The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (6 page)

He gave me a
quizzical look, then laughed.  "I am, aren't I?  Well, there's no need for
it.  I guess I just feel more comfortable in it than out of it."  He took
it off, revealing the rest of his silver shirt, and put the coat at his side.

"The way I
see it, and I don't know much about this business so forgive me any mistakes,
but there's many ways to become successful when dealing with something like
this.  First, reviewing something that sells is..."

"Asher,"
I said, interrupting.  "I know you mean well, but..."

"I'm
getting ahead of myself, aren't I?" he said.

"No, it's
not that, but..."  I didn't know how to say this gracefully, so I just let
it loose.  "I'm not a very good drinker."

"Oh."

"I don't do
it too much and..."

"Yes, sake
has a decently high alcohol content."

"I'm not
drunk, but..."

"We can
discuss business another time," he said with a grin.

"What do
you do?" I asked, suddenly.  I don't know why I asked it, because I knew
what he did.  He was the CEO of Landseer Enterprises, running numerous
different entertainment and vacation holdings.  Resorts, mostly, with a few
casinos, and there were rumors they had share in other places, but that
information was kept carefully secret.  Why?  I didn't know.  I wasn't a
billionaire, or else I'd probably keep billionaire secrets, too.  That didn't
stop me from wanting to know, though.

"Besides
running a multi-billion dollar company, which makes me seem much more
extravagant than I think I am," Asher said, "I like
photography."

I stared at him,
dumbfounded.  "Photography?" I asked.

"Yes,
but..."

"But?"

"I won't
tell you the type."

"Please?"
I begged.  Like some foolish girl I tugged on his shirt sleeve.  It was the
alcohol, I told myself, except I really just wanted to touch him, to be closer
to him.

He leaned close
to me, whispering into my ear.  "I trust you'll keep a secret.  I enjoy
photography of an intimate and female sort.  I don't share this information
with many people."

I looked at him
as if he were daft.  "So you take sexy pictures of scantily clad
woman?" I asked.

"You make
it sound so artistic," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I guess it
could be..."

"I'll show
you if you want."

"What do
you mean by that?  I don't want to see pictures of other women."

"No,"
he said, matter-of-fact.  "Of course not.  We can do a session, you and
me, and I'll show you what goes into it, then you can see the results first
hand."

"Asher,"
I said, leaning my head on his shoulder.  "That won't work.  I'm not sexy
enough."

He downed his
current cup of sake, then poured me another, and held out his cup for me to do
the same.  Together, we drank.

"I beg to
differ," he said.

"What do
you mean you beg to differ?  I think I know myself, and I definitely know I'm
not sexy enough to be in any of your pornographic photos."

"Pornographic!"
he said, as if it were the most amusing concept in the world.  "Hardly! 
Jessika, this is art.  Like classic Greek sculptures, I capture the pure
essence of each individual."

"You do
realize that most classic Greek sculptures have woman of quite more than
adequate proportions, don't you?  You basically just called me fat."

"I did
nothing of the sort.  In fact, I resent that."  He rolled his eyes and
made to move away from me, but only in teasing.  "You're not even close to
fat, anyways.  I'm glad you like the dress, by the way.  It looks lovely on
you."

"I
do," I said.  "I like it."

I inched closer
to him.  I wanted more, a lot more.  I looked up at Asher, saw a look in his
eyes that I hadn't seen before.  What was it?  I moved closer, trying to figure
it out, but halfway there I gave up.  The alcohol fuzzed my brain.  Not a lot,
but enough.  At least I wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench tonight, not yet
anyways.

It made me a
little bolder, though.  I put my hand on his crotch, felt his manhood beneath
his pants.  How did it come to this?  I didn't know.  Asher watched me, stared
at me, the look in his eyes changing ever so slightly.  God, I wished I weren't
somewhat drunk so I could better read him, except if I weren't I wouldn't have
my hand on his crotch, now would I?

