The Billionaire's Secret (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Six)

The Billionaire’s Secret (His Submissive, Part Six)

Ava Claire

Copyright 2013 Ava Claire

The His Submissive Series

The Billionaire’s Contract (Part One)

The Billionaire’s Touch (Part Two)

The Billionaire’s Passion (Part Three)

The Billionaire’s Heart (Part Four)

The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (Part Five)

The Billionaire’s Secret (Part Six)

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Escape.

It was the thing I’d wanted since I realized that my friendly cup of coffee with Whitmore and Creighton’s new client, action star Cade Wallace, had been a horrible mistake.

I’d come to my senses too late, just in time for a photographer to snap enough pictures to tell a story. A story where I wasn’t Cinderella at all--unless Cindy liked to spread ‘em for any Prince that came knocking.

I thought I had time for damage control; to surprise Jacob with a nice dinner and after his belly was filled with steak and he had a glass of wine or two, explain myself. I thought I had time to ease him into the truth before he saw any photos of me staring into the eyes of a man I swore meant nothing. But Jacob was home and without saying a word, I knew something was terribly wrong.

I held my breath, hoping the savory aroma would sink in and he’d lose the scowl on his lips. Instead, it deepened.

“I picked up some Sullivans for dinner.” My stomach churned madly as I tried to explain. “I remember you saying how you loved their prime rib so...”

My voice trailed off as he ignored me completely, instead, peeling off the remnants of his work day. He put his briefcase down with a click near the door. His coat was next, easing one arm out, then the other. He loosened his tie with an abrupt yank.

His movements were mechanical and precise and when he finally gave me his full attention, his face was tight and void of any signs of emotion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that his silence was par for the course. Classic Jacob. But he didn’t mask his emotions around me anymore. Not unless I was in big trouble.

I tried to convince myself that he couldn’t know. There was no way the story, the pictures, could be live that quick...right?

He finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Sullivans, huh?”

I bit my lip and nodded, surprised I didn’t draw blood. “I hope that’s alright.”

He opened his mouth and anger rippled across his face, but he hid it away almost instantly. He walked past and whatever was on his tongue was left unsaid. The tension screeched in the silence, so thick that I needed an ax to hack through it.

I drew a shaky, barely steadying breath and followed him into the dining room, wanting to get the truth out before I lost my nerve. Jacob was already seated, pouring himself a glass of wine. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence, eyeing the ruby red liquid before raising the rim to his lips. The coward in me wanted to say the words from where I stood, away from his steely gaze and in a somewhat close proximity to the exit. But running was the thing that had me sneaking out of the office to meet Cade, avoiding Jacob to minimize drama. I needed to look him dead on and explain myself. I owed him that much.

“I need to talk to you.” I yanked out the chair beside him and sat down, feeling like I was about to walk the plank.

I hesitantly brought my eyes to him, seeing only the razor sharp jut of his jaw until his gaze shifted to me. I was sure there would be something in those pools of blue, but he was still playing his cards close to the chest.

Of course he is,
I thought, dread pulling my heart to the pit of my stomach.
Cold as ice is Jacob Whitmore’s default mode when he’s pissed.

“After the meeting with Ca—”
Really?! Now’s a good time to take his insistence on first name basis to heart?
“Mr. Wallace,” I corrected quickly. “I, um, we…”

I swallowed the stumbled confession that rose in my throat. I just needed to get it out.

“Cade and I had coffee and when I was leaving, I ran into a photographer.” I practically sighed with relief when it was out--until I saw the icy daggers shooting from Jacob’s eyes.

“And you want me to pay the photographer off?”

I pulled back, surprised and slightly offended by his callous remark. “Uh, no, I just--”

“Well then what’s done is done.”

I gawked at him, watching him scissor through the prime rib, mouth opening and closing, Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘What’s done is done’? Why was he holding back? This was clearly affecting him more than he let on. Maybe he wanted me to beg. To prove that I knew it was wrong.

“I’m sorry, Jacob.”

It was a whispered plea, every ounce of me pouring into the words, wanting him to look at me and see that I meant it.

He didn’t.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said with a half-shrug.

His dismissal hurt. It was as palpable and real as a blow to the gut. But my hurt feelings were irrelevant. I needed to make him understand. “It was just a cup of coffee.”

“Then why are you apologizing?” He snapped his napkin like a whip before dabbing the corner of his mouth. “It’s done. You had coffee, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear--”

“He did not whisper anything,” I said indignantly, heat burning my cheeks. I knew I had no right to be insulted or blush like he’d just called my honor into question when I did a fine job of that myself by meeting Cade in the first place. “It didn’t mean anything.”

He let out a snicker that was deep and condescending. “You were millimeters from kissing him in one of them, Leila. That means everything.”

And just like that, the world stood still.

He’d seen the pictures.

I was caught, a fish wriggling in the tangles of a net. Not knowing when to let go. Not knowing when to shut up. “Jacob, I’m just trying to explain that--”

“I don’t want to talk about Cade Wallace!” he thundered, slamming both fists on the table.

Everything in the room that wasn’t nailed down shook, along with my resolve to lay it all on the line. Clearly, talking was just making this worse.

I wish my mouth got the memo.

“But I’m--”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I swear to
God
.”

