The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (27 page)

"Yeah,"
Jeremy said.  "I can understand that.  It's as good a reason as any.  Seems
like a terrible reason to stay with her, though.  Isn't marriage about love and
happiness and all that?  Saying that you need her to keep your corporation
afloat is sort of the opposite of that.  I'm not going to say you should just
up and get rid of everything and be poor, but there's got to be some way that
everything can work out in the end."

"I... I
try.  I really do.  We're just two very different people.  I still try, and I
think Beatrice is trying, too.  She's accepting this surrogacy situation very
well, all things considered.  Beatrice isn't very open-minded about much and
she doesn't enjoy obtuse, creative solutions, so..."

"What about
Jessika?" Jeremy asked.

"Jessika's
wonderful," Asher said.  "She's been really accepting during all of
this.  I enjoy her company a lot, too.  Maybe Beatrice and her can spend more
time together, too.  Maybe... maybe it'll help?  I don't know."

"You're
thinking from a business point of view again, Asher.  To use your own words,
that's an obtuse creative solution.  Except, you know, sometimes it's better to
keep it simple.  You don't always need to do something the hard way just
because you can."

Asher frowned. 
He didn't know what he should do, or how he should do it.  During important
business meetings he could always come up with a plan, and if he didn't know
what to do it only took him a little while to concoct a call to action. 
Business was easy that way.  He understood the rules and he knew how to use
them to his advantage.

This, though, it
wasn't that.  Jeremy was right.  Jessika wasn't some rule to be understood, a
piece of a puzzle that he needed to set into place.  Jessika was so much more
than that.  And, truthfully, Beatrice was, too.  It was just so difficult. 
What should he do and why should he do it?  He didn't have a plan and there was
no call to action.  It was him, alone, a corporation of one, needing to decide
the future for himself.

He needed to
figure things out fast.

The inside of
the passageway was easy to traverse.  Whoever had built it made it more
simplistic than otherwise, with emergency-style maps placed at even intervals
along the hallways.  It didn't split off into different routes often, and when
it did there were easy-to-read signs explaining which way was which.  Very
logical and nice and it helped me a lot in figuring out where I was going.

Apparently, as
far as I could tell, the passageways went to every major point in the Landseer
main house.  I checked a map to make sure and saw exits at all the rooms I
knew.  The dining hall, the front foyer, Asher's bedroom, even Jeremy's room. 
And then, of course, Beatrice's bedroom.  Down the hall from Asher's, clearly
indicated on the map and easy to find.

I walked there
while the dim light from emergency floodlights glared onto me, illuminating the
pathways and leaving a large shadow behind me.  It felt like I was somewhere in
a horror movie, almost, escaping the zombie plague.  Not the best of thoughts
to have while on a mission like this, but the idea stuck.

Once I arrived
at the doorway to Beatrice Landseer's room, I paused.  Did it open as easily on
the inside as it did when I entered the tunnels from the guest home?  And where
exactly would I come into her room?  What if someone was there cleaning the
room and I burst inside?  If they saw me, if...

I glanced at a
console in the walls.  "No motion detected," it said.

Oh, well, that
was easy.  I tried the handle of the door and it opened just like that.  On the
other side was a panel that slid away when I touched it.  I knew Asher liked this
kind of thing, the whole high tech science fiction fantasy feel, but it just
seemed so strange.  Was I stepping onto a spaceship somewhere or was it
Beatrice's room?

It was
Beatrice's room.  Her walk-in closet to be specific.  The panel moved out of place
at the back of her closet beside a huge rack of shoes and shelves full of
folded towels.  I snuck through the closet—the massive closet that was about
as long as two of my bathrooms combined—and made my way to the door.  I opened
it an inch and peeked outside, listening for anyone on the other end, but there
was no one.

So, now what?

I stepped into
the room and looked around.  It was extravagant and excessive, but I expected
that.  Beatrice owned an old-fashioned four-poster bed that stood high off the
ground on stilted legs.  The bed had a curtain around it with a canopy above
it, and a mirror built into the top so anyone laying on it could look at
themselves by looking up.  Then she had a private bathroom, currently darkened
but with more than a hint of a myriad of feminine luxuries peeking through.  A
double sink and wall-sized mirror with counters covered in premium skincare
products.