I craned my neck
up, moved my head forward to kiss him, and he didn't stop me.  His hand touched
my breast, squeezed it, bunched up the fabric of my dress until he held it
tight in his hand.  I grabbed frantically for his erection, stroking him
through his pants.  I wanted those pants off.  Right now.

Asher seemed the
same.  But, his wife.  I couldn't do this, had to stop, and that's what I kept
telling myself but I never did it.

The waiter
knocked on the wooden sliding door.  "The rest of your meal is
ready," he said.

No, no!  Asher
pulled me away from him, made me put my hands in my lap and sit politely while
he leaned over and opened the door.  When the waiter saw us sitting next to
each other, he raised one brow, but said nothing.  One after another, him and
his assistant placed plates of food on our table, neatly arranging them around
our lover's special sushi platter.  Once finished, the waiter closed the door
for us, but not before saying, "I'll bring more sake, Mr. Landseer."

"Jessika,"
Asher said when we were alone again.  "I'm sorry, but we can't do this. 
You're drunk."

Something struck
me, some blind inspiration, and I decided to go with it.  "You said we
wouldn't end our lunch date until I told you my answer," I said. 
"I'm in no hurry to tell you."

I meant, though
the words came out a bit hazy, that he was stuck with me.  I would tell him
when I felt like it, and keep him for myself until then.  It sounded less nice
when I said it aloud, but I hoped he caught my meaning.

"Is that
so?" he asked.  "I said it was a romanticized thought, but I never
actually said I'd go through with it."

"You have
to!" I pleaded.  He was ruining my plans before I could even begin them,
and it frustrated me.

"I'll do
it," he said.  "But I have a few requirements."

"What?"
I asked.  "I'll do them."  Whatever they were, I would, if only to...

"First, we
need to cease this.  We are both adults, and I am married.  We can't act as
anything more than friendly to one another."

"Fine,"
I said in a huff, crossing my arms over my chest.  "Fine.  That's fine.  I
don't mean to sound upset, but I never meant it.  It was an accident."

"Yes,"
he said, sounding unconvinced.  "An accident."

"You said
'first.'  What's second?"

"Second, if
you insist on this, I insist you allow me to photograph you."

"I
guess," I said.  If I gave in for now, agreed to his requirements, then I
thought I could stay with him for just a little longer.  If I changed my mind
tomorrow, what would he do?  Our time together would be spent and done
already.  "When do you want to do this?  I have the weekend free."

"As soon as
we finish our meal," he said.

"What?" 
I stared at him, blinking.

"You've
heard the requirements.  Do you agree or not?"

"I..." 
I couldn't do that!  I was... well, not yet, but I could become drunk if the
waiter kept bringing us more sake.  And, sexy?  How was I supposed to be sexy? 
I knew a thing or two about it, and I understood the general premise, but I
highly doubted I could look as appealing as the women in some of the
photographs I'd seen before.  Not to mention I didn't even know exactly what
kind of photography he did.  He said it was intimate and female, but that was
vague enough to be almost anything.

"Do you
agree or not?" he asked, repeating himself.

"Fine,"
I said.  "I'll do it."

"Good,"
he said with a wicked grin.  Picking up his chopsticks, he grabbed a piece of
vegetable tempura; one of the fried sweet potatoes.  "Excellent choice on
the tempura, by the way.  These are delicious.  I haven't had them in
forever."

I
never thought
I was sexy.  That isn't to say I thought I was unattractive, but there's a
difference between sexiness and an acceptable look.  Everyone has something
nice about their personal appearance, but that doesn't mean they have that
je
ne sais quoi
sexual appeal.

I dressed as
nicely as I could, though, wearing nice looking skirts and blouses.  Maybe I
bought my clothes at Macy's or J.C. Penney, but they looked good.  Probably not
as fashionable as women in Asher Landseer's tier, but I could buy ten full
outfits with what they paid for a single blouse.  I owned shelves full of body
scrubs, soaps, facial cleansers, and a ton of other woman's essentials for my
early morning routine when I was getting ready for the day.  I loved to take
baths, used rose, sandalwood, and green tea scented shampoo, and splurged on
the more expensive conditioners.

