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

by Cerys du Lys

  "Yes," I said, letting out a sigh of relief. No one else had really understood that before.

  And, sure, technical writing paid decently. It wasn't a bad job in the least, and I imagine a lot of people enjoyed it. But I couldn't make myself do it, no matter how hard I tried. If I could hold out hope, give myself a chance towards something else, then at least my dreams would survive, no matter what else died. If not for dreams, what did we have?

  "What do you do, though?" he asked, pointedly. "You don't want to be a technical writer, but what do you want?"

  "I..." I hadn't told anyone this, didn't intend to tell him, but it slipped out. "I do book reviews," I said all of a sudden. "Nothing formal, but I really enjoy it. I have a website dedicated to it, kind of like a blog, and I read books in my spare time and then write up a review. I can usually get one done every week, or sometimes if it's a longer book it takes a couple. I could do more, but I need to work, too. I don't think... I don't think it's a very profitable business, but..."

  Asher grinned. He held out a sushi roll for me on the end of his chopsticks and instinctively I opened my mouth to receive it. Only when he let it go as I held it between my teeth and let it slip into my mouth did I realize what he'd just done. Feeding me like... like a pet? Or something more, something different?

  "The way I see it," he said, "you obviously need to do something involving what you love. Books are a passion, but sometimes you need to make concessions in life, too. Have you thought of reviewing something else, or perhaps some other kind of book? A more popular genre, perhaps? Something more recent, like what's on the Amazon Kindle Best Sellers lists? What kinds of books do you prefer? Not everyone enjoys writing as literary as Dante's Inferno, you know?" He grinned a wicked grin.

  "Asher, I'm so terribly sorry about that again. I really didn't mean to ruin your book. I still feel badly."

  He waved away my concern. Then he scooted further to the side and patted the cushion next to him. "Sit here. It's easier to discuss things if we're closer."

  Was that it? Yes, it made sense to some extent, but not really. Still, I went. I would have gone no matter what. I didn't know what it was about him, but I felt like I should hang on his every word, wait for him to demand something from me, and then do it as best I could. And not for any particular reason save for the fact that he seemed like the type of person who would never lead me astray. Why did I think this? What was it? I felt guarded and unsure around him, but I also felt a sense of trustworthiness.

  When I went to sit next to him, moving slowly as if in a dream, he brought out a pen and pad of paper from his suit coat. As a random observation, I added, "You're still wearing your coat."

  He gave me a quizzical look, then laughed. "I am, aren't I? Well, there's no need for it. I guess I just feel more comfortable in it than out of it." He took it off, revealing the rest of his silver shirt, and put the coat at his side.

  "The way I see it, and I don't know much about this business so forgive me any mistakes, but there's many ways to become successful when dealing with something like this. First, reviewing something that sells is..."

  "Asher," I said, interrupting. "I know you mean well, but..."

  "I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?" he said.

  "No, it's not that, but..." I didn't know how to say this gracefully, so I just let it loose. "I'm not a very good drinker."

  "Oh."

  "I don't do it too much and..."

  "Yes, sake has a decently high alcohol content."

  "I'm not drunk, but..."

  "We can discuss business another time," he said with a grin.

  "What do you do?" I asked, suddenly. I don't know why I asked it, because I knew what he did. He was the CEO of Landseer Enterprises, running numerous different entertainment and vacation holdings. Resorts, mostly, with a few casinos, and there were rumors they had share in other places, but that information was kept carefully secret. Why? I didn't know. I wasn't a billionaire, or else I'd probably keep billionaire secrets, too. That didn't stop me from wanting to know, though.

  "Besides running a multi-billion dollar company, which makes me seem much more extravagant than I think I am," Asher said, "I like photography."

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Photography?" I asked.

  "Yes, but..."

  "But?"

  "I won't tell you the type."

  "Please?" I begged. Like some foolish girl I tugged on his shirt sleeve. It was the alcohol, I told myself, except I really just wanted to touch him, to be closer to him.

  He leaned close to me, whispering into my ear. "I trust you'll keep a secret. I enjoy photography of an intimate and female sort. I don't share this information with many people."

  I looked at him as if he were daft. "So you take sexy pictures of scantily clad woman?" I asked.

  "You make it sound so artistic," he said, rolling his eyes.

  "I guess it could be..."

  "I'll show you if you want."

  "What do you mean by that? I don't want to see pictures of other women."

  "No," he said, matter-of-fact. "Of course not. We can do a session, you and me, and I'll show you what goes into it, then you can see the results first hand."

  "Asher," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. "That won't work. I'm not sexy enough."

  He downed his current cup of sake, then poured me another, and held out his cup for me to do the same. Together, we drank.

  "I beg to differ," he said.

  "What do you mean you beg to differ? I think I know myself, and I definitely know I'm not sexy enough to be in any of your pornographic photos."

