The Billionaire and I (Part One) (2 page)

“What's your color?” he asked thickly.

The thought of one more strike had me ready to dissolve into tears, but I didn't want him to stop. Not yet.

“Y-yellow,” I eked out, sniffling and expecting him to arch an eyebrow in surprise. It had been too long; I could easily take twice as many before I needed to take a break. But his cerulean eyes held nothing but love as he strummed my bottom, then turned toward my favorite corner in the closet. I heard the familiar creak of the old chest that held all kinds of devices to torture and please. When he returned, he was holding a small container. He unscrewed the top slowly, then smoothed the satiny cream over my tender skin. After a vigorous round, it should have been relaxing, my body grateful for the reprieve, however brief. But Jacob was looking at me like he wasn't done with me yet. Only my man could turn aftercare into the most delicious, taboo foreplay.

He stood behind me, my arms taut, my ass still in the air, my dress hiked up to my waist. When he licked his lips, I knew what was coming next and I crooned his name.

“Jacob...”

He gave me that devilish smirk that enslaved me every time, without fail. The one where one side of his mouth lifted playfully and his eyes sparked with mischief.
“
No
w
, she speaks.” He lowered himself to his knees and I felt him breathe on my erotic flesh. “But does she moan?”

It was a rhetorical question because heck yeah I could. How could I not moan with him burying his tongue inside me?

My arms shook like Jell-o as I surrendered to his onslaught. His tongue was insatiable, probing and forcing its way deeper. Pulling me closer to a bliss that had me writhing and pushing my body into his embrace. He pulled back for a second and I swore I could hear how wet I was. His deep, guttural moan told me he could taste how close to climax I was.

“I want you to come on my face,” his voice rumbled through me.

A simple request. When he dove back inside me, adding his finger as his tongue devoured me, it wasn't even up for debate. I had no choice but to succumb. If his hands weren't on my hips, steadying me, pulling me back so I could fuck his face, I would have crumbled to the floor.

He released me, rising up with his hair wild and my juices smeared all over his face.

But that wasn't the part that made my heart flutter in my chest.

H
e
was smiling.

Chapter Two

“Leila, you are positively glowing! I know the viewers at home would murder me if I didn’t ask-what’s your secret?”

A year ago, when I was still getting used to being in Jacob’s star studded, paparazzi crammed existence, that question would have commenced the Leila Meltdown. It would start with my complexion reddening to a hue that made it very clear how uncomfortable I was. The sweat would come next, bullets exploding at my temple and streaming down my face like rain. The finale of this process would be the uncomfortable laughter.

Sensing that I was drowning and about one snort-chuckle away from becoming an auto-tuned Youtube sensation, I’d send out an SOS to Jacob.

Jacob...the reason I was glowing. I still ached from the spanking he’d given me a half hour ago; still coming down from the high of him eating me out like a man devouring his last meal.

I turned to the platinum, spray tanned woman whose eyes were telling me that in all honesty, she just wanted me to answer the question so she could grab a few minutes with my husband.

Jacob was smoldering for the cameras a few feet away. If I was the type that loved the lights and dresses and celebrity, I might have been offended, but I knew that wistful look on her face. It was the same look I’d worn when Jacob Whitmore was just a name. Untouchable. Unattainable. But when the lights went out and the screaming fans went home, he was coming home with me.

So I pulled my smile tighter and turned on the charm, fanning myself like I was utterly overwhelmed. “I’m just happy I get to tag along and put on a pretty dress.”

The entertainment reporter looked relieved, glad I threw her a bone so we could skip right over the awkward small talk and get to the question that was being asked of every woman on the red carpet tonight.

“You are working that dress, girl!” She even added a snap and neck rolling gesture to show how hip she was. “Who are you wearing?”

“Vintage Chanel,” I answered promptly. “I work with a local fashion design house that curates one-of-a-kind pieces.” When I felt the warmth of Jacob’s hand on the small of my back, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt relieved.

So was the reporter. Her blindingly white smile was almost as bright as the flashes that erupted around us. “And we have the very
,
ver
y
sexy Jacob Whitmore, finally giving us a moment to bask in his sexiness.”

Jacob offered her a hint of a smile and waved at the teenagers who were letting out eardrum splitting screams behind her. “Good evening.”

No
w
sh
e
was fanning herself. “Gorgeou
s
an
d
good manners. It’s too bad you’re off the market!”

Jacob leaned down and pressed his lips against my cheek, lingering like we were the only two people that existed. The chorus of swooning around us reminded me that we weren’t. The reporter didn’t look remotely awed by the public display of affection. Her smile reverted to the plastic one she’d first gifted me when she waved me over.

“Are you ready to head inside?” Jacob murmured in my ear.

“God, yes,” I answered. He guided me through the flashing lights, gowns, and tuxedos, avoiding the photographers that hollered his name.

The Claremont Center for Popular Media’s annual dinner brought out everyone ranging from A-list to C-list. There were wristbands, tickets, and security staff running around like the President would be making an appearance, but Jacob’s face sufficed and we walked right into the building. It probably helped that he was going to be honored for his contributions to popular media, both as the head of Whitmore and Creighton and for the Emmy-award winning sho
w
P
R
.

Once we were inside, our assigned event staff member hustled over, tablet in hand to make sure everything was a go for Jacob’s speech. When she was satisfied that he knew his cue, she hustled off and he pulled me close.

“There’s something I’m craving and I’m fairly sure it’s not at any table in that room,” he teased, stroking my cheek and reminding me of something very hot and taboo he’d done to me before we arrived.

My body was instantly ignited with need. I roped my arms around his neck and thrust my chest against his. “Clearly, I need to misbehave more often.”

