His Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One) (3 page)

Chapter Four

I was exhausted. There was no need to look at my watch to confirm that it was time to leave my post and put Whitmore and Creighton in my rearview.

Earlier, after my third coffee and a gentle nudge from my wife, I called Missy to my office. No matter how upset she was about our last interaction, she held her scowl in her eyes and forced out her interrupted presentation. Apologies were akin to having red hot irons shoved in my eyes, but I offered her one. She accepted it, with her anger melting into suspicion. I dismissed her before she could gather any more intel to whisper around the office.

The rest of my day was spent tackling my ever expanding list of tasks. It ranged from moderately grating (putting out fires with the board, terrified about the LA expansion despite all arrows pointing to the profitable, inevitable end) to my favorite part of the job…giving back. In addition to the golf charity event in two months, Leila came to me with an idea that I would have cringed at a year ago.

My eyes landed on the folder with her neat, precise handwriting spelling out ‘Billionaire Auction’. The specifics would be ironed out later, a dinner at some renown restaurant downtown with me on the auction block. It was the proposed non-profit she suggested that made the raging thing in my chest squeeze and exhale with the knowledge that Leila was incredible.

She wanted the proceeds to go to Haven, an organization dedicated to helping battered women and children get out of abusive, unhealthy situations.

“Do you know how many death threats they get?” she’d said angrily. The fire I hadn’t seen since before she was taken consumed her face. She couldn’t help but feel others pain. She couldn’t help but feel. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. “This is more than a tax write off and good press for Whitmore and Creighton. We have a chance to show the world that violence against women is still a huge; pervasive problem and we need to lift up and invest in the organizations that are literally risking death to help.”

I swept my fingertips over the folder, her heart poured into every page of research, every comment about concepts; powerful, painful stories of women who came to Haven with little more than the clothes on their back and the hope that when they walked through those doors, they would be safe.

I pushed back from my desk, something in me undeniable and so certain this was her way of letting me in. Letting me know she’d be okay too. And not the dismissive line that she used as a defense to make me drop the subject. All the pain she’d endured--and she still fought. She didn’t give up or retreat, even though no one would hold it against her if they knew that she’d been so close to death that she could feel its breath on her skin.

I had to get home. I had to tell her that I understood. She didn’t need me to push her limits until she caved and bare herself to me. She just needed me to be there. And the rest, unbeknownst to her, would work itself out.

I left my office, leaving my briefcase for the morning. I had only one sole mission for tonight.

I was going to make love to my wife.

The elevator beckoned but I heard muted tapping in the silent darkened lobby. I frowned, pulled toward the hall. Towards Leila’s office…but she’d stopped in at 5, telling me she’d see me at home.

The rhythmic beat, keyboard clicking, intensified and I stopped when I hit her closed door. I rapped it with my knuckles.

I braced myself for a room filled with evidence contrary to my belief that she was inching closer to being okay. Papers strewn about like the remnants of some party; tattered streamers and soggy confetti. She’d be behind her desk, head on a pillow of a project she’d buried herself in and now, she couldn’t see her way out. She’d pretend her tears were allergies; her puffy eyes were exhaustion.

None of the above was true.

I stood silent in the doorway, my head struggling to accept the reality before my eyes. She was bright eyed, her hair pulled into an efficient bun that said she was here to get things done.

She’d shed her blazer, her bare shoulders glowing in the dim light that cast a halo around her. She pulled the pen from her mouth and scrambled to her feet like she’d just been caught doing something mischievous.

“Jacob! What time is it? I…” She didn’t finish, her eyes following my stride. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was a pull, this force and urge inside me that made anything but taking her into my arms impossible.

In the conference room, I was a man rocked to my very core, reminded how out of control I was. Reliving the moments when my wife needed me and I failed her. But now, here, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

She skimmed my face, resting on my lips before she swallowed and returned to my gaze.

“I know you want me to take it easy.”

I released her, just long enough to shove her chair out of the way. She gasped when it thudded into her bookshelf and her lips shuddered like the things on her desk. I gripped her hips and pushed her backward until she fell against the edge.

“The only thing I want right now is for you to do exactly what I say.” I leaned toward her ear, cheek to cheek. The tremble of lust that rippled through her rippled through me and shot straight to my cock. When she dropped her eyes to my crotch and licked her lips, I pulsed like she’d reached inside my pants and grabbed me. “Do you understand?”

She gulped, resting her palms on her desk, her eyes glazed with the delicious knowledge that I would have her. She was mine, to do with as I pleased. “Yes sir.”

Her legs were slightly parted, like her hips, waiting. I felt her ache in the way she breathed. The quickening when I skimmed her calves, gripping her knees and spreading her wider. I glimpsed a flash of fuchsia. The lacy fabric that covered her sex.

I felt the warm, secret place of her humming in anticipation. I knew the exact key of that desire because it strummed in my veins whenever I looked at her. All her beautiful curves; from her hips to the milky skin hidden beneath the black fabric of her dress. Her fingers crept to the hem, hoping I’d tell her to strip or do the honors myself.

“Not so fast, little sub.” I smirked when she immediately returned her hands to her side, her cheeks flushing as she hung her head.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not,” I whispered, taking her chin and forcing her to look at me. To see that I wasn’t going to punish her for being her. “There is nothing sexier than your boldness, Lay. The flashes of insolence and stubbornness, the look you get when you’re close to just taking the reins, consequences be damned because if you don’t have me, you’ll explode…” I took her mouth, my lips devouring hers, fading into her moans as she let me show her how it felt to be given her love. Leila–not just her body, but her heart. Her soul.

