The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (18 page)

I searched
through the clothes, shifting aside hangers.  I knew some of what was here,
since I'd grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to change into before heading
to dinner, but most of it was a mystery.  More jeans, dresses, cute skirts and
blouses, t-shirts and tanktops and...

Nightgowns.  Not
many pajamas from what I saw, but maybe Jeremy put those in the dresser?  I
should check, except, no, what did it matter?  I was here, alone, and really, I
could wear what I wanted.  The nightgowns looked lovely, too.  I immediately
stared at a red one and decided I needed to wear it.  Nothing else would do.

I plucked the
hanger from the closet and set the nightgown on the bed.  Not really a
nightgown so much as a babydoll, much shorter at the bottom and with a pair of
thong panties hanging hidden on the hanger.  Somewhat scandalous, really, the
kind of thing a woman wore to bed when she didn't actually want to go to
sleep.  Or, the kind of nightclothes a single woman wore in hopes of not
wearing them to bed alone for much longer.

I pulled the
babydoll and panties off the hanger.  The panties were light and stringy and
nearly non-existent.  What the heck was Jeremy doing to me here?  He'd bought
these without my knowledge and had taken quite a few liberties.  Maybe he was
some kind of pervert?  He seemed nice enough, though, so I doubted it.

I stepped out of
my casual heels and stripped off my jeans and t-shirt, socks, underwear, and
bra.  The lacy lingerie, near see-thru in some parts, looked especially naughty
laying on the floor by my feet.  I had ideas, thoughts, but I pushed them away
for now.  Maybe later?  Like a nightcap, before I went to bed, I'd touch...

Jessika!  I
yelled at myself and stared at the babydoll again.  Well, panties first, I
decided.  I stepped into the g-string undergarment and lifted it up my legs,
fitting it into place.  It felt nice and soft, what little of it there was.  I
pulled on the waistband a little, feeling the fabric nestle between my lower
lips, an intimate secret soon to be hidden by the babydoll.

Then I slipped
the thin nightgown on, pulling it down my frame until the spaghetti straps
settled on my shoulders.  I shifted around, setting my breasts into place in
the slightly cupped front.  The skirt stopped barely below my crotch, offering
a tantalizing peek at the lower curves of my butt in the back.  I desperately
needed to look in a mirror, so I ran to the bathroom to check myself out.

My God!  I
looked so cute and sexy.  The chest part of the babydoll was black and shear,
practically translucent, and I could see my nipples through the fabric, firm
and pronounced.  The rest was solid, red with tiny black dots, and a bit of
frill at the bottom of the skirt.  The skirt barely covered anything and when I
twirled around in front of the mirror, admiring myself, it fluttered up and
revealed my butt and the split lips of my pussy with a faint bit of fabric
between them.

I was
ravishing!  Or, I liked to think I was.  I wasn't particularly ravishing for
any one person, but if someone walked into the house right now with absolutely
no intent on having sex with me, I thought I could change their mind rather
easily.  Not that I'd do that, but the idea that I could had appeal.  Some sex
kitten, a sensual woman of lust and beauty, inciting roaring fires of passion inside
anyone who looked at me.

I laughed to
myself and thought about my recent photography session with Asher.  I hadn't
worn anything special for that, nothing too out of the ordinary anyways, but
I'd managed to accidentally seduce him then.  I felt somewhat badly about it,
and he did, too, but at the time I'd needed it.  Wanted him, desired him, and
he must have felt the same.  Now, if he saw me, what would he do?  His
photography hobby was a real thing, not a ploy to get women into bed, but
disregarding that I was pretty sure I could convince him to skip the pictures
altogether in this outfit.

Unfortunately
there was no Asher, nor any pictures or a camera, but only books.  I hurried
downstairs and then down again, into the quiet basement library.  My babydoll
skirt flipped up as I rushed into the library, but I didn't care.

Now, what book
to read?  I didn't even know what books he owned.  Too many, by far.  I wanted
something steamy and sexy, though, to fit my nightclothes.  Something sensual
and passionate and...

I saw the spine
of a book with a picture of a woman facing away on it.  She wore a backless red
dress and had a rose tattooed from between her shoulder blades all the way down
to the small of her back.  Black hair, mysterious. 
Kushiel's Chosen
, by
Jacqueline Carey.  I pulled it out of the bookcase and read the back cover.