I looked nice; I
liked how I looked.  Blonde, average weight, a little bit of a tan from the
tanning machines at the gym where I shared a membership with a friend.  I kept
in shape, ate as well as I could, and cared about my appearance.  Cosmetics,
styling my hair, making sure my clothes were fresh and clean and without
wrinkles.

Still, that
didn't make me sexy.  I was sure men found me attractive enough, and I'd had
boyfriends in the past.  Sex, compliments, and everything that went along with
relationships.

But...

When Asher
Landseer, the billionaire CEO of Landseer Enterprises asked to take sexy photos
of me, I balked.

It was a
requirement, he said.  Not a requirement of his choosing, either, but mine.  At
least it was mine in a way.  I could say no, I could disagree, but if I wanted
him to agree to what I'd asked of him, then I needed to accept his requirement.

A small part of
me wanted to run away right then.  What was I getting myself into?  He'd
invited me to a restaurant to discuss something and that was it.  Granted, he
wanted to discuss me possibly becoming an egg donor and surrogate mother for
him and his wife, so the situation was already awkward, but this just made it
worse.

He teased me,
tormented me, except I thought he didn't mean it in a bad way.  An accident,
like someone who was unsure how to proceed.  Thinking back to what I'd done, I
felt the same.  Why did I curl my toes, let them trace towards his crotch and
his stiffening manhood hidden beneath his pants.  He'd offered me a calf
massage and nothing more, and I was the one who took it further.  Asher was the
one who elevated it, almost getting me off with his foot, but then it stopped.

And started. 
And stopped.

Sitting in our
private booth at The Simple Path, a luxurious Japanese restaurant, I answered
him.

"Fine,"
I said.  "I'll do it."

"Good,"
he said with a deliciously deviant grin on his face.

I wanted to kiss
him so badly, but he reached for a piece of battered and fried sweet potato
from our vegetable tempura plate.  Why was I sitting next to him now?  I'd
started across the table, less intimate, and now here I was, sitting elbow to
elbow with him,
the
Asher Landseer.

It was the
sake.  I was never a good drinker, always quick to get a bit of a buzz, and
we'd gone through three cups of the drink already.  Not drunk, not by a long
shot, but I wanted an excuse.  I needed a reason to stay near him, desired it. 
As per our agreement, I would answer him about surrogacy when I was good and
ready, and not a moment sooner, and he would spend the day with me until I
did.  Was that selfish?  Who had the better part of the deal there?  It was his
idea, a type of control, or the giving away of it, but what did he really want
out of this?

I could keep him
to myself, at least for a little bit, and pretend there was some other reason
he wanted to share my company, some other purpose besides his request for me to
think about becoming his wife's egg donor.  She was infertile, they didn't see
each other often, maybe he was lonely?

Maybe... he
wanted... me?

I didn't know if
I could let him take sexy pictures of me, though.  A hobby, nothing more, just
something he enjoyed doing in his spare time.

I never thought
I was sexy.  I still wasn't sure.

Asher didn't
know what had come over him.  He didn't know why he'd asked Jessika to model
for his photography.  It wasn't a shameful thing, not in his mind, and he owned
all of the proper equipment, but this was new to him.  He couldn't help
himself.  It was as if he needed to ask her, some fate ordained.

He never
believed in fates or destinies or anything like that, though.  People made
their own paths in life, and he'd made his.  He'd invited her here under the
awkward, though innocuous reason of seeing how she would answer his request
from the day prior.

Yes, nothing
more than that, right?  Except yesterday he'd chastised her by putting her on
the table in his private meeting room and stripping her of all her clothes. 
True, she ruined one of his favorite books first, the one that his father had
given to him after he graduated from private school and before he'd gone to
college, but it was replaceable.  Special, with memories, but she never
destroyed the memories and sentiment.

