The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (7 page)

"Oh!"
he said, breathing out a sigh of relief.  "Yes.  That makes sense.  Of
course."

Of course? 
"So, maybe, should I remove this?" I asked.  Without waiting, I
slipped out of my shirt and tossed it onto the seat next to me.  Turning to
face him, I inched closer on the smooth leather.  "What else is
there?" I asked.  "If these are sexy pictures, I should remove my
skirt, too, right?"

Asher was
breathing heavily.  I watched him, his chest rising and falling.  He swallowed
hard and I could see it start at the top of his throat by his Adam's apple,
slowly trailing downwards towards his shirt-clad collarbone.

"This isn't
for Playboy," Asher said with a hint of amusement.  "If those are the
types of pictures you want me to take, I can, but it's not necessary."

I unzipped the
back of my skirt and scooted out of it, letting it drop to the floor.  "Do
you really think I'm sexy?" I asked him.

"What?"
he said.

I was having
second thoughts then.  A bad time for it, seeing as I was down to my bra and
panties, with the useless addition of high heels, but the thoughts remained. 
"I just... Asher... I don't think I'm sexy.  I really don't.  I don't
think I can do this properly.  The pictures aren't going to come out any good,
no matter what.  And then what?  You're not going to keep them, are you?  I
don't know why I agreed to this."

Swiftly, surely,
he moved close to me.  My bare thigh touched the rough cloth of his pants and
he lifted his hand up to grab my chin.  Making me look at him, though I
wouldn't have looked anywhere else, he leaned forward until our lips almost
touched.

"Jessika,"
he said to me.  "You are beautiful.  You are sexy and amazing and I think
every picture I've ever taken will pale in comparison to the ones I'll take of
you.  But, if you really don't want to go through with this, I won't force
you.  I want to, though.  I want to do this.  I want you," he said, and my
heart skipped a beat as he paused, "to want this, too."

He held my chin
in his hands, keeping me facing him.  I wanted to look away, to turn my eyes
down, to hide from him, but he forced me to bare his scrutiny.  His cool, blue
eyes never wavered, never stopped looking into mine, and I didn't know if I
could stand it much longer.  His lips, so close that I could feel the warmth of
his breath tickling along my mouth and down, down, towards my throat.  So
intimate and soft, yet demanding and confident all at once.

"Asher..."
I said.  I didn't know what else I would say, but I wanted to feel his name
quiver against my lips, to taste it.

"I would
love to keep the pictures," he said.  "I would like to keep them so I
can see them every day and know that we have made beautiful art together, but
they are your pictures and if you want me to dispose of them afterwards then I
can."

"No!"
I said hastily.  What was I saying no to?  "I don't know.  What do I
do?"

He moved away. 
So close, and now so far.  I had him for myself, but now I had nothing.  He
pressed his back against the car door and stared at me long and hard.  I sat
there, feeling helpless under his gaze, not knowing what to do or why I'd
started doing this in the first place.

And then his
hands were on me.  Without warning, without asking, he eased my back onto the
seat.  It was large enough to fit the both of us, even with me reclining, my
upper body prone.  I looked at him, watched him, as he guided me downwards,
cradling my shoulders so I wouldn't fall.  I let him move me and place me as he
wanted, all the while feeling a thrill of pleasure race through my skin at each
of his touches.  My heart beat fast, faster.

When he'd
finished laying me down, he moved towards my legs.  One he placed against the back
of the seat, pulling my foot towards his crotch.  He put my toes in between his
legs and pressed them further so that I could feel the warmth of his rear
heating the top of my high heels.  The other leg he pressed towards me so that
my heel pressed as close to my crotch as I could bring it.

"Put your
arms up," Asher said.  "Pretend you're grabbing your hair, but just
reach for it.  Barely touch it with your fingertips."

"What?"
I asked.  I was so drunk, caught up in the heady pleasure of his touches, that
I couldn't understand a word he said.

He repeated
himself, then grinned and showed me an inkling of what to do.

I did it.  I did
exactly as he said, and followed his instructions as completely as I could.  My
arms bent, elbows pointed straight up, and my fingers touched my blond hair by
my forehead.  Asher looked on, directing me this way and that until he had me
in as perfect an arrangement as he wanted.

