His Passion

  His Passion (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Three) Ava Claire

  Copyright © 2015 Ava Claire –––––––– The Billionaire Dom Diaries Series His Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One): March 13

  His Desire (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Two): March 27

  His Passion (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Three): April 10

  His Love (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Four): April 24

  **Please note: The Billionaire Dom Diaries Series is a sequel to to The Billionaire’s Wife series.**

  ––––––––

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you gonna glare at me like you want to kill me the entire flight to Paris?”

  My brother's question was a valid one. We'd only been in the air for half an hour, with an hour to go before we'd land at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport.

  I refused to say a word to him.

  I had spared nothing as he strode into the belly of my jet, dropping into the leather seat like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I held back the urge to tell him I was the one that felt heavy. Suffocating while I shared the same oxygen as him, knowing that I was the one to blame. I’d agreed to take him to Paris in the first place.

  On the inside, my lips were far from the angry line I cemented on my face.They were an open roar, with all the things I wished I could say shooting from me like daggers.

  What I wanted to say was, Who the hell do you think you are?

  First, he traipsed into our hotel room, all bug eyed and innocent, like he ‘accidentally’ stumbled on my wife and I having sex.

  I knew the sounds Lay made; every hot moan and whimper she uttered was far from a whisper. There was nothing that made me melt, that freed the groans I couldn't tame, than looking deep into her eyes while I felt her desire. Her liquids licking my flesh. Her muscles squeezing every hardened inch of me.

  It was impossible to interpret our sounds as anything other than a couple having sex.

  A flash of the ‘a‘ word that made me cringe, alpha, blinded me. The fact that a man had seen my wife in the throes of passion, in the moments that were ours alone, was unacceptable. That the man who’d done the peeping was my brother, was even more offensive.

  And as if my brother 'stumbling' upon us wasn't bad enough, he came armed with some story about his sister being in trouble. He even added tears for an extra dash of guilt. He played our emotions like a pro.

  And here we all were, a dysfunctional family, headed to another foreign country. This nightmare seemed to have no end.

  I was hoping that if I challenged him with my death glare he'd shy away or reveal some twitch or smirk; some tangible evidence that this was all some ruse. But he just stared back at me, both hands out like he was saying 'this is me, Jacob. No bullshit.' There was a vulnerability in it, a capitulation that didn't make me want to beat my chest, or beat him, if I was being honest. It made me feel worse for suspecting he had ulterior motives in the first place.

  I conceded, turning away first in disgust. I pulled my glass of Scotch to my lips and found it empty. Adding insult to injury, Leila pointedly cleared her throat when I pressed the call button for the attendant.

  The attendant appeared instantly. She was substituting for my usual flight attendant, a bubbly redhead that connected with my wife and knew me well enough to cut me off or wisely offer to bring a water as well. The substitute must have been used to a clientele that appreciated the fact that she smiled for several beats longer than necessary.

  “Another scotch, Mr. Whitmore.” She purred my last name and lowered the napkin and fresh glass. She bent at an angle that would have given me a perfect view of her breasts, but my eyes were on Leila's. Leila’s eyes were on the ceiling. I couldn't help but smirk when my wife cleared her throat again, an unhealthy and irritated sound that made the attendant snap to attention and whirl to face her.

  “I’m sorry, can I get you something, Mrs. Whitmore?”

  “A hot tea.” Leila’s voice was tinged with agitation. “Please bring my husband a water too, please.”

  The attendant’s professionalism was dialed up to 1000. “Yes ma'am.” Her heels tapped on the hardwood floor as she skittered off to grab our beverages.

  Leila crossed her legs, flashing me a scolding look. I ignored it, my fingers brushing the glass before I pretended to tighten my tie.

  “Hey, I'll take Scotch too!” Cole hollered, setting my nerves on edge. “Don't bother with the glass. The bottle will do just fine.”

  Leila knew me too well because she leaned forward and gripped my knee just as I was about to tell him that he had no right to speak, and certainly no right to bark orders at anyone. He could die of thirst as far as I was concerned.

  “Be nice,” she mouthed, stroking my knee softly.

  I frowned at them both. It was the best I could do.

  I sighed and turned my attention to the window, hoping the clouds would snuff out the rage that crept into my veins with little warning these days. I needed something warm and fuzzy to combat the consuming need to grab my brother by the collar, kick open the emergency hatch, and hurl him from the plane. It brought me a sick pleasure to imagine him plummeting through the air, death rushing up to meet him. My mind turned the delicate, feather soft masses that floated by into fluffy pillows. My fingers ached to grip said pillows, thrust them over Cole's face and-

  “Jacob.”

  Leila's voice lured me from my homicidal fantasies, but my conscience forbade me from looking her in the eye. Two hours ago, I'd been in a good place, the best place I'd been in since this whole situation screeched into existence.

  Before she was taken.

