Billion Dollar Love

by Sam Crescent

  Come outside.

  “Ha.”

  No way in hell was she going to speak to him before class. She needed to focus, and being around Jeffrey clearly had the opposite effect. She stepped out of the locker room into a solid chest wall.

  “Ms. Garcia.”

  “What are you doing here? This area is for staff only.”

  Jeffrey grinned. “You know I’m good at getting what I want.”

  “Clearly. What did you do with Claudia? She’s not really sick, is she?”

  Jeffrey chuckled.

  “I might have given her boyfriend a weekend getaway.”

  Amalia rolled her eyes. “I should report you to the police.”

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “Watching you squirm.”

  Jeffrey laughed. “The pleasure is mutual. Let me see your ribbons,” he demanded, lowering his tone. His eyes darkened, and heat expanded across her flesh licking every inch.

  “Now? I sent you a picture this morning,” she stuttered.

  “I know, but I want to see them.” He pressed her into the wall, sending her heart into a frantic beat. Reaching over her head, he opened the locker room door. “Inside, Ms. Garcia.”

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as they stepped inside, Jeffrey locked the door behind them and reached for Amalia, drawing her close. To his pleasure, she didn’t resist, tilting her head upwards and planting her palms on his chest. Her gaze darkened with lust, and he had to do everything in his power to not simply kiss her and take her home with him right then and there. Swooping down, he devoured her.

  She opened up to him with eagerness, entwining her tongue with his, and joining him in dancing a primitive tune to which they both knew the rhythm. His heart picked up a tempo of its own, and blood rushed to his cock. How could a woman he’d just met have this effect on him? He cupped her ass, sliding his hands underneath the hem of her leggings and searching for the silky material of the ribbons. He groaned at the touch of lace. Amalia moaned in return. He ran his fingertips over the hem of her panties and found what he was searching for.

  He traced the ribbons, up, around, down and under the edge of her panties, feathering across her labia, stroking the edge of her wet pussy. Jeffrey swallowed his groan. Control. This wasn’t about him. It was about Amalia. It had to do with pleasing her. Giving her a taste of BDSM and the adrenaline rush it was. Soon he’d have her at his mercy, and then he’d give into his desire. He’d watch her dissolve in his hands, crumbling into little more than a vessel of pure lust and untamed desire. He forced himself to take a step back. They both panted, staring at each other like frenzied animals.

  “Jeffrey.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Sir,” she whispered.

  His lips tilted, warmth spreading across his limbs. He would never tire of hearing her say it. He’d had many women call him Sir, Master, even, but the way Amalia said it, it had a je ne sais quoi, which made him want to hear her say it every night to infinity.

  “Beautiful, Ms. Garcia. You have no idea how much you please me. Your ribbons are perfectly in place.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  Her blush crept down her neck. Jeffrey stroked her cheek. How many things could he teach her? How many things could they experience together? He needed more time, but he knew he was running against the clock. This wasn’t a woman he could bribe with gifts. For him to keep Amalia, he had to give her what she yearned in slow, measured steps. Taking a deep breath, he forced his breathing to relax. Gently, he cupped her chin, coaxing her gaze up.

  “As much as I’d love to fuck you right now, shouldn’t we be heading to class?”

  Amalia’s eyes widened. She scrambled backwards and checked her watch.

  “Yes.” She bumped her hip into his. “You’re a bad distraction.”

  “And we’ve hardly even begun, Ms. Garcia.”

  “True, Mr. Clay,” she replied with a grin. “But for the next hour you’re going to be my submissive. Are you ready?”

  “Ms. Garcia, in reality, that’s all I’ve ever been from the moment I set eyes on you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Amalia swept the sweat off her brow with the towel and took Jeffrey in. Perspiration stuck to his shirt, giving her a glimpse of his defined muscles beneath. He flung back his head and took a long drink of water. Enthralled, she watched the muscles on his throat work, the tip of his tongue reaching out to lick the remnant from his lips. Her pussy clenched, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Her nipples tightened, and the ribbon around her thighs burned her flesh.

  Get it together, Amalia.

  Forcing her gaze away from him, she picked up her own bottle and took a swig. The cool liquid did little to soothe her.

  “Amalia, when’s your lunch break?” Jeffrey’s baritone sounded behind her.

  “In a few hours,” she replied without turning.

  “All right.”

  Amalia smiled and faced him.

  “Is that your way of asking me to lunch?”

  Jeffrey shrugged, the glint in his eyes playful. “Yeah.”

  “You have to ask, you know, you can’t just barge in here and kidnap me,” she said. She lowered her voice. “Like you did with Claudia and Morgan.”

  “I’m aware.” He took a step closer to her, his heat bouncing off her own and creating a warmth that compelled her to inch forward. “And I didn’t kidnap them. I simply gave them a hand.” Jeffrey cleared his voice. “Besides, I’m not very good at asking.”

  “Not good at asking and not good at taking no for an answer. What are you good at?” Amalia lifted her eyebrows.

