The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (17 page)

From beneath the
table, his foot tapped at mine.  I tapped him back, grinning, and then I lifted
my heels off the ground and touched the toe of my shoes against his pants.  I
lifted, slightly, just a playful nudge.  The front of my heels pressed against
his sock, then his bare skin, up along his shin.

He grinned at me
and shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly.  I grinned back.  Beatrice
continued talking.

I had wanted to
leave, but now I didn't.  I would stay and listen and do this.  I would answer
Beatrice's prying questions and try my best to make her happy.  Not because I
liked her, because I was fairly sure I didn't, but because it was what I felt
like I should do.

I wanted so
desperately to make Asher happy and to see him smile.

O
nce dinner
ended, the torture began.

Dinner was
delicious, I reminded myself.  I tried to think of the chicken cordon bleu,
with butter braised asparagus and fresh made biscuits.  Dessert consisted of
homemade vanilla bean ice cream topped with cherries jubilee, which was also
wonderful.  Asher, his wife, and I drank water and a wildberry melomel.  I'd
never tried melomel before, but I absolutely adored it.  Overall, dinner was
exceptional.

After dinner,
though, Asher's wife, Beatrice, suggested we retire to the smoking room.

"We don't
smoke there, though," she said, as if I'd already lit up a cigarette. 
"The smell of smoke in a house is nauseating.  You'll have to quit if we
accept you for this position."

The
position
,
she said, as if they were interviewing me for a job as a maid or a chef or some
other servant.  She seemed to like to completely disregard the fact that Asher
had asked me to become an egg donor and act as her surrogate.  This,
apparently, had nothing to do with her, but was more par for the course as a
person of importance.  Hire cleanstaff, find a cook, and then put an ad in the
paper for a woman willing to bare your children; this was how Beatrice acted.

"I don't
smoke," I said.  "I agree, it is nauseating."

Beatrice looked
at me funny, a quick glance over her shoulder, and then she walked away.  Asher
shrugged at me and followed after her.

Maybe I should
leave now, I thought.  They wouldn't notice me missing for a few seconds yet. 
If I slipped away, dashed down a hallway, went somewhere else, what would they
do?  Nothing, most likely.  Or, Beatrice wouldn't, anyways.  Asher might come
after me, find me, ask me why?  Why did I leave?  Where was I going?

I almost wanted
to do it just to hear him say those things, but I didn't.  I followed them to
the smoking room.

The smoking room
looked like something directly transported from an old-fashioned English
house.  Granted, I'd never been in an old-fashioned English house, let alone another
smoking room, but I imagined they looked like this.  Cushioned benches like
exceptionally long couches lined most of the walls save for an empty nook by a
bay window overlooking the gardens and the short wall with its blazing hearth. 
A fire crackled lightly in the fireplace, shining shimmery light throughout the
room.  One lamp on a side table provided the remainder of the light and a few
rolling tables lay in the middle of the room, currently unused and alone.

Asher slid one
of the tables towards a corner spot and sat on the wall bench.  Beatrice sat
far away from him on another bench entirely.  I looked between them at the
corner spot, but I didn't want to sit there.  I definitely didn't want to sit
next to Beatrice, but was it presumptuous to sit next to Asher?  Would it
bother his wife, too?  I really didn't know.

Asher patted the
seat beside him.  "Come now, it's just a bench."

To him, yes. 
And to me... somewhat yes.  But sometimes a bench wasn't just a bench. 
Situations and people and the atmosphere, one small thing could transform the
innocuous into so much more.  I sat next to Asher—not too close—and smiled.

"Well,"
Beatrice said.  "Now that the formality of meeting is over, and we've
traded idle chit chat, I feel like it is in all of our best interests to get
down to the matter at hand."

Asher sighed. 
"Yes, of course."

I folded my
hands in my lap and nodded.  "I hope I can provide answers to your
questions."

"You
hope?" she asked, staring down her nose at me.  "Hope is the bastion
of the weak, Jessika.  We must never hope for anything.  We must do and be.  We
must know."

What a fun time
this was already, I thought.  "I am positive I can provide answers to all
your questions," I said.

"Good. 
Better, at least.  Now, I want to know about your family history, going back at
least three generations.  That's your great grandfather and great grandmother,
if you need help figuring that out.  What were they like?  I don't need
touching tales or fabricated stories, please.  Did they have any major illnesses? 
Were they immigrants?  Military service?  Number of siblings and children on
either side?  Successful marriages or did they end in divorce?"

