The Billionaire's Contract Page 3

  His eyes hardened to ice. "Of course you have a choice. You can submit to me and be paid handsomely for it, or you can walk back through that door without consequences."

  I kept my eyes on him, trying to hold tight to my anger but I felt it slipping between my fingers as I mulled it over. Would it really be so terrible? This was my dream job. And how many times had I flipped through glossy pages, green with envy at shots of Jacob shirtless with some woman in St. Barts, or decked out at a movie premiere?

  "O-Okay," I whispered, nerves making the word quiver.

  "Look at me," he commanded. His baritone voice roped me in and his steely gaze held me tight. "I want you to say it again--and be sure."

  I obeyed, even though a little part of me was screaming that this was crazy. But there was another part, a piece of me that was inexplicably drawn to him; that wanted more of him, all of him--and was begging me to say the word.

  "I am sure. Yes." I'm not sure what magic helped me put one foot in front of the other and take the tablet and scrawl my name on the dotted line, but my signature shone up at me. When he took the device from me, his finger brushed mine and I shivered.

  His face didn't betray a thing, but he did clear his throat and break contact before turning away. "Very well." He walked over to a minibar and opened the cabinet. He slowly poured a brown liquid into a glass and brought it to his lips. He wheeled back to face me and his eyes darted over me. Up and down, devouring every inch. Teasing me.

  He took another sip then placed it back on the table. "Take off your clothes."

  "Now?" I said, visibly surprised by his request. "Here?"

  "I don't like to repeat myself, Leila," he said sternly.

  For the briefest moment I heard my mother's voice telling me to always wear my 'good' underwear. Always be prepared. But I only had a few pieces of clothing that would qualify and naturally, today wasn't the day I picked to wear any of them. Maybe if I knew my boss was gonna make me strip...

  I squared my shoulders and stood up tall, making sure I didn't lock my knees. Collapsing would be the cherry on top of a truly bizarre day.

  My fingers worked down the front of my blouse, sliding over button by button until it hung open in the front. I hesitated then shrugged it off my shoulders. The cool of the office and his steely glare sent goose bumps over my flesh. I didn't have it in me to unclasp my bra so I moved to my skirt, unhooking the top then slowly sliding the zipper down, peeling off the layer of black polyester until it joined my shirt at my ankles. My hands dropped to my crotch, my cheeks a flame at the comic strip boy shorts I'd settled on earlier this morning.

  When I glanced up I saw bemusement in his crystal eyes, but his lips were a firm line. "Continue."

  I squeezed my eyelids shut and gave him a crisp nod before I roped my arm around and unhooked my bra. My breasts bounced free and I quickly shimmied out of my underwear and tried futilely to slouch and cover my nakedness from him.

  "Hands down." It was more of a moot point since he'd bridged the distance between us and physically brought my hands to my sides. I found myself simultaneously thrilled and terrified at what he had in store. Did he have a drawerful of odds and ends that he could taunt and tease and push my limits with? Or maybe he'd tie me up with that bolt of fabric at his neck and breathe in my helplessness before he took me.

  It was true that I was familiar with bdsm, or had dated a man who fashioned himself as a Dominant but the extent of our kinky play was rough sex and calling him sir. Everything else I knew came from romance novels and that made me nervous. Excited, but nervous as hell. And he read me just like a book.

  "You are uncomfortable."

  It was a statement--and the gospel truth. I didn't trust my voice so I just gave him a slow nod.

  "Are you self-conscious...or afraid of me?"

  Even though there was a clear power disparity with him squarely in the lead and me on my knees, there was something raw and vulnerable in his voice. It was ripe with worry that it was fear of him that made me tremble.

  I looked up into his devastatingly handsome face, all the right angles focused on me and even though I'd only met him yesterday, I knew that he'd never hurt me.

  I swallowed. "S-Self-conscious."

  He cupped his chin for a moment, mulling over my response before he glanced past me, gesturing at an alcove in the corner of his office where a dark brown chaise stood comfortably against the wall. "Go have a seat. And relax."

  I plodded over, trying to ignore his eyes on my back. I found myself squeezing my butt muscles, making a solemn swear. Skim milk lattes. With no whip.

