Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel (28 page)

That sounds almost as scary as what he said before, but I don't dare comment on it.

"I'll make you scream," he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. "And beg. And cry. I'll make you come until you faint."

With every promise, he plants another kiss somewhere on my face, while I stand there, a captive of his words and touch.

"You'll beg me for more, and you'll beg me to stop," he adds. "But I won't listen to those words alone. That's why we need a safe word."

He moves away from me, his hand still at the back of my head, while the other wanders down my torso, stroking along my side as he travels downward.

"Tell me," he says. "What do you want for your safe word? It has to be unique, something that doesn't come up in a normal conversation, and nothing like stop, or no, or-"

"Ivy," I say.

He raises his eyebrows. "Ivy? Short but efficient, I like it."

His hand rests on my hip, while he continues to caress my skin through the thin fabric of my blouse.

"Remember that word well," he says. "And use it as soon as I overstep your limits. Once you use your word, everything will stop immediately. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Now," he says, his grip tightening. "I want you to get undressed - and this time I'll watch."

LANA

He steps back, his last command still hanging in the air combined with the sudden distance now between us, creates an uncomfortable feeling that resonates through the room.

"You want me to strip?" I clarify.

He buries his hands in his suit pants' pockets and throws me a wicked smile.

"I want you to obey," he says. "Get undressed. Start with that lovely blouse. I want to see what I was denied the last time you were here."

I hesitate. My mind has yet to process what is happening, while my body already reacts to his command. My hands move up to the buttons of my blouse seemingly of their own volition.

I lower my eyes, fixating my fingers as they fiddle with the first button on top.

"Look at me," he snaps. "Never look away from me."

Shit.

I slowly raise my eyes up to his, meeting his intense and dark gaze. The hunger in his eyes is evident and it's turning me on to no end. Men never look at me like this. The last time I came close to dating someone was when one of the guys in my study group from junior year admired me for scoring the highest grade on the test we prepared for. There was never this kind of passion involved. This kind of sincere interest and lust for me. That's always been reserved for the pretty girls with the short skirts and the heavy makeup.

Though, I realize while slowly unbuttoning my light blouse, I did follow the rules of the game a little today. I dolled myself up, hoping that he'd appreciate it.

But something tells me that I'd be here, with him looking at me with those ravenous eyes either way, mascara or not.

I untuck the blouse from my black pleated skirt and take a deep breath before I remove it completely, placing it on the desk next to me.

"Not there," he warns. "We'll need that space."

I want to ask what he's talking about, but the dark corners of my mind have an idea about it already. No need to make him say it out loud.

I take the blouse and place it on the chair I was sitting on instead, looking at him for approval.

He nods and urges me to continue.

"What should I... What next?" I ask.

My voice is shaky and thin. I've never heard myself like this.

Mr. Portland looks at me, scanning me from head to toe like a predator assessing his prey. I can practically feel his eyes on me, every body part that becomes the focus of his eyes pulses with excitement.

"You're wearing pantyhose beneath that skirt," he concludes. "I don't like that, get rid of them."

I'm a little startled at his statement. Of course, I'm wearing pantyhose, it's gotten cold out there and winter is approaching with distinctive steps every day.

I slip out of my shoes and leave them under the desk, reaching beneath my skirt to pull the pantyhose down as elegantly as humanly possible. It's awkward, especially since he demands that my eyes remain on his and not on what I'm doing. I wish I could look away and hide my shame as I perform this humiliating dance in front of him. Finally, I manage to pull them down, and neatly place them on top of my blouse on the chair.

He hums with approval. His hands are still in his pants' pockets while he continues to observe me. He's not touching himself in any way, yet I can see a visible bulge between his legs that wasn't there before.

Oh my God, I made my teacher hard!

He notices my gaze on his crotch and smiles as I draw away, blushing.

"Not many have this much of an impact on me," he says, casually tilting his head to the side as he winks at me. "You should be proud of yourself. The anticipation of what's to come excites me more than anything else I could think of right now."