  "Pornographic!" he said, as if it were the most amusing concept in the world. "Hardly! Jessika, this is art. Like classic Greek sculptures, I capture the pure essence of each individual."

  "You do realize that most classic Greek sculptures have woman of quite more than adequate proportions, don't you? You basically just called me fat."

  "I did nothing of the sort. In fact, I resent that." He rolled his eyes and made to move away from me, but only in teasing. "You're not even close to fat, anyways. I'm glad you like the dress, by the way. It looks lovely on you."

  "I do," I said. "I like it."

  I inched closer to him. I wanted more, a lot more. I looked up at Asher, saw a look in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. What was it? I moved closer, trying to figure it out, but halfway there I gave up. The alcohol fuzzed my brain. Not a lot, but enough. At least I wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench tonight, not yet anyways.

  It made me a little bolder, though. I put my hand on his crotch, felt his manhood beneath his pants. How did it come to this? I didn't know. Asher watched me, stared at me, the look in his eyes changing ever so slightly. God, I wished I weren't somewhat drunk so I could better read him, except if I weren't I wouldn't have my hand on his crotch, now would I?

  I craned my neck up, moved my head forward to kiss him, and he didn't stop me. His hand touched my breast, squeezed it, bunched up the fabric of my dress until he held it tight in his hand. I grabbed frantically for his erection, stroking him through his pants. I wanted those pants off. Right now.

  Asher seemed the same. But, his wife. I couldn't do this, had to stop, and that's what I kept telling myself but I never did it.

  The waiter knocked on the wooden sliding door. "The rest of your meal is ready," he said.

  No, no! Asher pulled me away from him, made me put my hands in my lap and sit politely while he leaned over and opened the door. When the waiter saw us sitting next to each other, he raised one brow, but said nothing. One after another, him and his assistant placed plates of food on our table, neatly arranging them around our lover's special sushi platter. Once finished, the waiter closed the door for us, but not before saying, "I'll bring more sake, Mr. Landseer."

  "Jessika," Asher said when we were alone again. "I'm sorry, but we can't do this. You're drunk."

  Something struck me, some blind inspiration, and I decided to go with it. "You s
aid we wouldn't end our lunch date until I told you my answer," I said. "I'm in no hurry to tell you."

  I meant, though the words came out a bit hazy, that he was stuck with me. I would tell him when I felt like it, and keep him for myself until then. It sounded less nice when I said it aloud, but I hoped he caught my meaning.

  "Is that so?" he asked. "I said it was a romanticized thought, but I never actually said I'd go through with it."

  "You have to!" I pleaded. He was ruining my plans before I could even begin them, and it frustrated me.

  "I'll do it," he said. "But I have a few requirements."

  "What?" I asked. "I'll do them." Whatever they were, I would, if only to...

  "First, we need to cease this. We are both adults, and I am married. We can't act as anything more than friendly to one another."

  "Fine," I said in a huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "Fine. That's fine. I don't mean to sound upset, but I never meant it. It was an accident."

  "Yes," he said, sounding unconvinced. "An accident."

  "You said 'first.' What's second?"

  "Second, if you insist on this, I insist you allow me to photograph you."

  "I guess," I said. If I gave in for now, agreed to his requirements, then I thought I could stay with him for just a little longer. If I changed my mind tomorrow, what would he do? Our time together would be spent and done already. "When do you want to do this? I have the weekend free."

  "As soon as we finish our meal," he said.

  "What?" I stared at him, blinking.

  "You've heard the requirements. Do you agree or not?"

  "I..." I couldn't do that! I was... well, not yet, but I could become drunk if the waiter kept bringing us more sake. And, sexy? How was I supposed to be sexy? I knew a thing or two about it, and I understood the general premise, but I highly doubted I could look as appealing as the women in some of the photographs I'd seen before. Not to mention I didn't even know exactly what kind of photography he did. He said it was intimate and female, but that was vague enough to be almost anything.

  "Do you agree or not?" he asked, repeating himself.

  "Fine," I said. "I'll do it."

  "Good," he said with a wicked grin. Picking up his chopsticks, he grabbed a piece of vegetable tempura; one of the fried sweet potatoes. "Excellent choice on the tempura, by the way. These are delicious. I haven't had them in forever."

  His Absolute Instructions

  I never thought I was sexy. That isn't to say I thought I was unattractive, but there's a difference between sexiness and an acceptable look. Everyone has something nice about their personal appearance, but that doesn't mean they have that je ne sais quoi sexual appeal.

  I dressed as nicely as I could, though, wearing nice looking skirts and blouses. Maybe I bought my clothes at Macy's or J.C. Penney, but they looked good. Probably not as fashionable as women in Asher Landseer's tier, but I could buy ten full outfits with what they paid for a single blouse. I owned shelves full of body scrubs, soaps, facial cleansers, and a ton of other woman's essentials for my early morning routine when I was getting ready for the day. I loved to take baths, used rose, sandalwood, and green tea scented shampoo, and splurged on the more expensive conditioners.

