Run to Him: The Full Novel: A Domination/Submission Alpha Male Billionaire Suspenseful Romance (The Billionaire's Beck and Call Book 4) (4 page)

“Not you. Please… Won’t you sit?”

I nodded, my eyes wide. However, instead of letting me go back to the wingback, he led me back to his chair, and pulled me onto his knee. I sat there, my body stiff, arousal and worry fighting for dominance inside of me.

God, he smells incredible…

“I can have my standard contract sent to you tonight,” he said, his cool eyes locked on mine. “Where are you staying, currently?”

I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap, and tried to ignore the warmth and hardness of his muscular thigh below me; the feel of his breath on my neck as he spoke.

“I… I’m not sure yet. I was going to call around to some hotels after our meeting.”

“Then, please allow me. I have a standing reservation at the Waldorf. Give them my card, and they’ll show you up immediately.”

“But, I-“

“Haven’t accepted the job yet?”

He smiled at me, then, and for a moment, the sternness disappeared, and he was as beautiful as an angel, his eyes almost boyish as they filled with mirth.

“Don’t worry one moment about that, Lucy. You are my guest. No strings attached.”

His hand stroked my lower back, and I leaned a little into his touch, when I should have been running for the door. But the feel of his long fingers through the thin fabric of my dress felt too good, and he was still smiling at me in a way that made me feel like I was Icarus, flying too close to the sun… I couldn’t tear myself away, no matter how many warning sirens were blaring in my mind.

“Besides, how else am I going to get you that paperwork ASAP? I need an assistant immediately, Lucy, and I’m hoping once you see my terms and requirements, you’ll be comfortable enough to start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow??”

“Yes, of course,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes roamed my body. “Why wait if the fit is right? I need your help, and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind the security.”

“I… I guess.”

The scent of him was making me feel weak in the knees, and suddenly, I wondered if he could smell me, too. If he knew how wet I was. If he could feel it through his pant leg, or if he would smell it on his clothes and know my dirty little secret.

“Then it’s all settled,” he said. “My car will take you to the Waldorf straight away. Please expect the contract within the hour, dear Lucy.”

He stood, then, setting me on my feet as if I weighed nothing. He took my hand in his and pressed a kiss to my skin, his lips soft and warm. I shivered beneath his touch.

“It has been a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his eyes shining brightly in the firelight. “Call me as soon as you have an answer, at any time of night. I’m
very
eager to hear from you. Understood?”

He reached into his breast pocket, then handed me his card. It was black, embossed in silver, and heavier than I expected.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Good girl.”

He grinned as he led me to the door. When he opened it, the woman in the maid’s outfit was back, waiting to guide me downstairs.

“Mr. Alastor?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“May I ask one thing before I go?”

“Of course, Lucy. Ask away.”

The maid smirked as she waited, looking down at her patent-leather high heels.

“What is this place?”

He chuckled, the sound low and throaty, and brushed a strand of hair back from my neck.

“My pride and joy,” he said. “But you’ll learn more about that soon enough. That is… if you accept my offer.”

I chewed my lip, looking from him, perfect and crisp, as if he hadn’t just face-fucked someone while I watched (hell, while I helped!), to the hostess. It was obvious they were keeping their secrets, at least for tonight.

“Fair enough.”

“Remember,” he said. “Any time of night, Lucy. I mean that.”

I nodded, and fingered his card, before following the hostess down back through the hallways and throbbing darkness of the mysterious Club Asmodai. As I rode off to the Waldorf, that sense of dread returned, deep in the pit of my stomach, building every time I thought of the events of the evening.

But something else was also growing. Something twisting inside of me like a serpent, unwilling to be denied. As soon as I reached the room at the Waldorf—an incredible penthouse, of course—I couldn’t hold it back any longer, and fell onto the bed, hiking my dress up around my waist and tossing my wet panties aside.

