The Billionaire’s Lust (His Submissive, Part Seven) (7 page)

I gave her a shaky laugh and lessened my death grip on Megan. “Aubri Rose. She’s a local designer.”

“Could you pose for us, Leila?” Another photographer asked.

I took a step backward and put my hand on my hip, mimicking the quiet smiles I’d seen on countless magazine pages when celebrities were snapped. I tried various poses as other photographers took notice and said my name, still in a daze that these publications wanted pictures of me. They weren’t tabloid magazines. EW was here, Getty…

“She looks amazing, right?”

I recognized the gruff playfulness and I turned and saw Cade, his muscular physique tucked into a perfectly tailored two piece suit.

I smiled and gave him a brief hug, forgetting all the drama that almost kept me from attending tonight. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

“We’ll see if I make the ‘Best Dressed’ list.” His olive eyes twinkled. “You look great.”

“Ahem,” Megan said beside me.

Cade turned to her, extending his hand. “And who’s this?”

I began the introductions. “This is my friend Megan Scott. Megan, C--”

“Oh I know exactly who he is.” She shook his hand, her voice dripping with disdain.

Cade released her with a nervous chuckle. “I, uh…it’s nice to meet you, Megan.”

She pulled her hand away, raising her chin. “Pleasure.”

I jabbed her with my elbow and when she broke off her staring contest with Cade, I mouthed
Behave
.

The reporters were saying his name in unison, so I took the opportunity to steer her away before they captured the animosity funneling off her in waves. “We’ll see you inside, okay?”

His smile broadened. “I’ll find you.”

“I bet you--
”

I cut Megan off by yanking her toward the theater. “Me and Cade are on the same page, remember? Just friends.”

“And if he comes over, I’ll be right there,” she said, stepping up to the attendant at the door. “Making sure he remembers.”

The doors of the elevator stopped and I stepped o
ut, still high from the events of the night. Cade’s movie,
Soldier’s Creed
, was more amazing than I expected and I’d shed a tear or two. I’d swept them away before Megan spotted them, having to be a force to be reckoned with since I was the only thing keeping her from giving Cade a real piece of her mind.

Her head almost exploded
when he followed through with his promise, taking his name card from the front with the rest of the cast and plunking down in a chair beside us for the screening. They’d traded barbs all evening like an old married couple. When I’d shared that metaphor with Megan, expecting a laugh, she just rolled her eyes, saying that you couldn’t pay her money to date another jock type.

I opened my mouth to tell Jacob
about my evening but forgot how to speak because of the way he was leaning against the counter. He was perched at the edge, cool and relaxed. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to the elbows, khaki colored slacks drawing my eyes to the snug fit around his groin. I swore I could make out every swollen inch of him—from the mushroom contour of the head of his cock to the staff curving around his thigh and…

I gulped, heat rippling from my cheeks all the way to my core. Suddenly, the last thing on my mind was the premiere.

Ice clinked as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. When he lowered it, his gaze flickered over my body. “How was the premiere?”

“G-gr
eat,” I stammered, feeling a fluttering between my thighs.

He arched an eyebrow, scanning my face before smiling slightly. Knowing the effect he had on me all too well. “You want to talk about it?”

My body screamed hell no, but I eked out a throaty, less desperate, “No.”

He held me captive with his hooded, cerulean gaze. “What do you want, Leila?”

I swallowed hard. “I want to submit to you.”
On the balcony, right here, anywhere.

I stood there, h
eart in my throat, need flashing in my belly, wetness blossoming in the sliver of lingerie I wore. I'd frowned at the thought of a g-string but in the form fitting dress it was that or nothing at all. No way was I risking some photographer snapping a shot that would become the official Leila Montgomery image in a google search. Not that any of that mattered considering I may as well have been naked from his cool, piercing gaze.

Even though several
painful feet separated us and I was frozen in place, I felt like he could see exactly what he was doing to me. Hear it in the tiny breaths I released. Smell the aroma of lust that was seeping from me. I was a hop, skip and a jump from falling to my knees. Willing to do anything to have him.

And that was just the way he wanted it.

He stroked his chin as he moved closer, circling me like a hawk hunting its prey. “You don’t want to talk about how beautiful you looked tonight? How every pair of eyes in the place made love to you in that dress?” He reached out and stroked the nape of my neck then swept over my collarbone, his touch making me tingle all over.

My lips trembled. “None of them ma
tter.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” I murmured softly as my heart stomped around in my chest. “What you want, what you need is the only thing that matters to me. You’re the only one that matters.” I found my zipper and pulled it down, relishing the feel of the fabric retreating and the way he followed every movement. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were heating with approval or with the delight at punishing me for undressing without his permission. That unanswered question thrilled me and I knew that I was hoping he disproved, hoping that he’d do something erotic and delicious that danced on the thin line between pain and pleasure.

The dress was a silver, glittering puddle at my feet and I stood with my breasts round, nipples swollen and pulsing. The only thing that stood between me and total nakedness my underwear. Whatever coy game he’d been playing was over when he put his glass down on the counter and his deep, stern tone put equal measures of fear and excitement in me.

“Did I tell you to undress?”

My voice shook, but my hands were sure and knew exactly what they were doing. What they were provoking. “
No sir.” I had a thumb hooked under each string. I started pulling them downward, peering up at him from behind my thick eyelashes.

He stepped closer, his body tense. “You’re asking for it.”

No, Jacob. I’m
begging
for it.
He watched me pull them down, drinking up the tease of the dark landing strip that marked the way to my heat before he reached out, gripping my wrists.