"Arch your
back," he said.  His hands reached for my hips and his thumbs pressed into
my abdomen by my pubic bone.  Excitement fluttered through my stomach and
towards my crotch and without realizing it my body moved on its own, exactly as
he wanted.  My back arched, body attempting to press closer to him, hoping
beyond hope that he might move his fingers lower, into my panties, and...

"Perfect,"
Asher said.  "This is an exquisite position.  In the car, getting a good
picture would be difficult, but this position is wonderful.  You would make a
great model, Jessika.  You follow instructions well."

His praise, his
kind words, the fact that he made me feel sexy beyond belief when I didn't
think I was anything more than average; it turned me on so much.  I needed to
refrain myself, though.  If I did, he would touch me more, I knew it.  He would
show me poses, shape me as he liked, touch his fingers to my stomach and my
legs and my...

His hand
caressed the middle of my thigh, easing towards the waistband of my panties. 
He brushed his fingers along the laced cotton cloth of my underwear, then
pressed his hand towards the center of my body.  His hand glided across my
cotton-covered pussy towards my other thigh, then up that leg to my knee.

I gasped his
name aloud, shivering.  "Asher..."

"That would
make a good picture," he said.  "That area."

Oh, yes.  Yes! 
That area was wonderful.  I completely agreed with him.

Now his hand
moved towards the front of my panties again, but this time not as low.  He
tugged at the waistband of my undergarment and pulled it a little lower,
pressing his fingers against the uppermost part of my pubis.  Spreading his
fingers so his thumb and pinky finger reached towards my thighs, he moved his
hand upwards across my stomach and towards my breasts.

"With your
back arched," he said.  "this looks magnificent.  You have a very
soft stomach.  The slight 'V' at the bottom makes the image all the more
alluring."

I arched my back
further, trying to make him touch me more, hoping he would knead his fingers
into my sensitive skin.  But, he merely reacted to my movements and moved his
fingers away the slightest amount so that the pressure he applied was always
the same.

It was
agonizing.  I couldn't stand it.  Here I was in the back seat of his car, like
some silly schoolgirl, spread out and arranged, ready for him to take, and yet
there was no "taking" taking place.  Strict, it seemed, and no matter
how I squirmed or moved, I couldn't sway Asher away from his professionalism.

"Stop
squirming," he commanded.

His hands
grabbed my waist and he set me back to where I was.  He held me hard until I
stopped moving.  But, oh, it was so difficult.  I needed to do it, wanted to
please him, and yet the longer he held me, the more I wanted to move.  I wanted
to writhe in his grasp and induce his passions, ruin his austere attitude and
see if I could sway him towards impossible, endless lust.

I didn't,
though.  I couldn't.  He waited, stared at me, held me, and with a quiet
whimpering plea as my only means of complaint, I calmed myself.  My lower lip
moved out, some ridiculous show of disappointment, but Asher disregarded it.

I managed to
maintain my composure for all of a few seconds before I lost it again.

To be fair, it
wasn't my fault.  Or, not entirely.  Asher shifted his hands from my waist to
my bra-clad breasts and squeezed.  My eyes fluttered closed and my hips
bucked.  The toes of my foot—the one he'd placed between his crotch—curled
and dug into the leather seat.  He squeezed my breasts, massaging them in his
hands, toying with my nipples through the fabric.  I let out a gasp that turned
into a moan.  Still, despite myself, I tried to maintain the pose he'd set me
in.  My arms stayed bent, fingers at my forehead, but this time instead of
pretending to grab my hair, I pulled on it hard.

His hands
tickled up the undersides of my arms towards my elbows, then down towards my
wrists.  I opened my eyes to look at him just in time to see his index finger
moving closer to my face.  Without knowing why, without being told, I opened my
lips slightly and let him put his finger in my mouth.  He pressed his fingertip
against my tongue and I licked and swirled around it in response.  My lips
closed, puckering, kissing the sides of his finger, and my tongue went wild.

He watched me
intently.  My lower body writhed on the seat of the car and I tried to grind my
crotch against his knee, but he kept moving it away.  I attempted to suck his
finger in further, to entice him into something more, but he kept pulling it
away.  I lifted my head, leaning forwards, but still he eluded me.

