The Billionaire and I (Part One) (4 page)

“No!” She screeched, lurching to her feet. As special as she tried to act like she was she had going from zero to crazy down to a science--just like most of the celebrities that strolled through our doors with a chip on their shoulder. “You don’t want to help me. You want to see me fail.” Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

I shook my head. “Rachel, I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you need to take a break, get yourself together-”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that!” she hollered, practically breaking the glass in the room. “You’re nothing! You’re no one!”

She stormed out of the room with all the maturity of a five year old that was told she couldn’t go over to her friend’s house before dinner. It might have been humorous if it didn’t mean that I’d have to do this whole thing over again. Drama queen or no, the job still had to be done.

I had to make peace with her.

Chapter Five

I unloaded my arms with a groan, instantly feeling fifty pounds lighter. My briefcase was filled with things I hadn't gotten around to today and even more to do tomorrow, a cell phone that hadn't stopped vibrating since this morning, and a blazer and heels that reminded me of how I'd started off the day ready to conquer the world and now I just wanted to curl up with a bottle of wine and my husband and forget the rest of the world.

I dumped my keys on the counter and almost made a beeline for the wine cabinet when I saw that a single piece of paper was laid delicately on the granite countertop. It was unassuming. Almost forgotten as spam or something that slipped out of Jacob's files. When I rounded the corner and slipped the paper closer so I could read the words scribbled on the page, a knot immediately formed in my throat.

Good Evening. I know you've had a long day, filled with putting the job first. Tonight, I'm going to take care of you.

My only requirement is that you follow the steps outlined below.

1. Remove all clothing.

2. Proceed to the second bedroom.

3. Kneel before me, hands behind your back, head bowed to your chest.

I blinked at the piece of paper, my eyes flying over the words a second time. A third. The words didn't change.

I slowly retracted my finger like any sudden movements would cost me dearly, but my mind had no qualms about flying back to the beginning of my relationship with Jacob. Back when I jumped right in the deep end, head still spinning because I'd just accepted the position of being his assistant and submissive and I thought my first assignment was flying to Venice. There'd been another piece of paper, this one folded and inside an envelope. He asked, no, h
e
tol
d
me to take off my panties. After I got over the indignation of him ordering me to do something, I obeyed and then some. But there were so many questions back then. Why did he pick me? And why did I trust a man that I’d barely met with my body and my heart?

Those questions had answers now: why not me? I was worthy of love and passion and happily ever after--and so was Jacob. And that (almost) blind trust was because something in me called out to something in him. Even at the beginning of our journey I knew that we were meant to be together.

I combed my fingers through my curls, pausing just at the end, letting them dance in and out of the dark tendrils. I pictured my husband standing where I stood now, biceps flexing as he posed over the counter, ink bleeding onto the paper. My lips ached to kiss his, imagining that half smirk when he wrote that tonight he'd take care of me. It was just vague enough that my imagination ran wild with the possibilities (St. Andrew's cross? Wax play? Spanking bench?) and I kicked myself for standing there thinking of all the things he would do to my body instead of tearing off my clothes and getting upstairs.

Excitement beating inside me like a drum, I unzipped my pants and let them sink to my ankles, already angled toward the floating staircase. My underwear was next, then my bra. I left a trail of breadcrumbs in my wake, each piece a chunk of my day that I put behind me. Rachel's smug little smile. Missy's clipped attitude when I suggested a different route for Cade's premiere. The sea of meetings that I sat through where my opinions seemed to be shot down as soon as they left my mouth.

I paused at the landing of the stairs, my breathing racing to catch up with the thunder of my heart. I moved up the steps one by one, toe heel, my smooth movements much more graceful than I thought I was capable of. That was what letting go was like; putting aside everything. Giving over control. Trusting that when I closed my eyes and took the leap that everything would be okay.

A shiver of delight rippled through me when I hit the landing
.
More than okay. Everything is going to be body twitchingly, moans erupting, wet, hard, fantastically okay.

I practically skipped to the door of the second bedroom. We played in every room of the loft, but the second bedroom was our unofficial playroom. The master bedroom had a set of discreet bondage straps and an antique leather chest that had all kinds of kinky delights. But when we wanted to immerse ourselves in the play, we used the second bedroom.

I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. The walls were a deep, charcoal gray. It was the awe inducing color of a storm, where you just stand and marvel at the power of nature. In this room, I just marveled at the power of erotic, ultimate decadence. The iron chandelier cast a warm, amber glow that stroked every furnishing in the room. My eyes landed on the mahogany St. Andrew's Cross nestled beside the fireplace. The mantle was lined with ivory candles, flames shuddering. A swing hung from the ceiling to the right, the metal hooks glimmering in the near darkness. A cube bookshelf sat a few feet away from me, but there weren't books nestled on the shelf. Each one held an unmarked metallic box and inside was a variety of instruments ranging from nipple clamps to ball gags. But the focal point of the room wasn't the St. Andrew's Cross, or the sex swing, or the suspension system connected to the four corners that would have me splayed open and completely immobilized.

Jacob stood in the center of the room.

I stopped breathing for a second, consumed by how delicious he looked. His V-neck t-shirt was a few shades lighter than the walls that surrounded us. It framed his muscular torso, showcasing every toned square of his abs. Deep blue jeans gripped his legs and I spent a few moments marveling at the fact that I could make out the contours of his arousal. Just like I was already dripping and needy, he was just as eager.

He crossed his arms and I snapped from my lust induced stupor, taking a few steps until I was close enough that I could smell that powerful scent that radiated from him. I dropped to my knees, unable to resist making a comment.

