The Billionaire and I (Part One)

The Billionaire And I: Part One (A Jacob and Leila Story)

Ava Claire

Copyright © 2015

The Billionaire and I: Part One -- September 11, 2015

The Billionaire and I: Part Two -- September 18, 2015

The Billionaire and I: Part Three -- September 25, 2015

Cover by RBA Designs

E-book License Edition Notes

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Chapter One

You know you've found the right dress when your husband looks at you like the reason you're dressed up in the first place is irrelevant...because all he wants to do is tear off your clothing.

I flexed my toes on the hardwood floor and did a 'Here I am!' gesture, complete with a ta-da. The only magic trick or thing of wonder and amazement was that behind this designer dress and makeup, I was still awkward ol' me and Jacob, my Jacob, my everything, still looked at me like it was the first time. Like it was impossible for me not to take his breath away.

His tie was bunched in his fist, his shirt hanging deliciously unbuttoned in the front and he could care less. I wasn't complaining. I ate him up, one sexy spoonful at a time. I started with the flash of silver on his belt buckle. I knew that glimmer, the way the light danced across the metal as he slid it through the hooks and folded it in half. My breathing quickened when his fingers brushed the buckle and my eyes caught the bulge of his arousal, pulsing and hardening. I continued my journey upward, drawn to the tease of his abs.

I wanted him to tell me to take off my clothes. I wanted him to rip my dress to shreds.

But he just watched me, brushing against the edge of what could have been before he retreated. He flashed a small, chaste smile. “You look beautiful, Leila.”

So I just turned on my heels and did my own retreat, returning to the dressing room.

I knew what would come next. He’d ask a question that had become the most grating question I’d ever heard: Are you okay? And even though the answer was as close to yes as I’d ever been and probably ever would be, just shy of some peace with what had happened to me, to us, I’d say the words
:
Yes, Jacob, I’m okay
.
Then his blue eyes would stop churning, the waves freezing over. Whether that moment lasted for a second, or a minute or two, I’d know that Cole and Brittany had taken something from us that we may never get back. The trust was broken--he didn’t believe me when I said I was okay, and I didn’t believe him when he said that he was okay either. The only thing we seemed to be on the same page about was tha
t
w
e
weren’t okay.

The old Jacob, my Dom, would have taken me over his knee for showing him my body, then leaving before I was dismissed. The way we navigated through our D/s world was fluid, but I always knew when we’d slipped into those roles. And I certainly hadn’t shown him the dress so he could give me the obligatory ‘It looks nice, dear’.

I stared at my reflection. The soft, crimson material skimmed my curves in a flattering, enticing way, but looking at my body in the dress just reminded me that I wanted to ge
t
ou
t
of the dress, so I shot back up to my face.

I used to hide behind my curls, relentlessly trying to tame them until I realized that there was beauty in the wildness. I let go and I saw the me that Jacob saw, unruly locks and all. There was a graceful kink in the way my curls hung around my face. But I didn't want to be graceful or presentable. I wanted disarray; I wanted locks thrown to and fro while Jacob and I got lost in each other.

The floor creaked behind me and I couldn't help but hope that this time, he'd prove me wrong. I didn't have it in me to look into his eyes and see that painful worry, so I just nestled my chin against my shoulder. Usually that annoying question came without prompting, but he didn't say a word.

“Isn't this the part where you ask me if I'm okay, I say yes, then we continue about our business?” I sniped.

My hand flew to my mouth like I could somehow stifle the words before they did more harm than good. Muffle the barbed wire that my frustration wrapped around every syllable. It was too little, too late for that...my words rang out loud and clear.

“No,” his voice smoldered. “This is the part where I stop letting you get away with murder.”

My eyes flew to his, daring to hope, but not letting myself get too excited. I could have imagined those words. It would make sense, considering they were the exact words I'd been dying to hear.

But it wasn’t a trick. Just like I had unleashed what was in my head with crystal clarity, Jacob stood tall, imposing, and riled up by my attitude. All signs pointed to the acronym that once made me tremble with fear and excitement. Now, there was only an insatiable need for it: BDSM.

There wasn't pity in my husband's eyes, or the more painful ache of helplessness. His eyes were steely blue and focused. His beautiful glare set fire to my flesh, a chain reaction that began between my thighs and pebbled my nipples like his teeth were already punishing me.

Ye
s
, I thought, a flash of want lighting up my body
.
Punish m
e
.

I'd seen flickers of it when I purposefully provoked him, hoping for some switch to flip, or some final step to be taken so we could be there for each other in a way that mere sex didn't satisfy. I needed to submit. I needed to look into his eyes and let him see me in ways that no one else saw me. In that space, there was ultimate trust. He knew just how far to take me, to take us, so that we could finally be whole.

I blinked rapidly, a statue otherwise. I was still in some form of shock. After all of my past failed attempts, it was hard to believe this wasn't a glimmer or a trick of the light. But something had changed. I felt it in the way the air was suddenly charged with tense desire. I saw it rippling in the sharp lines of his angular jaw. It was confirmed in the delicious way his tongue glided across his lips when I turned to face him.

I knew he was about to order me to my knees. He had his role to play and I had mine, but I wouldn't be me if I went quietly into that good, toe curling, moan-filled night.

I slowly drew my hand to my hip, playing dumb. “Murder? I'm not sure what you mean.”

His voice was calm, but the edge was there. It wouldn't be denied or questioned.

“Put your hands on the stool, ass facing me.”

I told my body to run to the center of the dressing room and obey. The plush stool sat in front of a semi-circle of full length mirrors. I'd get to watch in living color from every angle.