I'm standing before him, wearing nothing but my underwear and the pleated skirt. I can feel the warmth in my core, the pleasant quiver of arousal. He's not the only one who's overflowing with anticipation. I yearn for his lips and hands on me. It's agonizing to see him standing that far away from me, only fueling my thrill by watching me.

I'm not a dancer, let alone a stripper. Instead of seductively flaunting my assets for him to watch, I just stand there, shoulders slouching, insecurity trapping me inside that narrow cage that is my timid personality.

How can anyone find this sexy?

I cross my arms, clasping my elbows with my hands as if I was freezing. I'm not cold, but lost and exposed.

The smile on his face reveals that he very much enjoys what he's seeing. My heart skips a beat when he takes a step forward and approaches me, his tall frame hovering over me as he stops within arm's reach.

He places his hands on my shoulders. The warmth radiating from his touch wraps me like a soft coat. I feel calm but agitated at the same time. There's a sense of security around him, that goes so well with the electrifying need of wanting to be touched by him.

Used by him.

The last thought shocks me, but it remains true nonetheless. I want him to use me, to have his way with me, to fuck me mercilessly. The more I follow up on these disturbing thoughts, the more my heart jumps, while my center pulsates with desire.

"I told you to look at me," he says, his voice calm but daunting.

I hadn't even realized that I'd lowered my eyes, staring at his chest while dwelling in my overly engaging thoughts.

I look up, meeting his dark eyes once again. Still, he's smiling. It's that beautiful dark smile, full of promises and a small dose of threat. Just the right amount.

"I'll take it from here, if you don't mind," he says. "You just be a good girl and do exactly what I tell you to do, understand?"

I nod. "Yes."

"While I love that terrified look in your eyes, you have nothing to worry about. We'll start out slow."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for another kiss. I moan with content as our lips meet, nibbling and teasing each other before he forces his way inside, his tongue searching for mine with desperate need. Kissing him feels so natural, so familiar, as if we've done it a thousand times before.

I sigh when one of his hands travels down my spine, caressing my skin with just the tips of his fingers. Warm flushes run through my core, causing me to roll beneath his touch, pressing myself against him.

When I reach up to touch him, he pushes my hand aside, growling a warning in between our kiss. I'm disappointed. I want to unwrap his marvelous torso and do what I didn't dare to do last time.

"Please," I breathe.

"No," he simply replies, pinching my side.

The surprise pain makes me flinch, followed by a moan as he caresses the same spot softly. His other hand is at my back, going for the clasp of my bra and opening it within a second. The bra falls down at the floor and we pay no attention to it, our kiss not ending for even a moment. My breath accelerates even more when his hands move around my waist, stroking along my ribs until they reach my lower boobs.

He groans as he greedily cups them, kneading my flesh while I can't help but sigh with lust. I've yearned for his hands to be on me, and now that they finally are, the sensation is even more than I expected. His touch is so erotic, so careful and hungry at the same time.

Until it turns into pain. While still holding my small breasts in his big palms, he pinches both my nipples between his fingers. Hard. A bolt of pain darts through my chest, causing me to throw my head back and ending our kiss with a desperate cry.

"Hush," he warns, letting go of my nipples. "You can't be loud in here, baby girl."

I try to look past the fact that he just called me baby girl and the question of how I feel about that, and stare at him in shock.

"But it hurt," I argue, my voice weak and hoarse.

He smirks at me, his hands still cupping my breasts. I shiver in fear when he takes my nipples between his fingers once again, threatening to repeat the painful pinching from before.

But he doesn't. He squeezes them ever so slightly, observing the reaction on my face as he does. My nipples are still pulsating with a taste of pain, and I slowly realize that I like it.

Even more so, I want him to do it again.

"Do it again," I whisper, looking at him with pleading eyes.

A triumphant smile spreads across his face. "You're not the one giving commands here."