He didn't think
Jessika could ever do something like that.  She only made them, new ones,
blossomed and nurtured thoughts.

She was plain,
regular, and... no, she was none of those things.  Her clothing looked average,
but like any book, there was a lot going on beneath her cover.  He wanted to
know it, to read her, to sit by a fire while drinking a fine wine and exploring
every aspect of her as if she were a classic work of literature and he was
stuck inside on a rainy, dismal day.

He had a wife. 
He couldn't do these things.  This was some inexplicable fascination.  He tried
to dissuade himself, letting himself look at her.  She wore the casual chemise
shirt he gave her yesterday after he'd ripped the buttons from her other
shirt.  The skirt covering her legs went a little higher than her hips, but it
was nothing out of the ordinary.  Her perfume, whatever the scent, was pleasant
but not too intoxicatingly so.

But her eyes! 
She looked at everything as if it was exciting.  Curiosity flickered through
them, glimmers of innocence wanting to learn more.  They were a startling blue,
like the sky on a bright summer's day, but he felt like they might cloud up and
hide her true feelings if he so much as breathed the wrong way, sent forth a
bad gust of wind.  And her hands, timid, but wanting.  The way she held her
chopsticks when she reached for a strip of
chicken kara age
, slow and
unsure, with a tilt of her head as she looked his way.  He wanted to nod, say
yes, it's delicious and I think you'll love it.  He wanted to pick the meat up
in his fingers and lean towards her, close, placing it lightly in her mouth,
feeding her the morsel, letting her chew and swallow it before kissing the
remnants off her pink, delicate lips.

That was too
much, though.  If he scared her, worried her, he didn't think he'd have another
chance.  He wanted to squeeze her, grab her, demand things from her.  He wanted
to lay her down on the bench right then and there and rip off her clothes and
press his warm mouth against every part of her body.

He wanted her to
be her, but he wanted her to be his, too.

And so, without
thinking, the urge overriding the logical part of his brain, he'd asked her to
model for his photography hobby.  She agreed.  She agreed!  This startled him
somewhat, but he wasn't entirely surprised.  Except now what?

He needed to
tone this down, to lighten the mood and keep all intimate thoughts at bay. 
This would be strictly an enjoyable pastime where he showed her a few things
about taking pictures and modeling.  And that was it.  No more.

He had a wife,
he knew that, and this was some odd, mild fascination with an interesting
woman.  Nothing more or less than that, and in time it would pass.

I had taken a
taxi to the restaurant since I didn't own a car; it was easier to travel in the
city without one most of the time.  A lack of parking spots, or traffic issues,
or any other numerous problems could and did happen on a daily basis, making
owning a car more of a luxury than a necessity here.  I liked not having a car,
anyways.  Sometimes it was nice to imagine it as freedom.  With cars I was
stuck on city roads, but walking, or a taxi, or the subway could bring me
almost anywhere.

I didn't know if
Asher agreed with that, but he had a car of sorts.  He drove, he said,
sometimes, but he had a man who drove him around most of the time.  Especially
now as we'd both been drinking, so it obviously wasn't safe for either of us to
drive.

We stepped out
of the restaurant, a little tipsy, after Asher paid the waiter for our meal. 
The food was as delicious as I imagined—probably better—but the price!

"Did you
really just pay three hundred dollars for our lunch?" I asked him after
sneaking a peek at the bill.

Asher shrugged,
nonchalant.  "They included the tip in the bill," he said.

He held my arm
in his as we walked down the street towards his car.  I felt nice then,
sophisticated.  Asher was a gentleman, if nothing else, and he more than acted
the part.  His free hand reached across the front of his torso towards where my
arm held onto his and he placed his fingers on my hand in a silent gesture.

