The Billionaire's Desire (His Submissive, Part Nine) Read online

  The Billionaire’s Desire (His Submissive, Part Nine)

  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)

  The Billionaire’s Lust (Part Seven)

  The Billionaire’s Promise (Part Eight)

  The Billionaire’s Desire (Part Nine)

  The Billionaire’s Past (Part Ten): June 21

  The Billionaire’s Trust (Part Eleven): July 26

  The Billionaire’s Forever (Part Twelve): August 23

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  ****

  "So...where's the ring?"

  The conversations around us ground to a halt as the attention flickered toward the lazy drawl of Rachel Laraby’s voice. The crowd parted slightly, revealing her standing on the outskirts. Wearing that blood red dress. Eyes flecks of emerald. Mouth an angry line of barely hidden resentment.

  For a moment, the silence took center stage and I almost believed that she’d said something else. Something a little less obnoxious. But this was Rachel Laraby we were talking about—and ‘obnoxious’ was damn near her middle name.

  “Rachel…” Jacob began, his voice a warning she’d be wise to heed.

  “That’s me,” she said sweetly, dismissing him with a patronizing grin. She took a step forward, drinking up the attention like someone that was used to all eyes being on them. That lived for it.

  Tonight was our night. Me and Jacob’s. He’d just asked me to marry him for crissakes. This moment belonged to us—and she couldn't stand it.

  The heat started in my cheeks and worked its way outward as the eyes that gazed at me and Jacob like we were a romantic movie unfolding right before them dropped to my hand. To my left hand. And my bare ring finger.

  Just to cull the herd and remind them that the stage was hers, she repeated her question.

  “Where’s the ring?” The lighthearted, nonchalant tone she’d used before was gone and in its place was an edge that reminded me of the haughty actress I’d met months ago in Venice. The glittering celebrity who should have been on top of the world but couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the fact that Jacob Whitmore, billionaire CEO of Whitmore and Creighton, wanted nothing to do with her.

  The looks that passed back and forth between us and Rachel were different now. They weren't sure where it was safe to land. Instead of the shock her question had originally garnered, the tone had become markedly more uncomfortable.

  “I mean, it was a lovely proposal,” Rachel gushed, attempting to smooth over her transparent jealousy. “I’m just wondering if that was just an appetizer and Mr. Whitmore’s seconds away from pulling out a tiny black box with a big ole rock in it.”

  Jacob tensed beside me and I knew that he was dangerously close to saying something that would make matters worse. He was usually the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but Rachel had swooped back into our lives declaring war. Her question, not even five minutes after I said yes to his proposal, was a heavy pill to swallow. I'm pretty sure Jesus Christ himself would have had trouble turning the other cheek after the blow she’d just delivered.

  She sauntered closer, eyes locked on Jacob with a smirk that told me she knew he was creeping towards boiling point.

  “It’s a valid question,” she said with an innocent shrug. “I’m just curious is all.”

  I saw bloody freaking murder raging in his eyes, but I just held tight to his hand. Gripped it until I saw the fire die down to embers and smoke. She wanted a blow up. She wanted to ruin our moment. We couldn't give her that satisfaction.

  Once I believed that I could speak without my voice cracking or calling her something that would make my mother gasp, I turned back to face her, pulling on a smile.

  "The ring--"

  "--is none of your business," Jacob finished tersely, glaring at her like she was a piece of gum on the bottom of his leather oxfords. Mouth twisted like she was a sip of alcohol, closer to paint thinner than anything refreshing. Body so painfully taut that the slightest movement would be enough to make it snap.

  A murmur rippled across those gathered around us, the buzz of happiness officially snuffed out. Just like she wanted.

  I sighed inwardly, knowing she was tallying up the score. I was struggling to hold onto my smile, trying desperately to pretend like everything was fine. I wanted to say something funny, to alleviate the tension that electrified the air around us, but I had nothing.

  And of course, Rachel wasn't done.

  “It’s a fair question,” she continued, batting her eyelashes as she scanned the crowd, looking for some confirmation that she wasn't the only one wondering. When she realized they were far more afraid of Jacob than excited at the possibility of gaining her favor, she changed tactics. “It’s just that I know that your little soiree will be breathtaking and jewelers will be knocking off your ring all over the world. I was just hoping for a sneak peek.”

  The smile on my face twitched, the nerve beneath my eye going haywire. If I was being honest, I didn't even think about the lack of an engagement ring until she brought it up. I was still stuck on everything else. The melody of the song pouring into my ears. Recognizing the bars immediately and remembering Megan telling him that it was my dream to have that song playing at my wedding.

  And then there was the look on Jacob's face as he dropped to one knee and asked me to spend my life with him. It was the look of someone that had never loved anything or anyone as much as he loved me. There was no room for anything but sheer bliss. It was a high so powerful that I could barely feel my feet on the ground. But her animosity crapped all over that happiness. It anchored me, poisoning one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

  No, I told myself firmly, not giving that thought any weight. I wouldn't let her take this away from me. From us. I didn't care about a diamond. I just wanted him.

