Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve) (21 page)

She pouted, blinking up at me through spider like eyelashes. “I really don’t see the harm.”

“We both know that’s not true.” She opened her mouth to plead her case, but I didn’t even take a breath. “I don’t want you talking to them. I’m begging you, Mom. For me.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes conciliatory as she gave me a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” I relaxed a little, even though I knew she’d probably conveniently forget about our agreement in a few days. A week, tops.

“So tell us all about your trip,” she said, changing the subject like a pro.

I gave her a small smile. “Italy was amazing. The architecture, the smells, the food, the art...”

Jacob made sure we did everything under the sun, but I still felt like there were countless things to unearth and discover. Her eyes widened as I told her about the hotels and dresses and the jets and cars.

I left out the bits about Rachel. She still was a client and now that my mother was buddies with people dying for a juicy story, the last thing I needed to do was serve up our drama on a silver platter.

“So when do we get to meet Jacob?” Mom was practically salivating, rubbing her hands together with anticipation. I didn’t dare tell her that he wanted to come home with me today, but I wasn’t quite ready for the ‘meet the folks’ stage.

“He’s pretty busy getting settled in after the trip.” I lied, almost blushing at how easily it rolled off my tongue.

You want to meet them?

Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I want to meet the two people that helped create the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met?

“Well maybe you can bring him to church one Sunday.” When she saw the ‘absolutely not’ written all over my face, she added. “Or Sunday dinner.”

My mother was from the South, born and bred in the church and since my dad was pretty much a Catholic in name only, he adopted her faith. I had not so fond memories of Sunday school and spending summers at bible camp.

Once I was eighteen and living on my own, church was the first habit I kicked and I had a feeling Jacob had no interest in spending his time in church when we’d spent the last month doing all sorts of highly sinful things.

“I’m starved,” I said, diverting the conversation to safer waters. “Anyone want a sandwich?”

She stood up immediately. “Let me get you some leftover spaghetti.”

I followed her in the kitchen, finally unwinding—until the house phone shrilled to life.

“I bet that’s Lucy,” Mom said with an uncomfortable chuckle when she saw the dark glare I threw at the phone. “She and I usually catch a matinee Thursday afternoons.”

“Uh huh,” I grunted, not believing that for a second. We both knew that was some photographer or tabloid writer, dangling some juicy carrot in exchange for a picture or lead on me and Jacob. But once the phone stopped ringing and the room filled with the fragrant aroma of tomatoes, peppers, and garlic, I forgot my annoyance and turned to grab a couple of plates. Mom spooned out pasta and I stepped forward to help.

“Let me do that, Mom.”

“I got it.” The firmness in her tone left no room for contestation. “You can set the table.”

I went to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of tea, filled the cups, put out napkins, and lined the placemats with utensils. I sat down, mouth watering as she brought over two plates. We ate in silence for a few minutes and it was pure bliss to not focus on anything but the taste of the food.

“This is delicious,” I said finally. Even though I’d had her spaghetti countless times before, it felt like the first time.

She flashed a warm smile before taking a sip of her drink. “It’s Grandma Nathalie’s recipe.”

Grandma Nathalie was my father’s mother. She’d come to the States from Sicily with her family when she was a child. “She gave it to me after I married your father.”

I knew what was next, but it didn’t stop me from hoping she wouldn’t go there.

“And I’ll give it to you when you marry Jacob.”

I stabbed at my salad with swift, vicious strokes. “Even if I did cook, I won’t need the recipe, Mom.”

“Of course you will. Even if he can afford fancy restaurants, there’s nothing like a good, home cooked meal.”

Other than the obvious fact that Jacob and I were nowhere near the wedding planning stage of our relationship, my mother was conveniently forgetting that the last time I’d tried making a home cooked meal I’d nearly burned our house down.

“Actually, I think Jacob is more likely to the cook the meals.”

Her brown eyebrows arched in surprise. “He is?”

“Well, I’ve only had his breakfast,” I said after swallowing a forkful of spaghetti. “But it was killer.”