I touched myself, thinking of him; of the way his cock slid in and out of the blonde’s mouth, and the way his cum shot onto her—into her—and the way she eagerly drink it all down…

I remembered the pearl of cum that fell onto me and suckled that spot, my tongue searching for a taste of him. When his salty sweetness melted onto my taste buds, I came, groaning around my hand, my fingers brushing furiously over my clit as my body convulsed again and again.

When I finally came down, my cheeks flushed, and body shining with sweat, I heard a rap on the penthouse door. I opened the door in a hastily-tied bathrobe, only to find a document box, black, with the initials L.A., waiting at my feet.

I opened it up and groaned. There must have been at least a hundred pages there, waiting to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb. I swore as I brought it inside, and decided then and there I was ordering room service on Mr. Alastor’s tab.

It was going to be a long night.
 

Chapter 3: Captivate

Max

I eyed a woman in a red dress; watched her weaving her way through the dim light of the club, moving like a predator. She was graceful, her steps long and light, like a dancer’s. Dark hair cascaded down her bared back, soft and silky, and when she looked back over her shoulder at me with smoky eyes, I felt a stirring.

It had only been two days since Lucy left—one since she threw my money back in my face—but it felt like years. Before we parted there had been days of heated fighting, and nights so cold I swear I could see my breath when I entered our bedroom.
My
bedroom, now… It would never be “ours” again.

I felt like a man starving, seeing food laid out before him for the first time in far too long. I was ravenous, the dull ache inside my chest adding to the hunger, urging me to satisfy myself and take the edge off the pain for just one night, one moment, or the space of one ecstatic breath.

I tented my fingers, watching from the space of my dark corner booth, surveying the other women, but found them lacking. There were very few submissives here tonight eager to please, and even fewer Doms, like myself, searching for their perfect slave.

Where was everyone?

Granted it had been over a year since I set foot in Club Persephone, an offshoot of the club I used to be a member of with Chase Drake back in our heyday, but I’d never seen the attendance this sparse on a Saturday night. Where were all the usuals? The men I’d have a martini or two with before we adjorned to our separate private rooms, our pliable and willing slaves in tow?

I’d honestly expected to reunite with some old friends here tonight—had been looking forward to stepping back into my old life, even—but Damien, James and the boys were nowhere to be found, and I resigned myself to hunting alone here tonight.

The dark-haired beauty in the red dress was at the bar now, and I signaled to the bartender. He nodded at me and poured two glasses of champagne: one for her, and one for me. The submissive eyed me over her shoulder, acting shy, although in that dress, I knew she was anything but, then took the glasses in long, slender fingers and moved toward my booth.

“Thank you for the drink.”

She slid in across from me, her dress slit riding up, revealing her upper thigh. She pushed my glass across the table to me, and I took it, my hand closing over hers for an instant, capturing her, feeling the heat between us as I caressed her skin, her lacquered nails dark in the candlelight.

“What’s your name?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” she said.

I frowned and let my eyes wander over her body, over the fabric hugging the curves of her full breasts, down to the peek of leg, just visible to the side of the table. It would have to do.

“What kind of games do you play, little girl?”

The woman in red smiled up at me from under dark lashes, and licked her cherry lips.

“Anything you want, Sir.”

“Is that so?”

Everyone had something they didn’t like, whether it was something dangerous like the canes and whips, or some emotional boundary they couldn’t cross. The fact that this woman here wasn’t discussing her limits concerned me. Even though I planned to use this woman, to satisfy my urges with her, and nothing else, the not knowing made my job difficult. Stressful.

“Will you let me bend you over and fuck you, little girl?”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

“Do you have a Safe Word?”

“No…”

“You do now. If you want me to stop anything, for any reason, say ‘Red,’ and I’ll back off. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

She leaned over, her hand sliding over my thigh, and looked up at me, the hunger in her eyes reflecting my own. I grabbed her wrist roughly, and her breath hitched in her chest. I stood and pulled her to me, crushing her against my chest and grabbing a fistful of that long, soft hair. I leaned in close and placed a hot kiss against her skin. She shivered in my arms.