His gaze was simultaneously sweet enough that my heart tap danced in my chest and naughty enough that my core fluttered.

“Not if you like sitting down,” he warned with a playful smirk.

“Geez you two-get a room!”

My best friend, Megan Scott, was standing behind Jacob, all teeth and gorgeous. If I was glowing, she was practically bursting from the seams with happiness. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a bun at the top of her head. It accentuated her round cheeks and her swan-like neck. Her dress looked like it was made of diamonds and had a high neckline that dipped low in the back when she did a little twirl, then I did my own. Jacob smiled as we oohed and aahed over each other, then he quickly glanced around like he was looking for a lifeboat in the form of Cade Wallace, so he could escape the estrogen overload.

Megan gave him an all knowing wink. “He'll be right over. He got to talking to Vin about a new project.”

I blinked at her, the gravity of her statement not lost on me. She mirrored my reaction, shaking her head.

“I know, right? Somebody pinch me because I never thought we would be dressed like this, in a place like this-”

“And saying that our partners are just having a little chat with megastars?” I finished. Or that we'd be dating our very own megastars. I glanced at Jacob, the gentlest smile on his face. It was just proof that the whole stars being just like us thing was more than a catchphrase used to rationalize snapping pictures of celebrities stuffing their faces and looking a hot mess when they left the gym. At the end of the day, we were all just people; working, living, and loving.

Megan put both her hands on my shoulders, her excitement ratcheting my own up to a fever pitch. “I've got school in the morning and I don't even care. I'm just so thrilled for Jacob!” She released me and turned to him like she was about to do the same thing but thought better of it. “I'd do a happy dance with you too, but you don't strike me as the happy dance type.”

“Not so much,” Jacob smirked.

“How about a handshake?” Cade's gravelly, distinctive voice sounded off behind us. I didn't have to crane my neck to notice Cade Wallace. Like Jacob, he was the kind of man that commanded attention. Tall, golden, with a smile that he shared as freely as his laugh; it made me feel good to know that these days, he wasn't acting both on and off screen. Cade and I had a colorful, movie grade history: girl meets the second celebrity she used to lust for, but quickly squashes any misconception that she's looking for anything other than friendship. Boy doesn't take no for an answer and goes so far as to kiss the girl. Girl's billionaire is ready to take on Goliath and draw blood...but luckily, boy finally accepts that there is and never would be anything there that wasn't platonic. Boy meets girl's best friend and finds his soulmate.

Cade enveloped me in a hug that once upon a time would have been a bad idea. When we separated, I saw nothing but respect and genuine friendship coloring his emerald eyes. Eyes that found Megan and practically sizzled with love.

I glided over to my husband, wrapping my arms around his waist. When we shared our own moment, I didn't see that tense energy whipping across his face. That used to be all he could muster as far as Cade was concerned, and rightfully so. We'd come a long way.

All around us, the glittering and tuxedoed were filing into the ballroom, ushers steering them to their seats. I rounded my arm through Jacob's and we moved toward our table near the center of the room.

They put on a hell of a show, complete with dance numbers, musical guests, and glittering lights. When the program inched towards Jacob's moment, I started twitching with excitement. I squeezed his hand and gave him a peck for good luck before he left the table and went backstage. I knew he didn't need luck; not my Jacob. Luck had nothing to do with why he was being recognized. He had goals, and he bested every obstacle to make Whitmore and Creighton into what it was today. The chances of a show about a public relations firm becoming one of the highest rated shows on television was a long shot, but Jacob's vision took it to the next level.

The host listed my husband's many accomplishments and I pictured him backstage, poised and sexy while I was siting there, struggling to keep myself together and not sob with happiness and pride. There'd been so much pain in our story recently, we deserved a little happiness. And he deserved this moment in the sun.

Jacob strode onto the stage and I was the first on my feet. Thundering applause surrounded me and I didn't even care that the tears were officially a river and my makeup was turning into soup. His face was the only thing I saw when he stepped up to the microphone, rushing a hand over his dark locks.

“Thank you,” he began, a smile curving his lips. Sparking his dimples. He looked out into the crowd and I swore he found me. “First off, I want to say that while I am so grateful to be recognized and to receive this award, I have to take a moment and say that my wife, Leila, is the best damn thing that's ever happened to me.”

A sob rose in my throat, but I managed to keep it together and just smile. I pressed my fingers to my lips and sent a kiss to him, just as Megan turned back to me. She flashed me a thumbs up, then her eyes widened in horror.

I swiped at my cheeks, confused until I heard a very familiar an
d
ver
y
unwelcome voice purr behind me.

“How touching.”

Instantly, my blood ran cold. I had a moment of wanting, needing to believe that it was some kind of delirium brought on by intense happiness. She was supposed to be in Europe. Taking a break. Finding herself. We were supposed to be rid of her.

But my eyes didn't lie. Right in the middle of my husband's acceptance speech, Rachel freaking Laraby was pulling out Jacob's seat beside me and making herself at home.

The hushed whispers around us had nothing to do with awe about Jacob's speech. Rachel had gone completely off the grid. The last images of her showed a woman that was a rundown mess, hands covering her face or growling at the camera. But the woman that had breezed to our table was the picture of glam. She'd chopped off her signature brown locks, her hair cropped and pixie like. It just intensified her beauty, drawing the eye to her striking cheekbones and her fierce green eyes. She wore a red dress that-

I took the tiniest step back, but I had to grip my chair so I didn't sway or pass out. She was wearing my dress!

By the time I remembered that this night was not about Rachel Laraby and shot my gaze back to the stage, Jacob was gone.

Rachel feigned shock. “Didn't Jacob mention that I was coming?” She shrugged her shoulders, a killer smile lighting up her face. “Surprise!”