He finished his wine with an angry swig before slamming the glass down on the table. It was divine intervention that it didn’t explode. Not that it mattered. Jacob was clearly picking up the slack in the exploding department.

“I just want to eat dinner,” he said heatedly. “You want to help? You want to make things better?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my throat on fire.

“Then just sit there and shut your mouth,” he snarled, his handsome face colored with rage. “I don’t want your excuses. I am sick of your goddamn excuses!”

My first instinct was to snap back at him, but I reined it in, taking my lumps. The only sound came from utensils scraping and my heart hammering in my chest. In the quiet, with the whisper of his anger hanging in the air, I realized that I wanted more than coming clean. This dinner, my confession, was orchestrated so I could alleviate my guilty conscience.

He had every right to be furious. It wasn’t fair to make him my priest and confess to make the sick regret go away. My actions had only shifted the weight from my shoulders to his heart. And after he let me in, after he told me what I meant to him, I deserved to carry it all.

I pulled my plate toward me and forced my trembling fingers to grip the fork and knife. Even lukewarm the steak was delicious but the more I ate, the more nauseous I felt.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sit here and eat in silence, face to face with this problem I couldn’t solve. I couldn’t stand the stories my mind weaved with every passing minute, every ending more sad and hurtful than the last. I couldn’t bear having hurt him and not being able to do anything about it.

I put my napkin beside my plate and slid my chair back from the table.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped, cutting his eyes at me.

“I don’t know yet,” I said hoarsely. “I need some air, some--” My voice caught and my nostrils flared as tears pooled in my eyes. “I hurt you.”

He looked away before the ‘you’ even fell from my lips, clearly trying to illustrate how false the statement was. How he was indifferent, despite evidence to the contrary.

He was trying to hurt
me
now, and I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t working. My lungs felt like they were clenched as tightly as the fists at my side. Every part of me felt heavy as I turned toward the door, just trying to keep it together until I got in the elevator.

“Don’t go.”

My gaze shot to my elbow. I was tethered by his hand burning through the silk fabric, holding me in place. This time when I looked in his eyes, I didn’t see what he wanted me to see--I saw what he didn’t. I saw vulnerability and a need that made my heart go from gasping for its next breath to a wild, racing thing.

I was putty in his hands as he wheeled me back to face him. He gripped my chin, forcing it up until his intense gaze captured me. He was looking at me, looking through me, trying to find the truth. If I was sorry. If Cade meant nothing.

I felt dizzy and gangly, stripped down to mismatched parts and pieces. Actions spoke louder than words and my actions painted an ugly, contradictory picture. All I knew, all I cared to know, was that I loved Jacob.

He didn’t relent, bringing me closer until I swore he gazed upon my very soul.

I couldn’t hide. I didn’t want to.

Heat gathered between my thighs and I couldn’t help but arch into his embrace. I knew it was unfair to say the words with my mouth, but I had no choice but to say them with my body.

My hands drew up with a mind of their own, stretching up and down the front of his shirt, feeling the answering solid muscle beneath. My lips parted slightly as I replaced my fingertips with my chest. My solid, aching peaks strained against my bra, needing skin to skin. Flesh to flesh.

He let out a lustful groan as he brought both hands to the side of my face. “You don’t know what you’re asking. With everything going on and with you looking at me like that…” His fingertips fanned the warmth in my cheeks as he gripped me tighter. “I don’t know if I can hold back, Leila.”

I turned my head slightly and brought his thumb to my mouth. I slid my lips down the digit, and when I retreated, grazed it with my teeth. “I don’t want you to hold back.” The final word danced on my tongue. “Sir.”

Something in his eyes changed and his lips spread into a hungry grin. My clothes melted away beneath his skillful fingers and I said to hell with protocol and tore open his shirt, buttons flying.

His eyes were a fusion of shock and desire. “You’ll be punished for that.”

I grinned up at him as I went to work on the fly of his trousers. “Good.”

I wasn’t sure who cleared the table, sending dishware shattering to the floor, and I didn’t care. All I knew was the way my body clicked against the contours of his like we were made for each other. Beautiful tendrils of warmth curled and uncurled in my lower abdomen, fanning their fiery fingers outward until the blaze roared louder than training or rules.

I claimed his mouth, knowing he was about to admonish me, remind me, ground me; but I needed to listen to the orders of the ache. I kissed him like our lips would never meet again, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, forcing him to match my fevered rhythm or be left in the dust.

He gripped a fistful of my hair, tugging me closer with a moan. His body tightened beneath me, and he pulled me backward, breaking contact. I let out a groan of desperation, my lips inches away from his. I didn’t want the lull to allow my head take the wheel. I just wanted him. I needed him.

It went from a recommendation to an order as tingles of pain raced across my scalp. His eyes washed over my face, taking in my wild lust with a chuckle.

“There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants, love.” His smile dimmed. “But do not forget your place. I am in charge and I will decide how to use that beautiful body of yours.”

“Then use me,” I whined, my body hungry for more of him and less talking.

I swirled my hips and I could feel how swollen he was. His desire was fighting and raging against me, despite the measured tone of his voice or controlled way his thumb brushed my cheek.

“Let me taste you, Jacob.” Urgency flooded me and I almost said to hell with it and just did the thing we both wanted.