Her hair smelled like strawberries on top of some kind of too-sweet perfume. Something from a department store. I’d bet $100 that the bottle was pink. But it didn’t matter. She smelled like a woman, and a woman was what I needed.

My heart squeezed inside of me remembering the way she smelled--my little Lucy. After her shower, she’d come to me, her curls dripping wet, smelling of citrus with a hint of vanilla, her skin fresh, and that place between her legs as wet and sweet as peaches and cream…

My cock stirred, thinking of her, and I picked up this woman, this willing fuck doll, and carried her to a private room. She said something in my ear, her voice a seductive purr, but the words didn’t register. All I could hear was Lucy’s laugh as I pulled the towel off her body and tossed her onto our bed, then kissed the water droplets off her porcelain skin.

I bent the woman over the spanking bench and secured her wrists with leather straps, holding her fast with her ass up in the air, the slit on her skirt riding up to her waist. She groaned as I parted her thighs and secured her ankles, pulling the straps tight. I ran my hands over her firm, long legs, hiking her skirt up as I went. She was tan. Lithe.

I imagined Lucy’s peaches-and-cream complexion, recalled how soft and smooth she felt beneath my fingertips…

Goddamn it
, I thought.
She’s not coming back. Get her out of your head, Max!

The woman wasn’t wearing anything beneath that crimson skirt. I ran my hands over her bare ass, enjoying the view. Her thighs were slick with arousal; her pussy lips puffy and eager for a cock to part them. My erection grew in my trousers, and I adjusted myself. I wasn’t ready to fuck this woman. Not yet, anyway.

My hand cracked down on her bare ass, and she moaned, writhing beneath me dramatically.

My brow furrowed, but I hit her again, my palm slapping her other cheek, reddening it like the first. She groaned again, and arched her back, eager for more. I clenched my hands and unclenched them, trying to loosen up, trying to feel what I needed to feel here tonight.

My thoughts went to her again, to my Lucy, imagining her little screech when I’d take her by surprise, spanking her cute little ass as she bent over my desk. She’d tense at first, crying out with each blow, then slowly relax, mewling, almost like she was melting beneath my touch, going limp… surrendering completely to my sadistic whims.

I smacked her again, and again, the
crack
of palm against heated flesh filling the air. She moaned again and again, sounding like a bad porn star, pushing her ass toward me again and again, but never melting beneath me. Never surrendering.

No, this one urged me on,
demanded
that I spank her with every movement, every moan. She knew exactly who was in control, and she clearly wanted to keep it that way.

My hand slowed and finally stopped, and I surveyed my work—her reddened ass, her dripping, pink, pussy—and felt my cock deflating.

“Lucy,” I said, under my breath.

“Mmm, I like that,” she said with another over-the-top groan. “Call me Lucy, baby!”

My muscles stiffened, and I sucked in a breath, staring down at this stranger, this poor imitation of the woman I craved. I jerked down her skirt and left the room, ignoring her cry of “Aren’t you gonna fuck me, honey?”

I told a serving girl there was a woman who needed to be freed from her restraints in my private room, but that I needed to go. She nodded and scurried off, and I turned away, my expression hardening, my body feeling like a live wire.

I sat in my car, my black Lamborghini for a long while, remembering the way Lucy hollered when I took her on her first drag race, the way she clutched the door like it was going to fly open. I remembered how she reached for me after, stroking me through my pants until I pulled off on the side of some forgotten country road.

I felt her hands on me, her sweet little mouth, her curls falling over my bare chest, her tight little pussy squeezing me as she rode me, sliding up and down my length, crying out at how big I felt, how right it felt to let herself go with me. To surrender to me…

I was stroking myself before I knew it, seeing her there, her pert pink nipples near enough to suck on, her creamy white neck close enough to bite. When I saw the way she tossed her head back, crying out as her orgasm overtook her, calling my name, I shuddered and came into my hand, spurt after spurt of hot cum, wishing it were inside my girl, my beautiful little Lucy…

I sat there, spent and sweating, then wiped myself clean with a silk handkerchief.

