jonathan said. “As I’ve
said, I’m Mr. Black.” Jonathan talked to me, allowing me to break
my stare from his father. “You can call him John.”

My mouth fell open, wanting to know if
Jonathan had been named after his father.

Old wounds, fresh blood
, I reminded
myself.

I looked back to John.

“Fair enough,” he said, still holding my
hand. His other hand came forward and he started to caress my hand.
I hated the touch, hated it. “A woman as beautiful as you, miss
Isabella Grace, is welcome in my home and my heart.”

He smiled at me but looked at his son.

“Can we at least go inside?” Jonathan asked.
“You wanted us here, here we are.”

“You needed to be here,” John said. “I’m
sure we all can agree on that.”

John looked back to me, offering an eyebrow
raise with his smile. He broke our handshake and then started to
walk, his hands slipping in his pockets. I waited for Jonathan to
move, giving his father plenty of room ahead. I could sense the
apprehension instantly, knowing Jonathan wanted to rush back to the
car, the airport, and just fly away.

I couldn’t say I blamed him. I’d rather be
back in the plane too. In the bed. Our hands… each other’s bodies…
his sexual command. His need.

“Move,” Jonathan whispered and we started to
walk.

Ten steps into the walk, John paused and
spun around. His finger was pointed at us and I gasped, seeing a
gun for a second. There was no gun.

“Question for you,
son
,” John
said.

“Ask away.”

“Did you get your three billion back?” He
asked with sarcastic tone, telling me he already knew the answer to
that question. When he turned to walk again without giving Jonathan
a chance to answer, it was obvious he knew the answer to that.

When we stepped into the garage, it started
to close. Once it touched the floor, the ground began to lift back
up, creating the illusion that the garage didn’t exist. In the
garage, everything was chrome. Bright. Expensive. Manly. I counted
seven cars – all makes and models that were well into the six
figures, all black – before we moved from the garage to the
basement. The basement was more of a great room, with a ceiling
that had to be at least twelve feet high. The architecture of the
house was nothing but a farce. The outside made to look like a
simple, somewhat run down cottage. The inside the epitome of luxury
and money.

A fire burned in a large stone
fireplace.