I answered
everything she asked me as best I could, but I didn't know why she asked half
of what she did.  I could understand her apprehension towards illness and
disease, since something like that was often hereditary, but what did military
service matter?  And the number of siblings my great grandfather had?

When it came to
discussing marriage, I wanted to add in a snarky line.  I so desperately wanted
to say something, to make her see that her marriage wasn't the happiest. 
Except, no, I couldn't.  Who was I to judge her?  I was biased, I knew it, and
I needed to stop.  My infatuation with Asher was simply that, a silly bout of
interest that would pass.  I told myself this, but I didn't really believe it.

Also, I was
scared that if I mentioned anything to her, said something about her and Asher
not being the closest couple, even insinuated it, I'd start a chain reaction. 
Like Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol
, if Beatrice fully realized how she
acted and what her marriage was like to an outsider, she might completely
change.  She'd become the perfect wife, transform into a loving spouse and
darling woman.

Probably not,
but I decided not to risk it.  Some selfish part of me wondered about it,
theorized what might happen if Asher and Beatrice separated.  Could I console
him?  Would he need someone?  The whole idea was silly and absurd and I felt
idiotic for wishing for their divorce, but I couldn't help it.

And, anyways,
that's how people are, right?  We all think of things that we never actually
want to happen.  Thoughts are fine when kept hidden and locked away, never
shared with anyone.  Right?  Maybe, but maybe not.

The night droned
on and Beatrice asked question after question.  She started to delve deeper,
seeking answers to the most obscure questions I'd ever heard.  Did my
grandparents graduate college, and if so what were their exact grade point
averages?  I reluctantly admitted that I didn't know.

"Ah
ha!" Beatrice said, as if she'd caught me in a lie.  "That's very
unfortunate."

"Beatrice,"
Asher said.  "Really?  I understand you want to be thorough, but I think
this is going a bit far."

"It's not,
really, Asher.  You need to understand where I'm coming from.  Do you want a
high school drop out for a child?  Do you want a son or daughter who will only
ever strive for mediocrity?  A liberal arts major?  Someone with their head in
the clouds, never willing to put forth the effort to succeed?"

I interrupted, I
had to.  "There are plenty of people who had their head in the clouds and
succeeded," I said.  "If you look at best selling novelists, you'll
see a trend towards great dreams.  Also, technology as a whole wouldn't be
anything without dreams and aspirations.  Scientists, engineers,
architects..."

Beatrice
scoffed.  "Writers prey on people like you, Jessika.  They write their
silly dreams on paper and make you think you can change the world.  The entire
entertainment industry is like that, actually.  And along with that comes
technology, and those scientists and engineers and architects you're so fond
of."

Asher frowned. 
"We make our money from the entertainment industry, Beatrice, or have you
forgotten?  Vacation resorts, high class hotels, and Landseer Enterprises other
projects?"

"Of course,
Asher."  Beatrice rolled her eyes, treating this like a trifling matter. 
"There is a large difference, though.  Most people have dreams, but they
fail to follow through with them.  You and I are the lions who prey on those
people's dreams.  We give them hope, an inkling of it, and feed off of their
laziness.  They pay for luxury when most of them can't afford it, and in turn
we give them more and more.  We..."

"I think that's
enough for the night.  Thank you for this, Jessika.  Beatrice and I really
appreciate it."

"Dinner was
wonderful," I said, feeling awkward.  "I hope I responded to your
questions alright..."

"Yes,"
Asher said.  He smiled at me even while Beatrice looked as if she couldn't wait
for me to leave.  "It's late and you've been drinking.  Do you want to
stay in the guest house for tonight?"

"Asher!"
Beatrice said, suddenly alert.  "Do you think that's..."

"It's no
problem," he said, interrupting her.  "There should be everything you
need there, but if you want I can have Jeremy drive you home."

I nodded. 
"I am getting tired, so if you don't mind, I'll stay.  Thank you very
much."

Beatrice
glowered at me as I left.  Asher said nothing except to bid me goodnight, but
once I walked through the door I heard them arguing in the smoking room. 
Jeremy was waiting for me in the hallway, looking hopeful.