“What are you doing, Max?”

I ran a hand through my hair, wishing it was her touching me.

“Fuck!”

I hit the steering wheel, the horn blaring through the darkened city streets.

“Fuck…”

As much as I hated to admit it, I missed her.

***

Lucy

What the hell was I doing? Did this even make sense?

Oh, God, there was no time to think. No time to even take a breath.

I’d nodded off around 4 a.m. after combing through that phonebook Mr. Alastair called an employment contract until my eyes itched. When I’d startled awake at 5:43 with fifty pages still to go, I said, “Fuck it,” and called him.

His voice was deep and refined, as usual, like he was always up before the sun rose, ready to start the day. There was no hint of fatigue when he answered, no gravelly tone, still full of sleep, unlike my voice.

“I’d like to accept the job,” I said, rubbing grit out of the corner of my eye. “If it’s still available that is… Sir.”

After all, did I really have a choice?

It was this or crawling back to Max for money. Unemployment was high in this city, and I was determined, come hell or high water, to make it on my own. This opportunity was simply too good to pass up, especially after I’d read the portion of the contract that detailed my salary.

Six figures per year, just to keep this guy’s weird sexual secrets? No freakin’ problem! Where do I sign?

Hell, I’d kept old Buck Murphy’s secrets for years while I worked in his little Podunk bar. Ignoring the fact that Rhonda from the greasy spoon downtown had been going into the back office to help Buck “keep his books” every Wednesday, and always came back out with her beehive askew, was just part of the job, as far as all the waitresses were concerned anyway. It wasn’t our business that they were both married and unhappy.

Keeping secrets was second nature, especially in a small town. If you didn’t, hell, everyone would know your business faster than you could tell it, and be judging you by lunchtime.

I could do this. I could keep Mr. Alastair’s affairs private and assist him at the same time.

Like you assisted him at the club?

I bit my lip, the image of that blonde woman’s head tilted back, the feel of her hair beneath my hands as I held her still, ready to receive Mr. Alastair’s cum, overwhelming me for a moment. I could practically smell the sex in the air; practically hear the rhythmic slap of him stroking himself off into her eager, open mouth.

I shivered, trying to shake the memory off. After all, I hadn’t really done anything wrong… had I? Mr. Alastair and that blonde were both consenting adults, and I was just there talking business… wasn’t I?

In the light of day, the whole encounter made me feel dirty in a way I wasn’t sure I enjoyed. Then again, I was running on only an hour of sleep, and had yet to have any coffee, AKA Brain Fuel. So who the hell knows how I felt, really?

I could practically hear Mr. Alastair’s smirk through the phone as I asked for the job. He hadn’t said much—just sent me on an errand right away.

“Excellent, Lucy. I thought you might,” he said. “There’s a car waiting for you downstairs. Please sign the contract and hand it over to the driver. He’ll take you where you need to go to be groomed and attired. I expect you ready to work by 10 a.m.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I said.

The phone clicked, and I realized he’d hung up.

Well, okay, then!

I marched into the huge marble bathroom of the penthouse suite and winced as I caught my reflection in the mirror. I had sheet marks on one side of my face, smeared mascara from where I’d fallen asleep, and hair that was more rat’s nest than curls.

I felt like a zombie as I showered, trying to go as quickly as I could, but feeling like I was moving in slow motion. The last time I’d pulled an all-nighter I was in high school, and I was drinking wine coolers under the bleachers with friends instead of trying to parse every sentence of a thick-as-hell legal contract.

I did my best to finger curl my wet hair back into something resembling a hairstyle and slapped on my little black dress from the night before. I noticed a rip in my stockings and swore, tossing them in the trash, before slipping bare feet into my high heels and teetering out the door.

I only had four hours to shop for a uniform and “be groomed”—whatever that meant—so I had to haul some ass. I didn’t want to press my luck with this man, this mysterious Lucas Alastair. So far, despite the affinity for paying far too much for a kinky assistant, and their tall dark and handsome looks, they were almost like night and day.