  Jeffrey smirked. “Pleasure.”

  “Not a very good resume.”

  “Pain,” he said, narrowing his gaze.

  “Aha.”

  “Making sure all your dreams are fulfilled. Making you happy just because I want to see the corner of your eyes crinkle in pleasure or your nose crunch up in surprise.”

  Amalia sucked in her breath. “You’ve noticed all that in less than a few days?”

  “I’m good at being observant.”

  “Clearly.”

  “So, lunch?” Jeffrey paused. “Please?”

  Amalia laughed. How could she say no to him? She wanted to get to know him just as much as he seemed keen in seeing her.

  “I’d love to. I’ll meet you at one outside the gym.”

  “Perfect.”

  ****

  After Jeffrey left, Amalia’s morning went by at a crawl. By noon, she was eager to take a shower and be on her way, but the world seemed to be conspiring against her. Students who were normally quick on their feet, were slower than usual, people who never had questions, asking her a gazillion things. Finally, she was able to escape to the shower room, change, and race to the entrance. Jeffrey was already there. He looked as yummy as ever in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with the name of a band she recognized.

  “Hey, do you like them?” she asked, pointing to his shirt.

  “Hello to you too,” Jeffrey said, reaching out for her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips. “I love them. They’re a great band. I’ve seen them live several times and know the guitar player.”

  “Really?” she gaped at him. “You know Diego?”

  “Yeah. Great guy, incredibly creative and really funny.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Jeffrey stopped and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it and scrolled through it.

  “Here you go. This was last year before their L.A. show.”

  “Oh my God. You really do know them!”

  Jeffrey smiled. Taking her hand again, he led her to the left. “If you behave, I might just introduce you to them one day.”

  Amalia didn’t reply. One day? Did that mean he wanted to see her again? That this wouldn’t only be a one-night thing? She chewed on the inside of her cheeks. Did she want to see him more? Pinpricks tickled her flesh mingling with t
he butterflies in her stomach, urging her forward. Who was she fooling? She did. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here, going out to lunch with him and holding hands as if they were already dating.

  “Where are we going?” she asked after a moment, realizing they were walking away from the parking lot.

  “To the park.”

  “The park?”

  “I’ve got a little something prepared.” Jeffrey pointed to a table in the distance. Amalia’s eyes widened. From this distance, she could see food and a bottle of something that suspiciously looked like wine.

  “You’ve set a picnic.”

  “I know you like being outdoors.”

  She smiled. “That should definitely go on your resume.”

  “What should?”

  “You’re a good detective.”

  Jeffrey laughed.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you like being outside? Nature? Parks?”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Yeah. I don’t do parkour, but I have done climbing before and I enjoy running in the evenings.”

  “Cool. Me too.”

  He helped her sit on the bench and then took a seat next to her.

  “I saw on your Instagram that you loved shrimp salad with mango sauce from that place—”

  “You’ve visited my social media?”

  “Had to.”

  Amalia nudged his shoulder.

  “For research purposes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I’m not going to complain this time. I do love this salad.” She took a bite and moaned in pleasure. “Do you do this with all your dates?” she asked. “Stalk them?”

  “I don’t need to. Most women throw themselves at my feet. They do whatever I want, no questions asked.” Jeffrey frowned, his lips becoming a thin line. “I lose interest quickly.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s different with you.”

  “How so? Because I say no?”

  “Not only that. You’re intriguing. I know a lot about you and at the same time I don’t know anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You like this salad, but I don’t know why. I don’t know when you tried it first or why you like the flavors. I now know you enjoy listening to this type of music, but I don’t know what makes it special for you.” Jeffrey’s gaze pierced into hers. “I want to know.”

  “We just met,” Amalia muttered.

  “Does that even matter?” Jeffrey said. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “There’s something between us, Amalia, and I’m not going to fight something so precious.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jeffrey took in Amalia’s reaction at his words. She was shocked, but she didn’t shy away from him. His heart stumbled in his chest. Perhaps, he hadn’t fucked up after all. He hadn’t meant to say what he’d said. After all, she wasn’t wrong; they’d only just met, but the words had slipped past his lips. Amalia broke past his usual reserves when it came to women. She didn’t seem to have any interest in his money or how it could benefit her.

  “Jeffrey,” Amalia whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Jeffrey shrugged.

  “You don’t need to say anything, Ms. Garcia.” He grinned at the sound of her sharp intake of breath. “You simply need to be yourself. That’s all I ask.”

  Amalia’s face split into a grin. “What?”

  “You actually asked something. You might not be beyond repair.”

  Jeffrey burst out laughing.

  “I might just learn how to be civilized,” he said.

  “I think you can do it.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You know? You have a lot of information on me, but I hardly know anything about you.”

  “Huh? Who’s not good at asking now?”

  Amalia’s jaw dropped.

  “Fair enough,” she said after a moment. “So, what do you for a living?”

  “Property investment, and I’m the CEO of a software company specialized in security.”

  Amalia stared at him.