  Don't get me wrong—learning that my brother had helped my wife did not mean all was forgiven. I doubted that gift would ever have Cole's name on it. But I had been ready to swallow the animosity that helped me rationalize my brother's bloody end, at my hands. Yet all of it seemed so fragile if I was sitting here, daydreaming about throwing him from the nearest exit, and praying he couldn't fly. Was there any hope for me if it was as easy as drawing my next breath to fall back into hating my brother?

  A gentle click pulled my eyes back to my wife. She reached for her seatbelt and disengaged it, rising to her feet. Before I could ask any questions she held out her hand, her head pointing toward the sleeping chambers.

  I followed her, catching the attendant’s eye as she advanced towards us, balancing a tray filled with hot water, teabags, Evian, and Cole's bottle of booze. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed with slight annoyance before she averted them and focused her breasts on my brother.

  I ducked into the bedroom with Leila, pulling the divider shut behind me. I prepared my apology for the heated silence I'd been subjecting everyone to, her included.

  “Leila, let me explain-”

  “You don't have anything to explain,” she interrupted softly. She reached for her hair tie and pulled her bun loose. Curls shook and trembled from their bonds, spilling down her back. “I know the only reason you said yes was because of me. I k
now you wanted to tell him to go to hell.” She eased her shirt up and off in a breathless instant, giving me no time to catch my breath before her pants followed suit. “Just because something is the right thing to do doesn't always mean it’s any easier.” Her lips pulled into a playful smirk that I wanted to trace with my tongue. “I bet you've been fantasizing about drop kicking him from the emergency exit for the past thirty minutes.” She reached around and unsnapped her bra, not waiting for an answer.

  Talking, answering, anything other than drinking her in was irrelevant.

  My rock hard need punched against the fly of my slacks when her breasts sprung free. Lush. Round. Nipples already swollen with want.

  The room immediately shrunk to her body and my body as she pressed against me. Every curve, every contour of her, connected with every muscle and line of me.

  Her face was upturned, her eyes bright and filled with emotion as her fingers drew up my chest, kissed my neck, and rested on the sides of my face. Only Leila could turn a soft, romantic gesture into something as visceral as tearing open my fly and reaching her hand inside. Only Leila could force all the blood in my body to my groin, engorging me with that look. The look that said 'take me—and make the rest of the world go away'.

  She tilted her head back, like she had so many times before when she was lost in pleasure; her mouth open as she verbalized her ecstasy. But this was different. She showed me her neck, the line that drove me wild, running from her chin to her collar bone. Her eyes were open and clear as her trembling lips rounded and she asked me a question.

  “Please?”

  I stroked my fingers through her hair, slowly winding it around my fist, not my usual rough jerk; the pull that made her gasp and my balls ache—no, this was a gentle claiming. I wanted to answer her question. I wanted her to see that for me, she didn't even need to ask. I was hers, and she was mine.

  My lips dropped to her neck, inhaling the sweet of her skin, the pulse beneath her flesh, beating in time with my own. My breathing was a drum beat that grew more furious with each second, hers coming out in little gasps that gripped me.

  My lips hung in the air above hers and her eyes fluttered shut as I brushed her skin. I tasted her moans and there was nothing sweeter. I released my grip on her hair and clasped her to me. Tongue probing as she opened for me; letting me make love to her with my mouth.

  She submitted to my touch as my hands gripped her ass and lifted her from the ground. She was in my arms, legs wrapped around my waist as she whispered my name in between our breathless kisses.

  I lowered her onto the bed, her body shaking as I peeled off my clothes, her eyes finding my bare chest. She bit her lip as her gaze dropped to my erection. There was a need in those brown eyes, a wonder as she took in what she did to me.

  I mounted the bed, her legs spreading for me, her teeth savagely sinking into her bottom lip as she prepared for me to thrust inside her. No warning. No mercy.

  I stroked her cheek, my fingers sweeping up and down her thigh. “I'm going to make love to you, Lay.”

  Emotion welled in her eyes as she touched my chest, then gripped me tight as I took the head of my hardened lust and dipped inside of her warmth.

  Tasting her.

  Teasing her.

  I made her feel every second. The building anticipation for the delicious moment where our bodies collided had me so hard I couldn't stand it. My strength was tested as her patience wore thin and she started to writhe beneath me, reaching for me with eager hands.

  I felt my own need dripping from me as her fingers stroked my tip. I took her arms and pulled them above her head, my voice firm yet far from disapproving. “What did I say?”

  “But-”

  My free hand roamed to her breast, circling her lush flesh and finding her swollen nipple.

  Her moan filled the room before she sucked a breath through her clenched teeth. “You said you'd make love to me.”

  “Repeat.” I switched to her other nipple, grabbing hold and squeezing until her hands balled into a fist and she winced.

  “You said that you-” She stopped hard when my hand went to her sex, cupping it. “Y-you said-” I sank my finger inside her, knuckle deep. God, she was so wet, her juicy body sucking my digit hungrily. “You said you'd make love to me!”

  Her final sentence was a rushed, single word as I increased speed. She felt so good on my fingers. She would feel even better on the pulsing part of me that strained toward her.

  I guided myself into her slowly, both of our mouths frozen in the moment just before the moan.