  I swallowed the burning anger that knotted my throat and leaned in, pressing my lips against Jacob's cheek. I could tell from the way he barely responded to the touch that he was expecting me to tell him to relax. To ignore her. But I had something more important to say than any of that. More important than Rachel’s efforts to spoil our memory.

  "I love you."

  He stopped flinging daggers in her direction and tilted his chin toward me. I watched as everyone else in the world washed away and every swirl of blue crashed into me.

  His lips spread into a grin that made my heart skip a beat. "I love you too."

  The 'awws' that sounded around us made my cheeks burn red but in that moment, we owned our joy. Short of dropping to the floor and kicking and screaming like a child, Rachel couldn’t say anything else without outing herself. She’d be a little less America’s sweetheart and a little closer to Fatal Attraction.

  Awkwardness nearly forgotten, the group drew back to us like moth to the firelight. I scanned the group until I saw Claudia Joy, the soft lines of her face deepening as she gave me a big
, toothy grin.

  We focused on the people that were at least putting on a better show of being happy for us. Jacob shook hands, accepting congratulations and I went to Claudia and pulled her in for a hug, squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to focus on how happy she was for us. I almost didn’t want to open them, sure that when I did Rachel would be staring back at me. When I got the nerve and conceded, I breathed a sigh of relief. Rachel had given up her efforts and was stalking toward the exit.

  Claudia followed my line of sight then leaned in, lowering her voice. "Good riddance."

  I gave her another squeeze, shaking the last remnants of the negativity off and concentrated on being happy. This was how you were supposed to feel after the love of your life asked you to marry them. Like you were bursting at the seams with awesomeness and incapable of doing anything but smiling.

  She pulled back, giving me a toothy grin that rivaled the gold comb that held back her chestnut hair. "I'm so happy for you, dear!" She held my gaze, searching and making sure I heard every word that came next. "And you deserve this--don't let anyone tell you any different."

  I could seriously hug her again and not let go. A bunch of people that could barely spare more than a nod in my direction before tonight had been gushing about how happy they were and while I'd thanked every single one, finally happy to have a few precious moments where I wasn't on the outside looking in, it was a bittersweet kind of joy. If Jacob hadn't popped the question here, would they still breeze past like I didn't exist?

  And there I was being negative again. I didn’t want to think about the what if’s…not when the actualities were much more pressing. Like the fact that I was engaged. "I'm just...overwhelmed...and elated...and in complete shock!"

  She nodded with a knowing gleam in her eyes. Paired with her wedding ring and a plethora of pictures in her office with a smiling man who looked like she was the sun, moon, and everything in between, I knew she was married and knew all too well the rush of emotion I was flooded with. "It was a lovely proposal, Leila--and I'm sure the wedding will be amazing too."

  The wedding...oh my gosh! Would we do something big and over the top? Something small and intimate? Something in the city or something destination-y? And then there was the guest list…I was out of breath just thinking about it.

  She laughed at my wide eyes. "Just enjoy being engaged. Let the wedding planner worry about everything else."

  It was a little too late for that. I couldn't help but run through my mental checklist. I had to call my mom and Megan and tell them. I doubted anyone at the party would let it slip to the paparazzi, but Rachel would delight in it, probably spinning some ridiculous reason on why I didn’t have a ring. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache that I knew was on its way.

  But an electric current shot through me instead, silencing the nerves as Jacob glanced in my direction. Those thick, perfectly shaped lips curled into a smile that melted me into a sticky puddle on the terrace.

  We were getting married.

  He kept his eyes on me, shaking hands as he made his way through the crowd, turning my worries into whispers and my insides into jelly. I knew that look. It stripped me down without lifting a finger. It made thinking about anything but our naked bodies doing naughty things together all but impossible.

  I bit my lip as he stepped up beside me, flashing Claudia a smile that was a little more genuine than the one he’d been passing out to everyone else.

  "Congratulations Mr. Whitmore," Claudia said brightly.

  "Thank you Claudia." Jacob put a hand on the small of my back and I shivered, turning red for a whole different reason. His fingertips pressed into the paper-thin silk of my blouse and my body hummed in anticipation of getting back home and having our own private celebration. But when he drew his fingertips up and down my spine, I found myself entertaining wild thoughts like dropping my hand to his crotch and stroking him. Teasing him like he was teasing me.

  "Could you excuse us?” Jacob said, already steering me toward the door. “I still have another surprise for my fiancé."

  My heart swelled at the sound of the word. Fiancé.

  He led me back into the building, making a sharp left down the hallway that led to the elevators. Each stroke of his hand made it harder to walk because the lust whipping in my belly was getting impatient.

  When his hand dropped to my rear end, my mouth flew open in surprise. "Jacob--"

  What came next was cut off as he yanked me down a side corridor and pushed me back against the wall, claiming my mouth. My eyes were open, shock leaving me rigid. We weren't that far from the terrace. Eyes wouldn't even have to pry to see us.