The desk with
her laptop laying on it was near to the window.  Dressers and bureaus sat
against one wall, with a sofa against the opposite one, and a wall-mounted TV
situated so that she could watch it from the bed or the sofa.  Beatrice's room
alone was about twice the size of my entire apartment, give or take a regular
sized closet or two.

I stopped gaping
and convinced myself to check out the laptop.  This was probably my best
option, right?  Except I wasn't some kind of genius computer hacker.  I knew
spreadsheets and word processing programs and email and the internet, but...

Oh well, I
didn't come here for nothing.  I lifted the screen and pressed the power
button.  The laptop wasn't fully shut off, just in sleep mode, and it powered
up fast.  No password protection, either, just straight to the main screen. 
Beatrice had left a website up with a description of a hotel in California: the
Solage Calistoga. 

Adara King
studio, I read.  She'd selected a twelve day block for her vacation, and then
clicked off every single enhancement available.  Some of them looked really
nice, actually.  But, honestly, a prelude to romance on every day?  That was
nine-hundred dollars extra!  Also, I wasn't entirely convinced about the
necessity of both chocolate chip sandwiches and a chocolate fondue included in
the room.

Six-thousand-six-hundred-and-thirty-two
dollars.

I stared at the number. 
I think I made that much in five months after taxes if I was lucky.  Beatrice
wanted to spend that much in twelve days.  I kind of would have loved to spend
that much in twelve days, too, except, well...

Snap out of it,
Jessika!  I mentally reprimanded myself and forced myself to look away for a
second.  When I turned back, I minimized the web browser and scanned through
the laptop's desktop icons.  Beatrice was a minimalist, it seemed, and she had
little more than the necessary programs.  Not that this meant too much, since
maybe she kept everything hidden in folders?

I clicked
through My Computer, the Local C: Drive, Users, Beatrice's folder, and then to
her documents.

There wasn't
much there.  She had basic files, but little else.  The only thing of some
interest was logs of her AOL Instant Messenger conversations, but even that was
so wildly random and confusing that I couldn't make much sense of it.  I
clicked one to check it out, just in case, and saw mostly business-like
conversations.  Besides having no idea who these people were from their screen
names, it didn't look very useful anyways.

I closed that
and went back to the Local Drive to see if there was something I'd missed.  No
sooner than I did, I heard someone at the door.  The voice was muffled and it
sounded like they were talking on the phone.  Passing by, I hoped?  Or...

The doorknob
wiggled.

"Hold on a
moment.  I have a lot of bags from shopping.  Let me put you down so I can open
my door.  Just give me a second."

It was
Beatrice.  I stood in her room, at her desk, spying on her computer right
before she was about to walk in.

To the closet! 
Right.  Except, no, it was too far away.  I wouldn't make it in time before she
walked into the room.  The bathroom seemed like an equally bad choice because I
had nowhere to hide in there.  And what if she wanted to use it?  Well, she'd
see me, obviously.

In a fit of
complete nonsense and randomness, I bolted for the bed, crouched down low just
as Beatrice opened the door, and rolled underneath it.  Thank God she didn't
keep anything under there.  That was probably beneath her, I assumed.  Only
normal people stowed totes of their belongings under their beds, and Beatrice
wouldn't stoop to their standards.

I saw her high
heels and the lower half of her calves walk into the room.  She hurried,
placing her bags by her desk.  I realized belatedly that I hadn't closed her
laptop.  She walked over to it, paused for a second, and I was positive she'd
realize something was up and start scanning the room for an intruder.

"Yes, I
left it up.  I wanted to make reservations soon.  Solomon, I love this place. 
We can get the prelude to romance package for every single day of our stay! 
Isn't that wonderful?  There's fresh rose petals scattered throughout the room,
with lavender massage oil and an aromatherapy candle.  We'll have massages
during the day, too, but I think we can find some use for the massage oil and
candles after dark, don't you?"