  Pleasure set fire to every nerve ending in me as I rocked in and out of her. I fell into her warmth, her sighs, her grunts as she vaulted her hips to meet me. To take me deeper. I burrowed my tongue in her mouth as I filled every part of her. I felt the vibration of her body and her face held the tight and free look that came when she was at the edge—and wanted my permission before she succumbed.

  “Come for me, Leila.”

  Her core twitched and squeezed me, the maddening rhythm of pleasure overwhelming me as I stared deep into her eyes. I whispered that I loved her as I drew close to my own climax. My body tensed and I lost all control.

  Bliss.

  I let it in.

  I let it devour me.

  I pulled Leila back against my chest, our bodies sticky with exhaustion and sex. The plane hit slight turbulence, shaking everything in the room that wasn't bolted down, including us. It reminded me that there was a world outside of Me and Leila. And Cole existed in that world.

  And his sister.

  I let out a rumbling sigh as I inhaled the warm scent of her hair, trying to hold onto the last few seconds before we had to go back to the drama. “I need you to tell me that I'm not making a mistake.”

  She looked up at me quizzically and I knew that she was still in the haze of us. Her eyes darkened to coal when the weight of my question hit her. She tried to shake off the darkness with a smile, but I still saw the shards of it before she nuzzled against me.

  “You're doing the right thing. Doing the right thing is never a mistake.”

  I almost asked her to repeat it. To say it over and over again until I believed it.

  Until she believed it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower—and my wife was staring at me.

  Staring was being generous. Let's just say she was looking at me in a manner that made me understand why Cole fidgeted under my glare.

  I changed tactics quickly, gesturing around us. “It's beautiful here. We should grab some passerby to snap the obligatory tourist photo. Or you could do some sightseeing? Shopping?” I tried exasperation. “C'mon, Leila. After Dublin, and with everything going on, you deserve a day of something good. Something happy.”

  She crossed her arms and rooted herself in place. “Nice try. If you expect me to traipse about and snap pictures and think up cool hashtags for Instagram while you're going to talk to some crime lord dude, you don't know me very well.”

  But I did know her. I knew it was hopeless, but there was a tiny part of me that stupidly thought she'd listen to me. “Leila, what if it's unsafe?”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “If this is you trying to convince me to let you go alone-”

  “I won't be alone. I'll have Cole.” I shook out my shoulders after saying that, the statement making my skin crawl.

  “The little shimmy you just did is not helping your case.” Leila pointed at me, eyebrows raised as she gave me a quick once over. “You can't even say his name without looking like you're about to step into the ring. How can I trust that he has your back? The only way I'll know that you're safe is if I'm at your side.”

  The look she was giving me was dangerous enough to kill but I still took her in my arms. The angry lines of her body took two whole minutes to relent.

  “Hugs aren't going to change my mind, Jacob. The Eiffel Tower isn't going anywhere. I'm going.”

  I hoped s
he'd at least steal a picture before we embarked on our ill conceived mission, but she marched right past me, zeroing in on a pacing Cole. His face instantly changed from impatient to relieved.

  His mission (which by default became my mission since my wife was tagging along) was to go to Brittany's hotel. Her boyfriend would be waiting there with more information on the men who snatched the blonde psychopath. I'd taken to calling Brittany that since we landed and I wasn't too proud to admit that Cole's jaw twitching every time I said it brought me pleasure. It distracted me from an unsettling truth: I was in Paris, willingly mixing my wife and I in some seedy underground world for a girl that would have slit Leila's throat if she didn't get her payday.

  Clearly, Brittany wasn't the only one that was crazy.

  I opened the door of the Navigator and Leila climbed inside. I caught my brother still shaking his head, probably muttering the next few lines of his ongoing protest against using a driver. He thought it would be more discreet if we handled our business discreetly instead of slogging through the streets of Paris like a celebrity. Besides the fact that we hadn't seen a paparazzo yet and our ball cap disguises were working wonders, I believed that driving in and portraying wealth and power to a smarmy crime lord would speak volumes. What was the alternative? Scoping out the property and sneaking in the back door like some popcorn action film?

  I tossed him a glare that made him swallow his tongue. I handed the driver the address.

  The city zipped past but Leila was just picking at her nail. When she winced, I dropped my gaze to her lap and gaped in horror. Why hadn't I noticed before now? The nail was a ragged thing, red and brutal from her biting and picking. What was left looked frail and painful.

  “Leila...” My own fingers ached just looking at the wound. My heart followed suit. I wanted her to lie to me. To tell me it didn't hurt as badly as it had to. I needed her to tell me she was alright, and after this quick sit down we'd put this mess behind us for good.

  But there was only truth reflected in her eyes. There was determination there, the same iron strength she'd shown when Cole and I told her she should stay back at the hotel. She'd looked disgusted when I'd listed off the five star spa and the fact that our suite was the entire floor of the building with an incredible view. When that just earned me an eye roll, I'd tried a visit to the Eiffel Tower and she still didn't budge.