  As I sank onto the chaise, I couldn't help but relax against the pillow-like fabric. How did he get anything done in this office? I'd always be camped out on this thing.

  "Swing your legs up." That half smile tugged at my heartstrings. "Get the full effect."

  I swept my legs up and let out an audible moan with a giggle tacked onto the end. This whole thing was crazy. Unreal. And this chair was magic. All the rough edges were smoothed and massaged away. Was this a taste of the luxury that was in store?

  He appeared at the foot of it, all amusement gone from his face. "Raise up your knees and spread your legs. Wide enough so I can see you." His eyes darkened with lust. "All of you."

  The quiet part of me that felt unworthy, unattractive, and flat out unsexy made me slowly draw my legs up, giving him every opportunity to change his mind. But there was no pause behind his stance and when my eyes darted down I saw the tented front of his pants. He was hard. Hard for me.

  "And touch yourself," he said and even though he didn't move a muscle, I could see the struggle at his crotch.

  I still blanched at his request and immediately gawked at my silliness. I mean, I could let him finger me before we had a coffee or anything, but me doing something perfectly natural was out of the question?

  "Is there a problem?" he asked curtly.

  I let out an awkward laugh and gripped onto my trembling knees. It didn't help much--now my whole body was shaking. When I glanced up at him, I shot my eyes back down. It was crazy, but I didn't want to disappoint him.

  He placed his hand over mine and his warm touch sent a jolt through my system and I flexed my fingers, my heart leaping in my chest as he intertwined his fingers with mine.

  "I want you," he said firmly and I didn't have to find validation. I felt it. "But if you're not ready to submit to me now, I'm a patient man." He pulled his hand away and strode to his desk. I watched him punch a button on his phone. "Natasha, please call the boutique on 6th and let them know I'm sending Miss Montgomery over before the flight to Venice."

  I leapt to my feet. "Uh, what? Boutique? Venice?"

  "Yes," he replied, lowering himself into his seat. "Press junket for one of our trouble clients. I'm sure you're familiar with her? Child star? Crashed and burned as soon as she hit 18? This is her first serious role since she was released from rehab and you're accompanying me to the film festival to keep her on the straight and narrow and ensure all press is good press."

  Five seconds ago he was asking me to finger myself and now I was flying to Europe? "I can't just go to Europe!"

  He didn't even look up. "You have a passport, yes?"

  "Well yeah, but I-"

  "All expenses will be paid, of course. When you're not essential you'll be free to see the sights or whatever your heart desires."

  I stood with my mouth hanging open, not sure if I should pinch myself. I turned to gather my clothes. If I was dreaming, I didn't want to wake up.

  "Leave the clothes."

  I shot him a look. "I'm certainly not gonna traipse around in-"

  "Beneath the chaise."

  I frowned and bent at the knee, pulling out a long white box tucked under the chaise. I shook it like a kid at Christmas before easing the top off. Tucked inside a sheer sheet of tissue paper was a sleek black trench coat with the tag still on it. "I can't keep this! It cost more than a month's rent."

  "As my a
ssistant, you're an extension of me," he said sternly. "It means you must look the part, Leila."

  I fingered the expensive fabric for a moment before slowly pulling it on. The inside felt like cashmere on my skin and I couldn't stop the smile that crept across my face.

  The phone on his desk beeped and the sultry voice of his secretary floated around the room. "Mr. Whitmore, your car has arrived."

  "Thank you." He slid back from his desk and walked toward me. His hand found mine and when his lips pressed against my knuckles, I closed my eyes, committing the tender moment to memory. As I followed him out his office and toward the executive elevator, I couldn't quiet the voice that told me that saying yes to Jacob Whitmore could cost me a lot more than my job.

  ###

  About the Author

  Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her Kindle, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and searching for her own brooding billionaire.

  More about the His Submissive Series:

  The His Submissive Series will be released in a serial format, with a new part of Jacob and Leila’s story being released every 2-3 weeks. Stay tuned to Ava’s blog for more info!

  http://avaclaireromantica.blogspot.com

  Table of Contents

  The Billionaire's Contract (His Submissive, Part One)

  Midpoint