“Huh,” she said, flipping her gray lined chocolate colored hair over her shoulder. “I would have guessed the only thing he knew about cooking was it being something the help did.”

“Nope,” I said, pride settling on my skin like a warm blanket. “He’s actually full of surprises.”

I wished I could take the last bit back as soon as it came out, but it was too late. Mom was already on the edge of her seat, hoping my admission was the opening for some juicy tidbit.

I shook my head and laughed in spite of myself. If I decided to share anything, the last person on earth I’d share it with would be my mother—even if she hadn’t planned to set me up with the vultures.

She thankfully didn’t push the issue. “So I can tell you’re enjoying the new beau...how about the new job?”

I dropped my eyes to the flowered tablecloth, flushing even though I knew there was no way my mother knew about the contracts or its sexual context.

It was impossible not to think about submission when I thought about my position as Jacob’s personal assistant. And when I thought about submission, it was impossible not to think about how right it felt to be bound, exposed, and completely at his mercy. Those thoughts sent all sorts of needs and pangs to the most inappropriate places in the world considering my mother was sitting a few feet from me.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes back up to meet hers. “The job is great. I think I told you over the phone that we were in Venice for a junket. It was really cool to be behind the scenes and actually see what it entails and managing our client to make sure everything went off without a hitch.”

She propped her chin on the palm of her hand, looking at me with stars in her eyes. “You should have seen the girls’ faces when I told them you were working at Whitmore and Creighton. Everyone just loves that
PR
show.”

PR
was one of the highest rated reality shows on TLC and had recently been renewed for another season. I remembered watching it, wishing, hoping I’d get a chance to work at Whitmore and Creighton. I still couldn’t believe I was an employee, or that one of the producers had approached me for some on-air segments before I’d even gotten back stateside. I wasn’t silly enough to think that they were interested in me alone but since I was dating Jacob, I was suddenly a person of interest.

“Maybe we can have lunch one of these days,” Mom said dreamily. “I’ll take the train out to the city and we’ll eat at one of the places where a salad costs thirty bucks.”

“Just let me know and I’ll have my secretary pencil you in,” I said jokingly. It was still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I could actually afford those kinds of places.

“I’m so proud of you, Lay.” The expression on my mother’s face was one she’d worn at award ceremonies, track meets, and graduations. It was one that still made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to. “And I’m so happy about you and Jacob. It really is like something straight from a movie.”

“Well, don’t go booking a wedding DJ or anything,” I said warily. I pushed away from the table, taking our dishes to the sink. “We just started dating, Mom.”

“Since when did you become such a Negative Nancy?” she countered. “I read those comments on the internet. Tons of women wish they could be in your shoes.”

I held a dish under the water, the gushing liquid hypnotizing as red sauce oozed from the porcelain surface. I read the comments too—and they weren’t all fairy tales and well wishes. Dating Jacob opened me up to the scrutiny of women who wanted their own happy ending with him. To them, I was average and leagues away from the models he used to date.

As I shut off the water and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, the mask of confidence I’d been wearing began to fade. Jacob and I hadn’t been dating long enough for diamond rings and nuptials, but if I was honest, that wasn’t the only reason the wedding talk bothered me. There was still a part of me that had the same question all of those flabbergasted commenters had.

What the hell does he see in her?

****

"W
hat do you think?"

Jacob’s apartment building was unbelievable. We were greeted by a doorman that knew Jacob by name and I swooned a little when Jacob knew his and asked about his new baby.

The immaculate lobby was lined with beautiful works of art, marble statues worthy of any museum...and a freaking
fountain
.

A man dressed in a sleek black suit and a gold name tag immediately greeted us and informed me that as the concierge on staff he would be at my ‘beck and call’. He didn’t even bat an eye when I said I was craving some macarons from clear across town and I had to tell him I was joking when I realized he was actually about to arrange it.