I pulled back, so hard and wanting that I could barely utter the next words that needed to be said before I lost the ability to do anything but take her. “Hike up your skirt.”

My pulse quickened when she yanked the skirt upward, lifting her body with a grunt of desire. She went a step further, dropping a hand to her panties. Touching herself with ‘spank me…I dare you’ teasing me in her dark gaze.

I moved between her legs, my erection dying to find its way home. But this dance was about all the ways I could be inside he
r
withou
t
burying myself inside her. Stripping her down with my eyes. Licking her flesh with my touch as I stroked her with my fingertips. Claiming her desire when I twisted her nipples; when my hand collided with her ass. By the time I was finally physically inside her, her body would sigh when all the pent up needs were finally relieved. I’d release the words that granted her permission.

To come.

But not yet.

I traced the curve of her neck, then gripped it tight as I murmured in her ear, “You like pushing my buttons? Touching your body, teasing me with how wet you are?”

She nuzzled me, leaning in to surrender to whatever discipline I’d inflect. “Teasing you with how wet you make me.”

I snatched the bun, and she shook her hair free, curls raining and shuddering as I grabbed a fistful and forced her head backward. “How wet do I make you?”

She winced, biting her lip as I tugged. Every part of me ached for her.

“Touch me and find out.”

I pulled her hair, a groan rising in my throat. “You forget your place.” I released her, then jerked one of her hands to her groin. I held her fingers against the warmth that radiated from her core. “Touch yourself.”

She peered up at me with the look that drove me fucking insane. The look that reminded me that while I was the Dominant and the one in charge, she had my beating, throbbing heart in the palm of her hand. It was never just BDSM with her, a Dom barking commands at his sub. It was never just fucking nor making love. It was something more. It was two people who’d always searched for that thing and finally found it.

She tore her panties to the side and buried herself in her sex. I lost myself in the way she ground her hips against the desk. Lost in her touch, her eyes closed, mouth open and panting.

  I took her fingers from their dance, the trembling things drenched in her juices. I tasted her sweetness, my tongue sliding over her skin, flicking over her nails. God, she was delicious.

I was so overwhelmed, out of my body, and dying to be inside hers I dug my fingers into her hips and pulled her off the edge of the desk. I held her steady, my other hand tearing my fly open, gripping my member. Needing her body to grip my body.

There would be no lashes today. No spanks that turned her skin that beautiful shade of pink. I wanted to touch her from the inside, hear her count and savor every stroke of me until she lost the ability to count; to do anything but groan.

“Every time I stroke, slamming myself inside, I want you to count.” The head of me licked her tight sliver. Her juices kissed the tip, swirling as she nodded emphatically, nails curling, scratching the surface of the desk.

I drove inside and I felt absolute...and like I was breaking apart.

“One.”

She was breathless.

Spreading wider.

Pulling me deeper.

“T-two.”

Her breasts heaved up and down as I punched inside her twice.

“Three…four, o
h
Go
d
!” She threw her head back as I increased my speed. I was surrounded by her warmth, lost in her pleasure.

“Five!”

It was the last number she spoke before we both lost count. Our flesh slapped wildly, the room shaking. Her body; my body. We were connected in a way that transcended control. Ritual was forgotten and when I felt her release, without my permission, I just let it go. I was just a man making love to his woman and in that bliss, that was enough.

She couldn’t stop smiling, that glow, the brightness of her contagious. I almost forgot about Cole. About what I had to do.

There was no escaping it when she slid off the desk, wrapping her arms around my neck, her eyes more open and hopeful than I’d seen them in weeks.

“Let’s just get on a plane and go somewhere for a few days,” she said huskily, her body still warm and throbbing.

I’d suggested some time away after I got her back. An escape, just she and I but she’d waved it off and said work was the best way to deal. I’d planned on floating an out of town business trip to go and handle Cole. This was a chance to close the door on him--and start over with Leila.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, matching her smile. Rationalizing the secret that I’d have to keep. I told myself I was protecting her from a life of haunted dreams. She was too kind, too good to fix this. If my soul was the price I had to pay to make this right and protect my wife, so be it.

“How about Ireland?”

Chapter Five

Entry #2

There was a bitter, uncomfortable fact that I’d been avoiding.

I was having doubts.

I was so sure when I held that folder in my hands. After spending weeks crawling out of my skin, watching Leila suffer and feeling like I was powerless; hands tied and unable to help her...that address changed everything.

Leila kept repeating how letting it go was the only way to win. No cops, because she would just relive that day over and over, rehashing every detail until she couldn’t turn it back off. She didn’t want to be the eternal victim.

But how could she expect me to let it go? Even if doubts were ringing in my head while I watched her sleep, her face so serene, the nightmares finally held at bay…

I have to do this.

I
hav
e
to do this.

Don’t I?

****

I couldn’t take my eyes off Leila.

I’d been to Dublin twice before, both times as a child when I traveled with my father. A twinge of anger echoed in my chest, remembering how naïve I’d been. Up until those trips, he’d shown little to no interest in interacting with me. Memories of him were suitcases and awkward hugs when he returned. When he asked me if I wanted to come with him to Europe, I’m pretty sure I looked around like he’d meant the invitation for someone else. Someone more important than the son he patted on the head as he breezed in and out of our lives, a cyclone of gifts and paparazzi and stories that made my mother laugh uncomfortably. I knew now that she was analyzing his tales of adventure, wondering just how many women he’d been with.