Some kind of
fantasy, epic by the look of it, with a bit of mystery and intrigue.  Vague
insinuations of saucy seduction, too.  Unfortunately this was the second book
in this series, so said the inside cover, but I didn't have time for the
first.  I didn't even know if I'd like this one, but I figured I'd read for a
few hours, test it out, and then make my choice.  If I liked it, I'd find the
first book in the series and read that tomorrow.

The book
devoured me.  A historical romance of sorts, with some godly twists.  I sat on
the couch, covered in blankets, entranced by the words.  I didn't know much
about Jacqueline Carey, but I liked how she wrote.  Very poetic and pleasant
sounding sentences, but not too far and over the top.  Just enough, just right.

Absorbed in the
book, I barely realized something in the library was wrong.  Something off, a
bit of a change, obvious if I cared to notice but imperceptible in my current,
rapt state.

That all changed
when one of the bookcases by the center of the room swung away from the wall
and someone stepped out through a hidden doorway.  I looked up, saw the man,
dropped the book, and screamed.

Asher laughed. 
"What are you screaming at?" he asked.

My scream
tapered off but my eyes remained wide.  I stared at him standing in the middle
of his library.  He pulled on the edge of the swung open bookcase and pushed it
back against the wall.  It clicked into a secret casing on the floor, looking as
if it had never opened to begin with.

I stared at him,
never blinking.

"What?"
he asked.

"What are
you doing what was that why do you have a secret passageway in your guest home
what the heck?"  No time for coherent thought, I rambled all my questions
out at once.

"You
remember
The Goonies
, right?  I told you I always wanted to be like that
boy with the gadgets when I was younger?  I don't think I ever really grew out
of that."

"Are you
serious?" I asked.  "That's your answer?"

"Well, I
didn't expect you to be in the library, either."

"You told
me I could stay in your guest house for the night, and this library
is
in the guest house..."

"I suppose
so.  What are you reading?"

He walked
towards me.  Unlike me, Asher still wore his regular clothes: khakis and a
casual, button-down shirt.  Kneeling to pick up the book, he inspected it, then
smiled.

I stared at him,
confused, and pulled the blankets up higher, covering myself completely.  I
wanted to look sexy, but that was when I thought I was alone, and now... I
didn't really know what I wanted to do.

"This is a
good one," he said.  "Have you read the first?  I like the second
part of the series more, the three books after the first three, but the first
three are great, too."

"I
haven't," I said.  "It looked interesting, though.  I like her
dress."

"Ah,
Phedre, yes," he said.  "She's an interesting character."

"She seems
kind of slutty," I said without thinking.  "I haven't gotten very
far, but..."  My words trailed off.

"Maybe she
is in some ways."  Asher shrugged, grinning.  "I think she's very
open with herself, too.  Also, there's religious reasons, somewhat.  It's a
strange book, but interesting."

"Religious
reason to be a slut?" I asked, laughing.

"Yes, of
course.  Shall I go into a long rant about—"  While he spoke, he sat on
the couch next to me.  Kicking off his shoes, he lifted up the blanket and
settled in beside me.

My God.  I
stared at him, frozen.  He looked at me, nonchalant, completely confused at my
sudden hesitation.  As I backed away from him slightly, inching towards the arm
of the couch until my back pressed against it, Asher reached beneath the
blanket to put his hand on my thigh.

Some calming
gesture, no doubt.  I needn't be afraid, this was some conversation between two
friends.  Little did he know, I had nothing covering my thigh.  Also, he
misjudged and reached quite a bit farther up.  His hand touched down against
the very top of my thigh, his pinky finger brushing against the cloth of my
babydoll's g-string and settling in right next to my lower lips.  I think it
dawned on him that something was off right about the time my face burned bright
red, but his hand never moved.

Asher froze. 
"You're not wearing pants," he said.

"I changed
into pajamas."

He furrowed his
brow.  "This doesn't feel like pajamas."

His fingers
wiggled slightly, his pinky finger tweaking my intimate lips back and forth,
faintly touching my clit and sending a shiver through my body.