Instead of twisting my nipples between his fingers again, he bends forward, planting kisses along my neck, my collarbone and my décolleté while he makes his way over to my left boob. I moan and tilt my head back when he lifts my breasts with his hands and wraps his lips around my left nipple. It's a soft kiss at first, his tongue circling around my areola before he starts sucking on my nipple. I've always been sensitive in that area, but no one ever knew how to work it as well as Mr. Portland does.

He continues to suck while gently kneading my boobs in his hands. He moves over to the right and regards it with the same caring treatment as the left before, sucking and licking on my sensitive nub until I'm dizzy with lust. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy the feeling without the nagging questions that hammer behind my forehead. His touch is so forceful and so gentle at the same time, it does insane things to me.

I know he doesn't want me to touch him, but it's getting harder and harder with every minute. I yearn to tear his shirt off, to give back what he's giving me, to ride on the wave of arousal that has gotten a hold of me. He's getting me close to coming, without even touching me where I really want him to.

A sudden strike of pain yanks me out of my blissful vertigo. He straightens up, holding my nipples in a strong clasp, pinching and twisting so much that the pain is almost blinding.

I groan in pain, but make sure not to cry out loud. His mischievous smile is fixated on me as he literally pulls me up by the nipples until I'm standing on my toes, almost losing balance if it weren't for the desk behind me, on which I seek support.

"Get up there," he hisses, nodding toward the table pressing into my back. "Get up and spread your legs for me."

I want to protest, but he's still holding my nipples in a tight grip, pulling me upward and leaving no choice but to follow his command. I jump up on the edge of the desk, sliding backward just a bit so that I can place my feet on the edge.

He pinches my nipples extra hard one more time, causing me to let out a pathetic whimper before he releases them, cupping my breasts as he gently pushes me back.

"Lay down," he orders.

I obey, breathing heavily as I lie down on the cold surface behind me. My tortured nipples are still screaming from the pain, throbbing as the ache slowly turns into a hot pulse. I'm lying on the desk, my hands stretched out next to my torso, and staring at the ceiling above me as I process the aftermath of the intense strain that Mr. Portland just put me through.

I've never felt like this. I feel drugged, dizzy, mindless with lust.

I want more.

I don't even care about the awkward position he asked me to take. So far, every command he directed at me has only led to more pleasure. When he hooks his fingers beneath the seam of my panties and coaxes me to close my legs so he can pull them down, I don't let shame overrun the intense thrill that all of this is giving me.

Mr. Portland removes my panties, leaving me with nothing on but my black skirt before he pushes my legs apart, exposing myself to his hungry eyes. A rush of heat spreads through my body as his gaze fixates on my entrance.

"Fuck, what a good girl you are. You're dripping wet for me, so welcoming," he assesses - and I almost die of embarrassment.

His eyes move from my center up to mine, dark with mischief.

"You know I must taste you," he whispers.

Before I have a chance to process this particular announcement, he's down on his knees, his face disappearing from my line of sight and his hands begin wandering along the inside of my upper thighs.

A few moments later, I can feel his breath on my wet entrance. I inhale sharply, paralyzed by his action and tense with anticipation.

He leans forward, his lips meeting mine. I arch my back, moaning as he starts to lick along my swollen labia, left first, then right, then left again. He starts drawing circles with his tongue around my throbbing nub, driving me crazy with need. I want him to move closer to the center, to touch my most sensitive spot, the pulsating center that concentrates all my longing.

His circles are getting smaller, drawing closer to my swollen clit. When he finally draws his tongue across that magical spot, I can't suppress a loud moan of relief, arching my back and spreading my legs as wide as possible.

He hums with relish, working my throbbing center with his skillful tongue while I squirm on his desk, the hard surface pressing against my back as I bathe in his treatment. He adds a finger, gliding inside my wetness with ease, then another, stretching me gently while his tongue continues to work its magic.

I'm going to come. Soon.

Does he want me to come?

He bends his finger inside of me, finding another spot to increase my pleasure. I groan, hitting my elbow on the table as I lift my arms in a spasm.