Then he pulled
me up off the seat.  His finger popped out of my mouth and his hand reached
behind my back, pulling me forward.  His other hand grabbed my rear and he
lifted me into his lap.  I sat there with one knee pressed against the crotch
of his pants, that foot dangling below the front of the seat, and my other leg
bent and pressing against his hip, my shin touching warm leather.  He pulled me
closer, his hand cupping my rear and squeezing hard while his other hand
reached around towards the clasp of my bra, pressing me forward so my chest rubbed
against his shirt.

"Put one
arm around my neck," he said.

As fast as
possible, I did as he asked.  My hand cupped the back of his neck, my arm
resting on his shoulder.  "Yes," I said.

"Your other
hand," he said, breathing heavily.  "Touch my upper arm.  By my
bicep."

I did.  I
squeezed his arm tight, pulled myself forward.  I needed and wanted him so
badly.  I ground my crotch against his thigh, up and down, blazing a trail for
my pleasure.  Asher squeezed my ass harder, pulling me closer so that I couldn't
grind against him as easily, but oh, oh I tried.  Back and forth, rubbing,
desperately desiring him.

The car came to
a stop.  No interruptions, though.  Jeremy, the driver, parked the car, turned
it off, opened the door, stepped out, closed the door, then left.  I waited,
pausing, thinking Asher and I would be interrupted at any moment and having no
idea how to explain this to anyone, but none of that happened.

I breathed in
and out quietly then looked at him, a faint smirk on my face.  I'd won, hadn't
I?  We were alone now, completely alone, and he had me in a compromising
position.  So easy, he could do with me what he wanted and I would never object
and no one would ever know.

Except he
didn't.  He looked at me, smiling.  "You're a wonderful model, but you
move too much, Jessika.  Also," he added, "I wish I could take a
picture of you in this position, but I'm afraid it's impossible."

I looked down. 
I couldn't see everything, but... my fucking god, this was erotic!

I didn't have a
perfect body, far from it, but I did try to keep in shape.  My soft stomach
looked so flat like this as he held onto my rear with one hand and made me arch
my back with the other.  My thighs were curvy and seductive, one of them curled
against the side of his body while the other pressed into his crotch.  And my
arms, my chest; we looked like a couple in the midst of intimacy.  Now we
should get intimate, I thought.  I was no photographer, but we should take
advantage of this opportunity presented to us, right?

Asher lifted me
off his lap and dumped me on the seat.  With a pleasant smile, he opened the
door to the car and let himself out.  I sat there, staring at him,
dumbfounded.  Was this really happening?

"Are you
coming?" he asked.

"Y-yes,"
I said.  Yes, yes, I was coming.  I looked around, found my clothes, and
scrambled to put them back on.

"No
need," he said.  "We're in a garage.  No one is around.  It'll be
easier to resume modeling if you remain like that.  Those are the kind of
pictures you want, right?"

Did I?  To be
honest, I didn't even want pictures at all.  I wanted him to undress me, touch
me, explore me with his fingers so I could leave a lasting impression in his
mind.  I wanted him to picture me, us, all of it together, but I didn't
necessarily want him to take pictures of me.  I didn't
not
want him to,
but...

"Yes,"
I said.  Clutching my clothes against my chest, I slid across the seat towards
the open car door and the garage.

Just as Asher
said, no one was here.  Jeremy left to who knew where, and besides that the
garage was dim and empty.  A smaller building that could fit three cars at the
most, with smooth concrete floors and a pair of fluorescent lights overhead. 
My high heels clicked on the floor when I first stepped out of the car.  Asher
offered me his hand to help me stand and I took it with a smile.

He pulled me
towards him, leading me to the doorway into the house.  His guest house, he
said.  When we entered, it looked exactly, and nothing, like I imagined.

A guest house,
in my mind, was a smaller affair.  Perhaps a main room with a kitchen to the
side, then stairs leading up to a bedroom or two.  Modest, and simple, for the
comfort of guests.  Asher's guest house was far more extravagant than that.  I
expected this, figured it would be that way, but it still came as somewhat of a
surprise.