Well, this
wasn't what I had in mind, but it worked out somewhat.  Here I was, in Beatrice
Landseer's room, while she talked on the phone about her future sexcapades with
Solomon Royce.  Unfortunately I didn't have my phone, or I could have tried
recording some of this.  Still, maybe she'd mention something better?  I had no
idea what, but I held out hope.

"I ordered
the chocolate fondue, too.  I'd rather use it for unconventional purposes,
though.  Do you think you can handle it, Solomon?"  Beatrice clicked her
laptop shut and sauntered over to the bed.  "I want to melt it and drizzle
it all over you." 

She sat on the
edge of the bed, then lifted her legs up and rolled onto it.  I lay hidden
beneath her, feeling the weight of her body pushing down slightly against me.

"Are you
alone in your office?  Yes?  Good.  Lock your door.  I don't want any
interruptions."

Beatrice
presumably waited until he did that.  The sexy talk kind of squicked me out,
and I didn't quite feel comfortable with it, but there wasn't much I could do,
now was there?

"I'm going
to drizzle chocolate fondue all over your
cock
," Beatrice said into
the phone, sultry and seductive.  "I'm going to smear it all over you and
then lick it off.  I'm going to make you cum like that and then I'm going to
smear a strawberry in a mix of chocolate and your cream and I'm going to make
you eat it."

He must have
said something back, though I couldn't hear what it was.

"Let me get
my vibrator," she said. 

Like some giddy
schoolgirl, Beatrice jumped off the bed.  She knelt down right beside me and I
panicked.  Oh God, was her vibrator under the bed?  Maybe, probably, and that's
where I kept mine, in a shoebox.  Fuck.

Thankfully her
sex toy wasn't completely under the bed, but just under the mattress.  She
lifted it up and grabbed it and I prayed to every major religion(though I don't
know why any of them would care) to help me out here.

"How hard
is your cock?" Beatrice asked after she'd jumped back on the bed.

I saw her
panties hit the floor next to me, casually tossed aside by their owner.

"Make it
harder," she said.  "Harder."

"Oooh, you
bad boy.  You had a new assistant the other day?  Did you fuck her?  I love
hearing about it.  Tell me."

I didn't
want
to listen, but I had no choice.  Also, I kind of did want to listen in a
morbidly fascinated sort of way.  It wasn't that I wanted to usually, but when
put in the position of having no alternative, it suddenly became interesting.

And apparently
they were talking about me.

"You did
not?  You threw her on the couch in your office?  My God, then what?"

I slipped!  He
didn't throw me on his couch!  I slipped!

"How wet
were her panties?  Did you take them all the way off or did you push them aside
and finger her hard?  No.  I don't believe it.  You're entire fist?"

This—what the
fuck—I was kind of pissed.  Besides the obvious annoyance of being stuck in
Beatrice's room, hiding under the bed, now I had Solomon completely lying about
everything that happened in his office that day.  We didn't have sex!  We
didn't even do anything of the sort, even though it was obvious he'd wanted to.

But Beatrice
loved
his fabrications.  The vibrator buzzed, lively, and she moaned aloud while
Solomon told her more about his fake sexual encounter with a temporary
assistant.  He told Beatrice about how he shoved my chest into the ground and
told me to raise my ass up high so he could fuck me like a bitch in heat. 
Beatrice commented on everything, asking questions through shallow breaths as
the vibrator did its work.

"Are you
stroking yourself?" she asked.  "How hard are you now?  I'm close.  I
want to at the same time."

I silently
groaned.

"Alright,
alright!  I will.  Hurry.  Did you cum inside her?  Tell me you did.  That's so
sexy."

Apparently in
Solomon's version of the story, he completely lambasted my cunt with his potent
seed.  Beatrice went off the deep end, pounding the vibrator inside of her and
screaming Solomon's name into the phone, begging him to fuck her.

Afterwards, she
quieted down.  The vibrator stopped buzzing and she tossed it off the side of
the bed; it landed next to her discarded panties.

"My God,
that was hot," she said.  "You should see if you can get her back for
another day.  The stories you tell me about your usual assistant are growing
dull.  You need to fire her soon.  I'm tired of her.  What if this new one is
pregnant?  Wouldn't that be hilarious.  Do you know if she had a boyfriend? 
I'd laugh."