"How'd it
go?" he asked.  "Anything exciting?"

We walked down
the hallway towards the dining room and the front door.  "Is she always
like that?  I don't think I could stand it," I said.

Jeremy laughed. 
"Yes, mostly.  Beatrice is... Beatrice.  I don't think she's a bad person
so much as she's different.  She doesn't like me, either, but her and Asher
seem to get along."

I paused mid
step.  They... yes, they must get along.  They were married, afterall.  And
even if they didn't see each other often, they talked.  He called her, I knew. 
They'd talked on the phone soon after I first met Asher, and they must have
called each other between then and now, too.  He'd mentioned multiple times how
he'd talked to Beatrice about this or that, and it just struck me as a typical
thing.  They'd talked, yes, but I never really imagined they enjoyed it.

I don't know why
I never thought about that, but I didn't.  Now, though, I realized maybe I was
wrong about everything.  Maybe they did like each other?  Maybe, while their
marriage wasn't one that I would enjoy, they enjoyed it?  Maybe...

"Hey there,
lady?" Jeremy said, snickering.  He tugged on my arm, urging me onwards.

"Sorry,"
I said.  I went along with him, through the dining room now.  "I just... I
can't imagine what it's like for them.  I don't know if I'd want to do
it."

"Sometimes
you don't have a choice, you know?" Jeremy said.  "It's not so easy
to stop when you've started, especially for people like Asher and Beatrice. 
You and me, if we were married, it'd be different.  No one cares, there's no
problems.  I mean, there's problems, but they aren't as big.  With Asher and
Beatrice, everything is a hundred times bigger.  There's more reason to stay
together and less reason to leave, you know?"

"But do
they want to stay together?" I asked.

Jeremy sighed,
then smiled at me.  "I'm not Asher or Beatrice, so I couldn't say.  But,
honestly?  It's probably better not to even think about it.  I don't know
exactly what's going on with you or them or anything, but more than one
person's been hurt when their expectations don't match reality.  You seem like
a nice woman and I don't want to see that happen to you."

"I
know," I said.  "It was just a question.  I was curious."

It wasn't
entirely just a question, but I knew that it couldn't be anything more, either.

Jeremy left me
at the guest house.  It was still early, somewhat.  Not entirely as late as
Asher had made it out to be, and I actually wasn't tired in the least.  In a
few more hours, maybe, but not yet.

I plopped onto
the couch, contemplating watching something on the projector and movie screen. 
Unfortunately, though, I realized I had no idea how to use the remote.  I
picked it up off the coffee table, staring at it.  The buttons all looked the
same, though some said one thing or another.  My TV at home had a generic cable
company remote with a standard cable box, but this was nothing like that.  I
frowned and tossed it back onto the table, defeated.  I didn't want to mess
around with it and potentially screw something up.  I felt like I was always
screwing something up these days.

What to do, what
to do?  I could take a bath?  My thoughts drifted to yesterday, when I'd
refused to leave Asher's guest home.  He came home, angry and upset, wondering
why.  He'd asked me what I was doing, why had I done this?  I didn't really
know how to answer him then, and I didn't know now, but I remembered one of the
things I'd said later.  In his basement library, stripped of my clothes, tossed
onto one of his couches, I'd admitted to masturbating in his bathtub.

Maybe I
shouldn't take a bath.

I could make
myself a snack?  Sit here and do nothing?  Go lay on the bed upstairs and...?

Then it hit me. 
The library!  The library had similar memories as the bathtub, but mostly only
with Asher.  If I went there alone, I thought I'd be alright.  No drudged up
thoughts that I shouldn't think about, nothing too awful or bad.  I would find
a book, sit on the couch, maybe cover myself with blankets, and read.

Except, of
course, I needed pajamas first.  Nightclothes.  Something.  I bounced up the
stairs, excited, and ran to the master bedroom.

I still couldn't
believe the closet.  Empty when I first arrived, when I'd come as part of some
deal with Asher, he'd since asked Jeremy to fill it with clothes for me.  I
don't really know why, unless this was part of his plan.  I assumed Asher
Landseer was the kind of person who got what he wanted most times, so probably
that was it.  He did need to discuss the situation with Beatrice, but he'd do
it and she'd side in his favor.  Not
with
me, but
for
him, and so
in advance of that he'd bought me clothes.