“You forget your place, Leila.”

I hadn’t truly submitted since we were back in the office, after we got into it about my promotion nearly a month ago. What I planned to say next had the power to show him I needed this, that we needed this, or to push him further away.

“I need my d
ominant.” I looked at him unabashedly and spoke from the heart. “And you need your submissive.”

His hold slackened and those eyes, the fierce blue that had the power to turn those unfortun
ate enough to spark them to ice, softened. “You think you know what I need?”

“What
we
need,” I corrected softly.

He let go of my wrists and turned on his heels without another word and I felt the tears in my chest boiling to my throat. He wasn’t ready. “Jacob--”

HIs back was still to me and he was clear across the room, but his words were clear, slicing back toward me and echoing in my ears. “You will address me as ‘sir’ until told otherwise.”

I closed my eyes,
holding tight to the sound of him letting me back in. I wanted to cry out in elation, to pump my fists with joy, but I lowered my trembling hands to my side. “Yes sir.”

W
hen he faced me, power and passion flickered in his gaze as he beckoned me with a finger. “I think you know what’s next. I don’t take lightly to my submissive disobeying me.”

I had to physically make myself take slow,
measured steps and not run to him. It was probably a good thing since my legs were gelatinous and trembling in anticipation for what he had planned.

I followed him into the bedroom and stood near the bed,
but whatever he had planned wouldn’t be taking place there since he walked to the blank wall directly in front of it. There was a small black table sitting off to the side and he opened a drawer, pulling out a tiny remote. I took a step back in surprise when the seam along the center of the blank wall separated and retracted, revealing a dark St. Andrews cross in a hidden compartment. Recessed lighting cast an ominous glow on it that made my mouth go dry.

“Come
forward,” he commanded.

I moved forward slowly, remembering how I’d barely blinked the last time I’d seen a St. Andrews cross, enthralled instead by the four poster bed
back in his villa. But now I couldn’t take my eyes off the thing before me. The wood was a dark mahogany color with O-shaped metal rings affixed on each corner. Once I was strapped to it, I’d be completely at his mercy.

There was
a time that the thought of having no control was terrifying and even though I was no longer that cautious person, human nature turned fear into a tangle lodged in my throat. But I trusted Jacob. I knew he loved me and would never subject me to more than I could stand.

I swallowed and stood
tall, marveling at the craftsmanship of the cross, the fear dwindling and in its place, fascination at being splayed out for him. I was so entranced by the cross that I didn’t even notice that he’d retrieved something else until I heard a metallic clink, like a wind catcher dancing in the breeze. But there was nothing whimsical about what he held.

My eyes
widened as I took in the harsh gray cuffs and silver links. “Shackles?”

He didn’t confirm the obvious, kneeling and locking the first
cuff around my ankle. I shivered at the coolness of it. The wariness must have been written all over my face because after he secured the final one over my last free wrist, he tilted my chin up so he could ask me the million dollar question.

“What’s your color, Leila?”

I gave him a small nod of reassurance. “Green, sir.”

He leaned in and pressed a
n electric kiss against my lips. “Good girl.” Still, he gave me a moment to adjust to the weight before he continued. “The chains will be attached to the cross now—the process is done electronically.” He caressed my cheek. “Use your word if you need to.”

I
bit my lip as I heard a quiet, metal whir and was pulled backward toward the cross. Once I stopped, the clinking sound of being locked in place sent a flash of apprehension rocketing through me, but his eyes never abandoned me. I relaxed--even though I was chained to a cross.

“I need to retrieve something for your discipline,” J
acob said once I met his gaze. “Use these moments to get accustomed to the cross.”

My body was in an X. T
he pull of having my limbs spread was unnerving but not painful. From my position, the crotch of my sopping wet panties were flush against my heat. It was a reminder that I wasn't the same girl that walked through the doors of Whitmore and Creighton months ago. That girl would be trembling with terror. I trembled with excitement.

Jacob reentered the room, glass of ice in one hand and a
thick white candle in the other. One side of his mouth curved upward as my mouth opened and closed. I'd tried wax play once before and it wasn't a pleasant memory. When an ex splattered hot wax all over my breasts, my nipples…I shuddered, remembering the discomforting burn.

Rolling off the bed and
covering myself with the sheet had put an immediate stop to that experiment. But my arms and legs were strapped to wooden planks. What would I do if I wanted to stop this?

You could use your color
, I told myself reassuringly. But even with that safety precaution I still watched the candle flicker forebodingly.

"What are you thinking?
Speak freely."

I hesitated. I was about a hundred percent sure Jacob wouldn't like hearing about my last encounter with a candle and an ex.

Turned out he liked my hesitation even less.

He put the candle and glass down and came forward, gripping my nipple. Pinching
it tight.

I grit my teeth, the
slight discomfort becoming undeniable pain as he glared at me. "When I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed."

"It's..." I winced, gritting my teeth against
the torment. "I've done it before. And I didn't like it."

Just as yellow became red, the color stinging on my tongue, he released my aching peak. "Was that so hard?"

I narrowed my eyes to slits, wanting to smart off but knew that would just make him take the other one. Or worse--reclaim the first. "No sir."

He went back to the tabl
e, picking up the candle. "Wax play can be uncomfortable and when performed by a novice, it can be downright unpleasant." He swirled his wrist, the flame bobbing and weaving. "At the moment, your comfort level is of little concern to me because you need to remember that I am in control." He stepped closer and I could smell the wax mixing with the heady aroma of my arousal. "And as delicious as I find that body of yours, I want to see it on my terms. Not yours."