A private, key card access elevator shuttled us up to Jacob’s sky rise apartment. Even though I’d spent the past month at his villa in Italy and was no stranger to the opulence that came with living in his world, his sun-filled loft was truly something to behold.

Beams of light glittered like diamonds, illuminating every square inch. The expansive living room and fireplace were flanked by lush couches, generating a clean, modern feel. The separate dining room could have been pretentious but instead it had a classic, lived-in ambiance, mixing dark wood and paneling. The library room off the dining room was lined with books and opened up to an amazing terrace that overlooked the bustling city. A floating glass staircase ascended to what I was sure would be even more exquisite furnishings and views.

Jacob stepped up behind me, wrapping me in a warm embrace. His lips pressed against the slope of my neck, uncoiling the deep rooted desire in the heart of me. I turned and looked up at him. Nothing compared to seeing love in his impossibly blue gaze. Nothing compared to the tingle of knowing the most beautiful man I’d ever seen could look at me like I was the only woman in the world.

I licked my lips, zeroing in on his mouth. I wanted him so bad I could taste it.

"I'm guessing the tour is over.” The side of his mouth quirked upward as he stroked my cheek and brought a single finger to trace my bottom lip.

"Not quite.” I pressed my body into his and felt physical, hardened proof that great minds really do think alike. "I still haven't seen the bedroom."

It should have been jarring to be jerked up a flight of stairs, but it didn't bring me down from cloud nine. My head was occupied with thoughts of Egyptian cotton and fluffy pillows to scream into as he ravaged me. His urgency was contagious and knowing it was only moments before he sunk inside me made me quiver with desire.

He threw open the door to the master bedroom and wasted no time boasting about the rustic hardwood floor or what I was sure was an original Van Gogh above his bed. His fingers clawed at the buttons of my blouse and in a moment of frustration, he just yanked the shirt open.

Neither of us cared about the blouse or anything else. There was nothing except the need to feel our bodies beating as one.

He ran his hands up my skirt, looking for underwear to discard. He paused when I gasped, his fingers brushing against my bare flesh.

“Good girl.”

He let out a growl as I coyly slid back onto the bed, spreading my thighs wide. There was a second guttural, animal like sound and then I felt his hot, wet mouth on me. I dragged my fingers through his dark locks, tugging as his lips circled my clitoris and sucked. All the blood in my body rushed to the nub in his mouth, engorging it as I writhed in his erotic hold. I tossed my head back and forth, his assault making me lose the capacity for rational thought.

I knew the rules—and no climaxing without his express permission was in the top five. While we were in Venice I learned to focus and control my body and the reward was longer, more powerful orgasms along with pride and lust in Jacob's eyes as I gushed when he saw fit.

But when he brought his finger into the mix of sensations, plunging it deep inside as he continued to lick my fleshy button, my release slipped like sand between my fingers. There was no breathing through it or holding it back. I was coming—and I was coming hard.

His mouth abandoned me as I convulsed and moaned, the rhythmic squeezes of my release overwhelming me. I crumbled as my body vibrated on a frequency of sheer bliss. I didn’t want to come down...especially when I knew I’d be disciplined. But I had to open my eyes eventually.

I drew a deep breath and cautioned a look at him. He shed his sleek button down shirt, so I got an eyeful of the tight muscles of his abdomen and the tantalizing v cut that led to his groin area.

He stood there watching, waiting for me to gather myself, ever the model of control and patience. But his eyes told another story. They were glazed with lust at watching me come—and excitement about inflecting punishment.

Forgetting my training would cost me dearly.

As he unfolded his pants from his body, it was like peeling back layers to get to the juicy fruit beneath. His mouthwatering erection protruded from his underwear, massive and swollen. I slid back onto the bed, fear and arousal gripping the words of my apology.

"I-I know I was supposed to wait." I swallowed as he came closer, naked and unsheathed, holding his bulge firmly in one hand. "I just couldn't hold on any longer."

There was a devilish smile on his lips that extended all the way to his clear blue eyes. "You should save your breath.” His voice deepened. “You're going to need it."