“You know, most husbands would get their wife flowers when she has a bad day.” I looped my arms behind my back and gazed up at him with a smile. “Luckily for you, I like whips and chains more than roses.”

His pools of blue glittered, but he didn't relax his tense stature an inch. “Luckily for you, that comment won't cost you since I didn't specify silence.” The sparkle hardened with delicious authority. “I was, however, very specific about how you were to present yourself to me.”

Crap
!
I ducked my chin to my chest immediately, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

“Look at me, Lay.”

I cautiously raised my head, looking up at him behind my eyelashes. I saw love glowing in his gaze.

“The comment you made, how you almost never completely obey me--it's you. Headstrong. Stubborn. Beautiful, sexy you.” A smile fluttered across his lips when he reached down and traced my jawline with his finger. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

I leaned into his touch. Savoring the tenderness because I had a feeling what was coming next would be far from warm and fuzzy. When he pulled away from me, I lowered my head. Never in a million years would I have believed that one day I'd not only be in a playroom filled with devices that were historically used to torture people, but that I'd crave the slice of pain that my lover elicited with those devices. That I'd take off every shred of clothing and drop to my knees while he towered above me, fully clothed and in complete control. I not only said yes but I said hell yes--with my lips and with my body. I said yes with the way my flesh rippled with goosebumps, nipples hardening, core pulsing with anticipation.

My eyes were on the floor, but I saw his shoes through my peripheral vision. He was going to the bookcase. Which box would he pick? I gulped hard when I heard the metallic clink of something yet unidentified. Before I could run through the list of possibilities, Jacob broke the silence.

“Stand up.”

I braced my fingertips on the hardwood floor and rose without a word, sweeping my arms behind my back. I brought my chin to my chest, watching his shadow advance toward me. I nearly melted when his fingertips grazed my forearm and skated up to my shoulder. The metallic clink sounded again and I sucked in a breath when I felt something cool and heavy encircle my right wrist, then my left.

Handcuffs.

He guided me to the corner where the spanking bench sat inconspicuously to the average eye. It just looked like a leather bench, but I knew that when Jacob bent me over, the cushion fit the contours of my body perfectly and it was the perfect height for spanking--and other things.

I was ready to sink onto it, ass in the air, ready for him to use me. Tease me. Free me. But he stopped me a few feet from the bench, his arm roping across my stomach and pulling me back against him. His hand glided to my breast, clutching and massaging my mound. Pinching the nipple.

“What's your color, Leila?” he breathed into my ear.

“Green,” I sighed without hesitation.

“Very well.” His words were poised and calm but I heard the excitement in his voice.
I
fel
t
his excitement, solid and raging.

He released my breast and the same hand that had stroked me tenderly and fingered my nipple pushed me forward with a force that made me gasp. I had a moment of complete loss of control as the bench rushed up to meet me, the leather cushion softening the blow. My arms twitched instinctively to adjust or steady my body, but the cuffs made it futile. I couldn't move or do anything but breathe.

Wait. Trust.

His fingers smoothed across my bottom. Soft, teasing strokes. He'd pause. Retract. And I'd tense, expecting him to land the first strike in an intense spanking.

When he did the combination--stroke, squeeze, pause, release--and I didn't clench my muscles in anticipation for the first blow, his fingers drew lower, caressing my folds. Slipping just inside. My core didn't follow the rules. It didn't surrender. When one finger became too, a moan poured from my mouth.

He increased the speed, thrusting in and out of my warmth until I saw stars exploding in my eyes.

“Tell me to fuck you,” he commanded.

“Fuck me, Jacob.” I whispered.

I hitched a breath when I felt the cuffs loosen, then fall to the floor with a clang. I dropped my arms to the floor, my fingertips perking, then clawing when I felt him spread me wide. He moved inside me with a fever pitch that sang in my bones.

More.

Harder.

Deeper.

Our moans collided in time with our bodies and when he said the word, I soared into the arms of my climax. His was earth shattering, the roar he let loose as he filled me with his passion enveloping me.

Still warm with his passion, but more invigorated and whole than I'd felt all day, I skipped down the stairs, headed to the kitchen to get us both some hard earned water. I swiped two bottles of Evian and pivoted back toward the staircase when my phone buzzed to life in my briefcase. I almost ignored it, but a part of me held out hope that it was Rachel, ready to bury the hatchet and get to work.

I cradled the bottles of water and scooped out my phone, frowning when I saw the name flashing up at me. I accepted it and brought it to my ear. “Jessa?”

“Oh, thank God!” She sounded even more frazzled than usual, like she'd just run a marathon and couldn't catch her breath. “I know you don't like to be disturbed at home unless it's an emergency.” She drew a breath, then another. “It's an emergency, Mrs. Whitmore.”

My heart lurched to my throat. Before I could even gather the breath to ask for more details, she set my world on fire.

“It's Rachel Laraby,” she explained. “She did a live interview an hour ago and she said that Jacob Whitmore was the love of her life, but she had to end things because he was into-”

I dropped the phone.

I dropped the bottles of water.

My feet flew toward the living room, fumbling for the remote control. With the nature of our work, the channel was often set to Entertainment News. And there was Rachel on the screen, staring at the interviewer with tears streaming down her face. The volume wasn't even necessary because the headline flashing on the screen said it all
:
Rachel Laraby tells all: Billionaire Jacob Whitmore wanted to make her his 'sex slave
'
.

~

Thank you for taking the time to rea
d
The Billionaire and I: Part On
e
. Please consider leaving a review. xoxo, A.C.

~

The Billionaire And
I
Release Schedule:

The Billionaire and I: Part One -- September 11, 2015

The Billionaire and I: Part Two -- September 18, 2015

The Billionaire and I: Part Three -- September 25, 2015