Shocked,
surprised, Asher tossed off the blankets and looked at his hand.  I bit my lower
lip, embarrassed at the pleasure he gave me, never wanting or expecting this to
happen.  Or, at least I never expected it, and I pretended not to want it.

"That's...
a nice outfit..." he said slowly.

"Um,
Asher?" I said.  His hand, still not moving away.  I glanced down at it,
then back to him.

"Yes?  Oh,
uh... uh..."  He pulled his hand away, thrust it into his lap.  "I'm
so sorry.  I didn't realize.  Where did you get that?  What the hell did Jeremy
buy you?  I'm so sorry."

"It's
alright.  It wasn't your fault."  I lay there, lewd and on display, not
sure what to do. 

Asher pulled the
tossed blanket off the floor and placed it on me, covering my legs and lower
body.  "Well," he said.

"Well,"
I agreed.

We made out. 
Asher dove on top of me, throwing the blankets aside once more.  Surprised at
first, I shook out of it fast.  He practically smothered me, pressed his body
against me, his lips seeking mine.  His hand grabbed my breast and he groped
and squeezed it and his knee settled between my spread legs.  He kissed me hard
and I reveled in it, kissing him back.  His soft, sensuous lips, so smooth and
light yet hard and yearning.  I didn't know what came over him, but it was so
obvious that right now he wanted me.

I desperately
wanted him, too.  I pulled him closer, tugged at his shirt.  I undid some of
the top buttons, wanting to strip him of his clothing, but he pulled my hands
away.

"No,"
he said.  "No, let's..."

He never
finished his words, but his lips spoke volumes.  He pressed into me, onto me,
his whole body covering me like his mouth covered mine.  Desperate, gasping, as
if there was only a limited amount of me and he wanted to take it before I
vanished.  His hand squeezed my breast harder while his other hand swept
lower.  Down my side, to my stomach, lifting up the skirt of my babydoll to the
thin fabric barely concealing my crotch.  He pulled at the strings and my thong
dug into my sensitive skin.

I squirmed,
caught up in the pleasure of it.  Of him, his kiss, his touch.  All my feelings
manifested into one ecstatic lump that settled into the center of my being and
radiated warmth.  I wanted him to take me like he'd taken me before, with
reckless abandon and unadulterated passion.  I wanted him to forget Beatrice
and remember me, and...

Asher stopped. 
He got off of me, rose to his feet, and paced on the carpet around the couch,
fretting.  I lay there, legs splayed wide and on perverse display, my babydoll
bunched up with one of my breasts slipping out of the top.  My visible nipple
was hard as a rock and poking straight up and at Asher.

"Get off
the couch," he said, as quick as that.  "On your knees."

"What?"
I asked.

He repeated
himself.  "Off the couch.  On your knees.  Put your hands behind your
head."

Odd, that, but I
scrambled to do it.  I lunged off the couch and landed by his feet.  Kneeling,
sitting on my heels, I put my hands behind my head and looked up at him.

He grabbed my
chin between his fingers and inspected me, turning my head side to side, this
way and that.

"How do you
feel right now?" he asked me.

I scrunched up
my brow.  "What do you want me to say?" I asked.

"Tell me
the truth.  Tell me how you feel."

"Asher, I'm
really horny," I said.  Shy, confused, I added, "I don't mean to be
and I'm sorry if..."

He smiled. 
"Shh.  No, that's good."

I wanted to say
more, was just about to, but his hand reached down and grabbed my breast.  He
squeezed it in his hand and I moaned aloud, excited.  His fingers grabbed the
curves of my breast, then inwards to my nipple.  Pressing my nipple between his
index finger and thumb, he tweaked it lightly, then twisted it around.  Not
hard at first, just a little, then harder, harder, until I rocked forward,
almost rose from my knees, and...

"Stay on
your knees," he said, his tone calm.

"I..." 
I gasped.

"Shh,"
he said.  "Jessika, stay on your knees.  Don't get up."

I buckled down
and remained kneeling.  He twisted my nipple harder now, but slowly, gently. 
So sensitive and soft, just a little nub of flesh.  Pleasant at first touch,
but ever-so-slowly becoming streaked with pain.  I couldn't think, had no idea
what he was doing, but I stayed kneeling because I didn't want him to stop.