  “That explains the guards at the Clay mansion.”

  Jeffrey nodded.

  “Security cameras too. How else do you think I knew you’d be there?”

  “You’re sneaky.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Coffee or tea?”

  “Neither. Energy drinks.”

  “Really? Ugh, that’s poison.”

  Jeffrey reached for a Tupperware that hadn’t been opened and removed the lid. Amalia squealed.

  “Chocolate cake?”

  He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. Goosebumps sprouted on her arms.

  “We all have our vices,” he said, his tone coming out husky.

  Amalia leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. Their gazes locked, passion and warmth swimming in her depths. “We do.”

  Jeffrey dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head. He kissed her again.

  “I can’t wait until tonight,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Neither can I. We could—”

  He laughed.

  “Eager beaver. No. We’ll wait. A few hours won’t kill us, and it will heighten the passion.” He tapped her nose.

  “You’re awful.” She stuck out her tongue and dipped her spoon into the moist cake, making a show of licking the silverware. His cock twitched in response. “But this is delicious so I forgive you.”

  Jeffrey chuckled.

  “Good, because this is my apology for tonight.”

  “Apology?”

  “Yes. Ms. Garcia, tonight I will not show you mercy. Instead, I will show you the gates to paradise.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The bell rang. He was on time. She checked her makeup, slipped on the stilettos, and gave herself one last look in the mirror. Perfect. Or at least, she hoped so. She didn’t ask how Jeffrey had gotten her address or her measurements, but the black cocktail dress with a low back trimmed in lace, he’d sent yesterday, fit her like a glove. Literally. The garment was skin tight, which meant, she had to follow his order on no underwear whether she wanted to or not.

  “Coming,” she said, the sound of the doorbell ringing through her apartment again.

  Amalia hurried to the front of her apartment and threw the door open. Her breath caught at the sight of Jeffrey. There were many things she could say about Jeffrey Clay in the little time she’d known him. He was arrogant, dominant, incapable of taking no for an answer, easy to smile and banter with, but he also knew how to don a suit. His blue gaze raked over her, and a sensual smile lit his face. In response, her body reacted almost violently, desire coursing through her veins at lightning speed and mingling with the rush of going out on a date.

  “Hi.”

  “You look amazing,” Jeffrey said. “The dress looks better on you than I imagined.”

  “You imagined it?”

  “Fantasized with it.” He grasped her hand, intertwining their fingers. Her pulse picked up. “More than once.”

  “Glad I’ve fulfilled your expectations.” Amalia locked her home.

  “In more ways than one, and the night is still young,” he said.

  “Speaking of, what’s the plan?”

  They headed outside, and Jeffrey pointed to a blood red Maserati parked across the street. Amalia’s jaw dropped.

  “Where would be the fun in telling you? That’s my car.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “I thought you’d come in a limo or something with a private driver, considering how rich you are and how you like to spend your money on pointless things like tracking me down.”

  Jeffrey laughed. He opened the copilot seat for her.

  “My precious, Ms. Garcia, I can assure you there was nothing senseless about that. As for my car, I prefer to do my own driving.”

  “It’s all about control, isn’t it?” she asked while he entered his side of the car. He grinned.

  “It is. There is nothi
ng like being able to control your car, to drive how you want.” The engine roared to life. “Enjoy the ride, firecracker.”

  Jeffrey’s driving was precise, his movements calculated as he navigated at full speed between other vehicles. Amalia grabbed the edge of her seat. Nerves skittered across her flesh. There was a certain rush to not knowing where she was going. Next time I’ll have to ask him to blindfold me. Next time? She froze for an instant, her heart plummeting at full throttle. This was a one-night thing. They’d take the edge off and then they’d move in a different direction to pursue a different adventure.

  The car left the highway and began weaving in between narrow streets and buildings built closely together. Jeffrey slowed down. A garage door opened, leading them into darkness. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Welcome to Club Noir.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jeffrey helped Amalia out of the car. The dress he’d chosen for her fit her like a second skin, accentuating her curves and making his mouth salivate. He couldn’t wait to get her home, to peel it off and to make her his. Not yet, though. She wanted a taste of BDSM, and he’d give it to her. He knew the ins and outs of the lifestyle, and he wanted Amalia’s experience to be the best in her life, one she would remember forever. Club Noir, the privately-owned secret club, would do just that. He called the glass elevator and turned to Amalia.

  “You will be asked to sign a confidentiality waiver.”

  “What?”

  “There are people here who wish not to be seen.”

  “Are you serious?” she gawked at him “Is this what rich people do, have secret clubs like children in treehouses?”

  Jeffrey smiled. “Sometimes they’re necessary.”

  “You were at a normal club when we met.”

  “My friend was celebrating his stag party and decided he didn’t want the people here to know he was getting married.”

  Amalia pursed her lips. “Are such complications really necessary?”

  “Occasionally, but not always,” Jeffrey said. “It depends on the kind of person you are, the kind of secrets you want to keep and from whom.”