  I put a hand on his chest, our lips separating. I could still taste him there and it threw gasoline on the need flaring inside of me. We didn't have concrete and brick separating the executive floor and muffling the sounds of our activities. There was no locked door or an unspoken order that told people to mind their business. I wanted to make sure he knew what he was getting started before we reached the point of no return.

  “Here?” I asked in a tiny, breathy voice.

  It was just us down a side hallway, right around the corner from the festivities. Jacob's hand was up my skirt, fingertips digging into my thigh. His bright blue eyes narrowed in displeasure at the fact that I'd tapped the brakes at all.

  I wanted him; needed to feel his mouth on me as his fingers roamed over my body, but the gossips at Whitmore and Creighton already had something new to whisper about. If someone stumbled on us getting it on...

  He didn’t answer my question the first time so I asked again, swallowing hard. "Jacob, are you sure because--"

  "Look at me."

  I knew I was in trouble before I even tipped my eyes to his. In his glare I found my answer--along with the steely irritation of a man who knew exactly what he wanted...and didn't like to be questioned.

  "I want you. I'm going to take my fingers and sink them inside of you right here because you are mine. Period."

  The ragged edge of his words spread over me, the tingle of need settling between my thighs.

  Well, if you insist...

  ****

  Jacob’s gaze laid my concerns about teetering too close to full-out exposure to rest. Worrying about someone cutting around the corner, getting an eyeful of the two of us christening the wall? Please. Jacob Whitmore could care less if we were a little close to the festivities. As far as he was concerned, the apocalypse could be going down just outside, the whole world burning around us and it didn’t matter. We were on fire. Him and me. And when the lust built to a fever pitch, taking me over, I didn’t care either.

  He came forward on a mission, pressing me backward until I was pinned to the wall. Even behind his two-piece suit I knew the lines of his body. They were committed to memory, tucked safely away and ready to play on loop whenever he moved. Drawing the eye to the part of him that I knew well.

  I reached out, my hands running up and down the front of his button down shirt. My lips quivered with the rise and fall of his chest. The tightly corded muscles I grazed…it was mine. All mine.

  But he only let the contact last for a moment that slipped through my fingers. He gripped my wrists and pulled them down to my sides, his hold firm enough to snap me from ogling his chest. I stuck my lips out stubbornly because I knew the gesture, well versed in the silent order he was giving. He was telling me all in good time. It was obvious he wanted this, wanted me so badly that he couldn’t wait one second more to have me. To trust him.

  And I did trust him. I willingly submitted to him more times than I could count. But tonight, with the proposal and him so deliciously close, it was hard to obey and keep my hands at my side. My fingers tingled at the thought of touching his jaw, trailing down the hard ridges of his abdomen, dipping toward the dark tangle that led to the solid, bulging part of him.

  Or maybe my fingers were tingling because his grip tightened, decreasing circulation.

  I expected to se
e him glaring down at me sternly, seconds away from reminding me that I was his to do with as he pleased. But it was longing that turned his eyes molten, melting the mask he worked so hard to hold onto. He was turned on by my feistiness. The spark of disobedience in my eyes. And if the way he was staring at my chest was any indication, he didn’t have a spanking in mind.

  He released my wrists and even though I ached to wrap my hands around him, I kept them at my side as he reached for my chest. When he rounded the curves, my nipples pierced their lacy bondage. They were a slave to arousal, unable to listen to any command other than the lust he invoked.

  He spoke, his voice low and sexual. “I want to rip your clothes off. Take one of those beautiful…” His voice trailed off, but his actions filled in the blanks. His thumb flicked my swollen peak and it pulsed against the stimulation. There was something savage in the way he gazed at me and it made my pulse quicken, wondering if he’d actually tear my clothes to shreds.

  But his hands drew up until he cupped the sides of my face, pausing to look at me with something indiscernible in his gaze.

  He commanded my vision. I took in his aquiline features: his aristocratic nose, the perfectly chiseled jaw, eyes impossibly blue. In that blue he showed me what all those deep, soulful looks we'd shared since he popped the question meant. He made love to me with his eyes and I parted my lips, turning his name into a fevered prayer. For strength. For more.

  "Jacob..."

  He took the sides of my face and his full lips gripped mine. The characteristic Whitmore restraint was on a vacay as he forced his tongue into my mouth. He didn’t try to coach or goad mine to movement. He gave it no other option. He swirled around it, sweeping me up in a cyclone of passion. His lips consumed me, pulling and tugging, intermixing tingles of pain and a dizzying pleasure. If that wasn’t enough, I felt the low rumble of a moan at the back of his throat and it coursed through my body, gathering between my thighs.

  And then there were his hands. The powerful, commanding things, nothing like the ones that trembled by my side. There was no suggestion found in his grip. His body didn’t hint at what he wanted. They were all over, staking their claim. Demanding my total submission.