The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (19 page)

Or, it wasn't
that I didn't want him to stop, per se, but I didn't want him to feel guilty. 
I didn't want him to regret this, to regret kissing me, touching me.  I saw him
before, saw the look in his eyes, heard the disappointment in his voice.  When
we slept together, somewhat on accident after he took pictures of me, he seemed
distraught.  Unsure what to do, not sure why he'd done it, and I didn't want
him to feel that way again.

So, if this was
what I needed to do, if this was how I could keep Asher from feeling guilty, I
would do it.  His fingers squeezed slightly, twisting my nipple further, but I
remained steadfast on the floor.  My knees quivered and I imagined something
else entirely.  Asher's mouth around my breast, tongue caressing my nipple,
soft, luxurious.

Everything
stopped and I realized his hand wasn't on my breast anymore.  I looked up at
him, smiling.  He smiled back.

"Very
good," he said.

"Thanks,
but..."  A thought came to me.  "Is this some kind of bondage thing,
Asher?  I really don't understand that stuff, to be honest."

"I don't
think it is," he said.  "I don't know.  Do you want me to tie you
up?"

"I don't
know.  Do you want to tie me up?" I asked, coy.

We had no rope. 
He used his belt.  "Put your hands behind your back," he said. 
"Tight together."

I did as he
asked.

"Stand."

I stood.

He circled his
belt around my body, trapping my arms behind my back.  Tightening the belt
until I couldn't move my arms, he twisted it around so that the buckle was
behind me, then he latched the belt buckle and admired his work.

"Can you
move your arms?" he asked.

I tried to move
them, to wriggle them free.  I thought I could if I had enough time, but as it
was I was rather firmly stuck.  "Not really.  Not much," I said. 
"Now what?"

"I don't
know," he said.

I paused,
regretting what I needed to say.  "Asher... we probably shouldn't do
this.  Beatrice, and..."

"We had an
argument," he said.  "I... I know that's not a good reason for
anything, but she's so difficult.  You were there tonight.  She listens to me,
but... she doesn't.  There is never a compromise with Beatrice.  It's always a
battle and she never gives in.  I... I just want..."

"What do
you want?" I asked.  "What do you feel?"

He grinned. 
"A turnabout, hm?  I don't think I can say.  You won't like it."

"Try
me," I said, defiant.  I lifted my chin and stared at him.

Asher knew
Jessika would regret this.  He thought he might regret it, too.  Try me, she'd
said, and, oh, he couldn't resist.

It wasn't that
he was controlling, or dominant.  Or, he was, he supposed.  People said he had
a certain air about him, a kind of possessive, obsessive quality.  He owned
himself and knew how to put that forward to others, but sometimes he felt
helpless, too.  Sometimes he felt like he couldn't do anything and it was all a
farce.  Silly, really, since he was rich and powerful, except that wasn't
everything.  In fact, if he had to meter it out, he'd say power and riches were
only a small part of who he was as a person; the smallest part.

Asher was a
dreamer.  He was a thinker and a doer and a wanter.  Not needlessly, though. 
He wanted to share with others, and in turn share in their feelings.  He liked
when people were happy.  Beatrice called those people his pet projects, but he
didn't think that was it.  Jeremy was one such "pet project," but
Jeremy was eternally grateful, too.  He liked Jeremy and he never thought lesser
of him, even if he'd first met the man working in a dead end job as a busboy.

He never wanted
to control Jeremy.  In fact, if Jeremy wanted, he could leave at any moment and
Asher would never begrudge him that.  He'd give his friend enough money to
settle into a nice life of his own, and ask him over for dinner every so often.

Jeremy never
left, though.  He appreciated everything Asher did for him, and in turn Asher
understood and appreciated him, too.  Even though Asher asked him, sometimes
ordered him, to drive him somewhere or pick something up, Jeremy did it
willingly.  It was Asher's request, but also Jeremy's offer.

Jessika was much
the same, except so very different, too.  He wanted to explore her, discover
her, control her.  But, then, not control her, too.  He wanted her to be
willing.  She could leave at any moment.

Except, right
now, she wasn't leaving.  Sitting on the couch, with Jessika draped over his
lap, stomach pressed against his thigh, Jessika wasn't going anywhere.  Not
because he wanted her to stay, even though he did, but because she wanted to.