Safe, it said. 
You're safe, don't worry.  Safe and mine.  I wanted to think the last part was
at least somewhat true, but I knew it couldn't be.  We'd discussed this before
leaving.

"We need to
stop this," he had said.  "You're an attractive woman, but I'm
married, and—"

Yes.  It didn't
really matter what he said, but I understood it.  I completely agreed with him
no matter how much I didn't want to.

The bright,
noontime sun shone down on us as we turned the corner.  People passed us by on
the streets, barely giving us a second glance.  Did they think we were a
couple?  I wondered about that.  We might look somewhat like it.  I eased
closer to him, tried to relax and act as if we'd known each other for longer
than a couple of days.  Relaxed, friendly, intimate, close.

I tilted my
head, just a little bit, and rested the side of my forehead on his shoulder. 
He smiled and looked over at me.  If I moved my face up, turned my chin just
so, I could have snuck in for a quick kiss.

"Are you
alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes,"
I said.  "I'm just a little tired.  The sake, maybe."

I wasn't tired,
not at all.  The alcohol was doing some things, but that wasn't the reason I
had my head on his shoulder.  It made a wonderful excuse, though.

We stopped in
front of a black car with tinted windows.  As soon as Asher approached, I heard
the click of a door unlocking.  Asher reached for the door handle, pulled on
it, and swept open the door for me.  Reluctantly, I let go of his arm and
stepped into the car.

The back seat
was bigger than it looked from the outside.  I sat on the plush leather and
shimmied over to give Asher room to come in, too.  Stretching my legs out as
far as they could go, I still had a few more inches before my toes would touch
the back of the drivers seat.  Asher grinned and slipped in beside me.

"Where to,
boss?" the man in the driver's seat asked.

"Home,
Jeremy," Asher said.  "To the guest house, though.  Jessika and I
have private business arrangements to discuss, so I'd rather not go to the main
house for now."

"Sure
thing.  Not a problem," Jeremy said.

Asher nodded, the
car started, and we were off.  That was that, and I expected a typical ride to
wherever we were off to, except Asher had other things in mind.  Touching a
switch on the hand rest next to him, a piece of dark, thick glass rose up from
behind the front seats and blocked my view of the road in front of us. 
Presumably it blocked Jeremy's view of us, too.  Asher confirmed as much.

"I thought
you might like the privacy," he said.  "If not I'll lower it
again."

I shrugged,
smiled, nonchalant.  "It's fine."

"Relax if
you want," Asher added.  "Buckle your seat belt?  Or not?  Shall we
live on the wild side?"

"Ooh!"
I said with mock enthusiasm.  "Dangerous, are we?"

He laughed. 
"As dangerous as we can be with a chauffeur with an impeccable driving
record."

I decided on not
buckling my seat belt, but for other, possibly even more dangerous reasons.

I don't know
what came over me, and I don't think I would have done this regularly, but my
hand crept towards the buttons of my chemise and I undid the top one.  Asher took
no notice as I did this, instead peering out the window at something or other. 
I undid the next button, and the next, letting loose a sizable amount of my
cleavage.  Then another, and one more.  As I undid the last button, revealing a
thin line of bare flesh from the top of my neck to the curves of my waist,
hindered only by my lacy white bra, Asher glanced over at me.

It took him a
few seconds to register what I had done and what I was doing, but once he did
he merely stared.  This wasn't quite the reaction I wanted, nor did I know what
to do next, so I fiddled with the last button and waited for him to speak.

"Jessika..." 
His voice trailed off.

"I..."
I said.  What did I want?  What was this?  "I thought we could start the
modeling early?"

Stupid!  Dumb! 
Who said that?  What I really thought was that once I'd opened my chemise
blouse he might forget the promise we'd made.  Who would see us?  We were in
complete privacy now, and while it was only a short ride to his house, as far
as I knew, it was enough.  Nothing serious, nothing more than this, but I
desperately wanted him to want me.  Irrational, yes, and impossible.  I knew
that, and still...