I wanted to plant my hands firmly on the cushion and await the very spanking I'd been gunning for, but my head was still spinning with the realization that tonight, he wouldn't hold me tenderly and ask me that question again. The only question he'd be asking was for my color. Green if I was okay. Yellow if I needed him to slow down. Red if I needed him to stop.

Tonight, Jacob was going to fuck me.

By the time I'd stopped waxing lyrical about it, it was too late. The glossy, wild hair I'd been cooing about was lassoed, his fingers gripping the curly strands as he took ahold of me. A flash of pain raced across my scalp, sending adrenaline coursing through me like electricity. It was like I was sleeping before but now I was finally, blissfully awake. We both were.

My eyelids shut and I basked in the moment as he pulled my body back against a wall of hard, powerful muscle.

His breath caressed my cheek, but the bite behind his words was anything but sweet. “You've clearly forgotten how we do things around here. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Period. No questions. No hesitation. Understood?”

I was being reprimanded, but I couldn't help but smile. I was consumed by the thrill of being unsure of how I'd be disciplined, but there was also a comfort in knowing that it would scratch the itch we both so desperately needed to be scratched.

“Yes sir,” I whispered hotly.

His other hand snaked across my abdomen and I sighed with content. No one had ever touched me the way he touched me. No one moved me the way he moved me.

He glided over my breasts, gripping my hardened nipples tight before he released, his final destination yet to be revealed. He stroked the taut line of my neck, then rested his fingertips on my lips where my smile was still in full effect.

“We'll see if you're still grinning when I'm through with you,” he growled.

My eyes sprang open and my smile dropped from my face as he marched me forward. I saw us, both half ready for a dinner that was starting in an hour. His starched white button down shirt fit his lean frame like a sin. My dress shimmered like his gaze as he caught our reflection. I could be counting my chickens before they hatched, but something told me that neither of us were going to be clothed for much longer.

He could have made me obey, bending me at the waist and forcing me forward. He released me instead, looming over me like some tall, dark, handsome executioner that was waiting for me to succumb and put my head on the chopping block. His hooded gaze told me that he wasn't going to prompt me or ask me a second time, and it had little to do with the fact that he didn't like to repeat himself. The most beautiful part of what we did was the gift of my submission.

I found those practically navy eyes of his and took the final step. I eased my body forward until my palms rested on the cushion. His eyes drifted down until they landed on the curve of my ass and a moan rose to my throat.

He swallowed, like he was struggling to keep his hold on a moan or two of his own. My body tensed when he split the distance between us, his presence humming behind me.

I bit my lip as I watched him remove his cuff links, tossing them aside. My hold on the cushion tightened when they collided with the wall and fell to the floor with a melodic clunk.

He rolled up his sleeves one at a time, then smoothed a hand over his dark, choppy hair. “Before I spank you, I want you to tell me where you went wrong.”

I clenched my teeth. He was asking me to string together syllables and come up with something intelligible with his forearms powerful and veiny, reminding me of his thick cock and how the veins were probably popping and bulging right now?

I drew a shaky breath
.
Don't be a brat, Lay. You knew exactly what you were doing
.
“I, um-” I lost my train of thought when he gathered the dress fabric from the floor and drew it up slowly, revealing my calves, then my thighs. He turned every inch of exposed skin into gooseflesh
.
Just a little further and he'll see that I’m not wearing any underwear...

As if he'd stolen a peek at my thoughts, he paused just before he hit the juncture of my thighs. That warm, wet part of me had lots to say. It was dripping for him.

Words. He’d asked me to explain myself. I couldn't keep my focus watching his every movement, so I let my eyes drift closed
.
Take tw
o
. “I picked this dress because I thought-” I cleared my throat as his fingertips tightened, pressing into my fevered skin. Thought? I was a little more certain than that. “
I
kne
w
this dress would elicit a reaction from you.” I flexed my fingers, an uncontrollable tremor rocketing through me when I remembered the way he'd fucked me with his eyes. “And it did. I got a reaction. But it wasn't enough. So I just left.” The more I confessed, the more I realized that whether I felt my ends were justified or not, I'd been a teeny, tiny, microscopic bit manipulative. “I wanted you to come after me. I wanted..
.
somethin
g
.”

He snatched the fabric over my hips and ass with such vigor that I winced, expecting the dress to rip, but the only sound was my heavy breathing. Panting. My eyes were wide open. I saw him looking at me, looking at my pussy and how wet I was for him.

His fingertips dipped just inside my heat and I was aching, begging, but he just retracted his touch. We both knew that I was only partially coming clean. I wanted more than ‘something’. I wanted something very specific.

“I wanted you to dominate me,” I finished, my volume barely audible.

He heard me loud and clear. “And why didn't you just ask?”

He asked his question so simply that I couldn't help but laugh. “Just like that, huh?”

As soon as the final syllable came out, all syllables, all everything went silent because he hauled back and struck my behind with so much force that my knees almost buckled.

When I met his gaze there wasn't any humor in his eyes. He'd asked me a question. A good question. He stood back, waiting. Ready to dole out another strike if I mouthed off again.

I curled my fingers into the cushion, doing some BDSM flavored yoga position as I curved my spine. “I thought
I
wa
s
asking. With my body, with my looks-”

“With everything that's happened, I need your words, Leila,” he interjected gently. His touch turned gentle too, his hand caressing my tingling skin. “You'll know when I don't want you to speak. I'll be holding a ball gag or some other device that will make your words and objections impossible.” The hand that had been cradling my cheek cupped it. Squeezed it. “And now that I know that you've been craving me and walking around here pouting and teasing me, I'm going to punish you.”

The second strike was like fire and my nails cut into the fabric as I weathered the blow. The third drew a hoarse gasp. Tears filled my eyes by the time we reached five. Before we hit eight he paused, his face flushed, lips twitching as he looked at me in the mirror.