I wasn't quite
sure what I'd agreed to, or why I was doing this, but a part of it excited me. 
Asher picked me up like a ragdoll and draped me over his lap as easy as that. 
Arms still strapped tight behind my back, his belt keeping them stuck in place,
he leaned back and admired my ass.

"Are you
sure?" he asked.

"I don't
know," I said.  "I'm not sure if I'm sure, but I'm willing to
try."

He laughed. 
"Alright."

"I... I
trust you," I said.

Asher remained
quiet.  Contemplative.  He rubbed his hand across my ass, caressing my bare
flesh.  The g-string that came along with the babydoll didn't do much to hide
my rear assets.  It did even less when he plucked at the strings and pulled
them down to my knees.

"Tell me if
you want to stop," he said.  "Like... like a safe word. 
Alright?"

"What do
you mean?" I asked.

"Pick a
word.  Any word at all.  If you say that word, I'll stop, but if you don't,
then I won't.  So you can flail and scream and say no, no, no all you want, but
if you don't say the word then I won't stop."

"Isn't that
a bit extreme?" I asked.

"Maybe,"
he agreed.  "But, just in case."

I didn't know
what I'd gotten myself into.  I had no idea what we were doing.  It turned me
on so much, though.

"Leather,"
I said, saying the first word that came to mind.  His leather belt wrapped
tight around my body and my arms.

"Alright. 
Ready?" he asked.

Before I
answered, he slapped my ass with the palm of his hand.  I squeaked, silenced,
and my body jolted beneath his rough handling.

It didn't hurt,
but that didn't stop the surprising abruptness.  He lifted his hand and spanked
me again, harder this time, louder.  I wriggled, squirming in his lap as he
spanked me harder and harder.

He stopped for a
moment and rubbed my ass, squeezing my butt in his palm.  "You have a nice
butt," he said.  "I just want to..."

He slapped it
hard.  A resounding smack echoed through the air.  I bucked my hips up high,
relishing in his touch.

"Does it
hurt?" he asked, sounding concerned.

I grinned to
myself and refused to answer him.

He spanked me. 
"Does it hurt, Jessika?"

I whimpered, but
said nothing.

He slapped my
ass again and asked me the same question, but didn't even wait for an answer
before he spanked me once more.  It didn't hurt so much as it tingled, pleasant
and rough.  I could tell he was being careful, unsure, but trying to be
dominant.  Controlling me, dominating me, so close and intimate and...

"You're
red," he said.  "I'm stopping."

I panicked,
yelped.  "No, it's alright.  You can keep going."

"Shh,"
he said.  "I can, but I don't want to."

Unable to move
much, still draped across his lap, I decided to try something else.  I wiggled
my hips up and down.  Trying to look tempting, yes, but not just that.  My
crotch ground against Asher's thigh, my clit a fiery beacon of pleasure.  I
used him to get myself off, to bring myself up.

He watched me
writhing in his lap.  I looked over my shoulder at him, grinning.  "Asher,
can you... please?"

In one smooth
motion he lifted me up and off of him, then deposited me on my stomach on the
floor.  He unbuckled the belt around my upper body and arms and let me free.  I
flopped on the floor, unsure what exactly to do, but not liking it at all.

"What?"
I asked.  "I just, I..."

"Go to the
guest bedroom upstairs," he said.  "On the side table you'll see a
screen.  It's a bedside TV.  Turn it on and switch to channel nine.  Then
wait."

"What?"

He left without
saying a word.  He walked up the stairs to the first floor, leaving me half
naked in a disheveled babydoll on his guest home's library floor.  I stared
after him, completely and utterly shocked.

"I guess
I'm not sexy enough," I said.  "Good enough to spank and make out
with, but not to finger or fuck.  Got it."

Pissed off and
annoyed, I trounced up the stairs after him.  He wasn't there when I reached
the top, so I stomped up the stairs to the second floor.  The master bedroom
door was closed, so I slammed my fist on it.

No reply.

I tried to turn
the knob and open the door, but Asher must have locked it.  I slammed on the
door again, but nothing.

What a jerk. 
What an asshole.  I'd indulged him, let him spank me.  It certainly hadn't felt
amazing when he twisted my nipple, either.  Actually, thinking back to it, I
could still feel the dull ache of his fingers digging into my sensitive flesh. 
And... I kind of wanted him to do it again.  I wanted to feel it, streaks of
pain bound with mounds of pleasure, coursing through my body.

If he wasn't
going to get me off, I'd do it myself.  I ran to the guest room and pounced on
the bed.  Lifting my babydoll up and revealing my stomach, I shoved my hand
between my legs and teased at my slick folds.  Belated, and not even really
knowing why, I noticed the small LCD TV screen on the bedside table and switched
it on.  While I masturbated, I flipped past the nightly news and turned to
channel nine.

What I saw on
the screen shocked me.  My hand paused and I stared, open-mouthed, at the small
TV.  On the screen, laying on the bed in the master bedroom with his pants
around his ankles and the bottom of his shirt gripped hard in his right hand,
was Asher.  He held his throbbing cock in his other hand, jerking it up and
down slowly.

I could hear
something coming from the speakers on the TV, but the volume was too low. 
Frantic, enthralled, I mashed the volume button until Asher's words became
clear.

"Jessika,"
he said, more of a grunt than regular speech.  "I want to throw you on the
bed and spread your legs.  I want to squeeze your thighs in my hands and slam
my cock into you.  I want to..."

I lost it.  What
was a tease before became a full on frontal assault to my femininity.  I rubbed
my clit hard between two fingers while I watched Asher stroking himself.  Head
turned to the side, I imagined myself there with him, in the position he told
me, in the way he wanted to take me.  I spread my legs and put my free hand
beneath my breasts, jostling them up and down with my forearm and pretending
Asher was slamming into me so hard that I was rocking back and forth on the bed.

"Fuck me,
Asher," I said, a lusty moan.  I fingered myself faster, pushing one, then
two fingers inside me.  Not enough, not the same, but if I kept watching Asher
and imagining him with me, I could almost convince myself that he was here
right now.  Braver, my arousal thrashing past my inhibitions, I moaned louder. 
"Fuck me.  Please, fuck me."

"I can hear
you," he said, his voice strained.  "I can see you, too.  You're so
beautiful.  I want to fuck you.  I want to make love to you."

I squinted
through my pleasure-blurred vision and saw him on the bed in the master
bedroom, his head turned to the right just like mine.  On his bedside table,
somewhat inconspicuous, was a small LCD TV like the one I was looking at.  He
was watching me while I watched him?  My mind blanked, panicked, went into
overdrive.

"Love
me," I said before desire overtook me.

The evening took
its toll on me and I relented to it.  Worked up and ready, my orgasm descended
upon me like a charging elephant.  Thick and heavy, stampeding, pleasure dug
into my body.  Starting at my core, focused around my clit, my climax dove hard
and deep.  "I'm..." I said.  "Asher, I'm..."

I couldn't put
the words together, didn't know what to say to tell him.  Instead, I let my
body do it for me, writhing and spasming on the bed.  My babydoll flipped and
fluttered around me, caught up in the frantic actions of my orgasm.  I twisted
on the bed, rubbing my fingers around my clit, coaxing my pleasure onwards and
further.

"I'm going
to," Asher said to me—just to me—through the TV.  "Jessika,"
he said, "I'm going to cum."

So dirty and
natural, but erotically explicit, too.  Cum.  I watched him on the TV, my mind
working in slow motion, staring at him while I pleasured myself.  Asher's cock
jerked in his hand and he let out a primal grunt as he began to climax.  A hot,
thick stream of cum shot up, straight up, then crashed back down, landing on
his bare thigh.  Then another, not as strong but just as good, hitting his hand
while he stroked himself.  And finally a bit more, a tiny amount, barely
visible but oh so wonderful.

Asher slumped
onto the bed, defeated and sated.  My own orgasm dwindled down, a happy heat,
and I gazed into the TV with absolute affection.  He lay there on the bed,
exhausted.  His chest rose and fell with each breath he took and he lifted his
shirt up to his chin then rested his hand on his revealed chest.  His cock
slipped downwards, softening, finding a home right between his thighs.  He
looked so quiet and defenseless and I wanted to go to him.

"Asher,"
I said to the TV, to him.  "Let me in your room."

"Jessika,"
he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.  "I can't.  We can't do..."