  I looked nice; I liked how I looked. Blonde, average weight, a little bit of a tan from the tanning machines at the gym where I shared a membership with a friend. I kept in shape, ate as well as I could, and cared about my appearance. Cosmetics, styling my hair, making sure my clothes were fresh and clean and without wrinkles.

  Still, that didn't make me sexy. I was sure men found me attractive enough, and I'd had boyfriends in the past. Sex, compliments, and everything that went along with relationships.

  But...

  When Asher Landseer, the billionaire CEO of Landseer Enterprises asked to take sexy photos of me, I balked.

  It was a requirement, he said. Not a requirement of his choosing, either, but mine. At least it was mine in a way. I could say no, I could disagree, but if I wanted him to agree to what I'd asked of him, then I needed to accept his requirement.

  A small part of me wanted to run away right then. What was I getting myself into? He'd invited me to a restaurant to discuss something and that was it. Granted, he wanted to discuss me possibly becoming an egg donor and surrogate mother for him and his wife, so the situation was already awkward, but this just made it worse.

  He teased me, tormented me, except I thought he didn't mean it in a bad way. An accident, like someone who was unsure how to proceed. Thinking back to what I'd done, I felt the same. Why did I curl my toes, let them trace towards his crotch and his stiffening manhood hidden beneath his pants. He'd offered me a calf massage and nothing more, and I was the one who took it further. Asher was the one who elevated it, almost getting me off with his foot, but then it stopped.

  And started. And stopped.

  Sitting in our private booth at The Simple Path, a luxurious Japanese restaurant, I answered him.

  "Fine," I said. "I'll do it."

  "Good," he said with a deliciously deviant grin on his face.

  I wanted to kiss him so badly, but he reached for a piece of battered and fried sweet potato from our vegetable tempura plate. Why was I sitting next to him now? I'd started across the table, less intimate, and now here I was, sitting elbow to elbow with him, the Asher Landseer.

  It was the sake. I was never a good drinker, always quick to get a bit of a buzz, and we'd gone through three cups of the drink already. Not drunk, not by a long shot, but I wanted an excuse. I needed a reason to stay near him, desired it. As per our agreement, I would answer him about surrogacy when I was good and ready, and not a moment sooner, and he would spend the day with me until I did. Was that selfish? Who had the better part of the deal there? It was his idea, a type of control, or the giving away of it, but what did he really want out of this?

  I could keep him to myself, at least for a little bit, and pretend there was some other reason he wanted to share my company, some other purpose besides his request for me to think about becoming his wife's egg donor. She was infertile, they didn't see each other often, maybe he was lonely?

  Maybe... he wanted... me?

  I didn't know if I could let him take sexy pictures of me, though. A hobby, nothing more, just something he enjoyed doing in his spare time.

  I never thought I was sexy. I still wasn't sure.

  ...

  Asher didn't know what had come over him. He didn't know why he'd asked Jessika to model for his photography. It wasn't a shameful thing, not in his mind, and he owned all of the proper equipment, but this was new to him. He couldn't help himself. It was as if he needed to ask her, some fate ordained.

  He never believed in fates or destinies or anything like that, though. People made their own paths in life, and he'd made his. He'd invited her here under the awkward, though innocuous reason of seeing how she would answer his request from the day prior.

  Yes, nothing more than that, right? Except yesterday he'd chastised her by putting her on the table in his private meeting room and stripping her of all her clothes. True, she ruined one of his favorite books first, the one that his father had given to him after he graduated from private school and before he'd gone to college, but it was replaceable. Special, with memories, but she never destroyed the memories and sentiment.

  He didn't think Jessika could ever do something like that. She only made them, new ones, blossomed and nurtured thoughts.

  She was plain, regular, and... no, she was none of those things. Her clothing looked average, but like any book, there was a lot going on beneath her cover. He wanted to know it, to read her, to sit by a fire while drinking a fine wine and exploring every aspect of her as if she were a classic work of literature and he was stuck inside on a rainy, dismal day.

  He had a wife. He couldn't do these things. This was some inexplicable fascination. He tried to dissuade himself, letting himself look at her. She wore the casual chemise shirt he gave her yesterday aft
er he'd ripped the buttons from her other shirt. The skirt covering her legs went a little higher than her hips, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Her perfume, whatever the scent, was pleasant but not too intoxicatingly so.

  But her eyes! She looked at everything as if it was exciting. Curiosity flickered through them, glimmers of innocence wanting to learn more. They were a startling blue, like the sky on a bright summer's day, but he felt like they might cloud up and hide her true feelings if he so much as breathed the wrong way, sent forth a bad gust of wind. And her hands, timid, but wanting. The way she held her chopsticks when she reached for a strip of chicken kara age, slow and unsure, with a tilt of her head as she looked his way. He wanted to nod, say yes, it's delicious and I think you'll love it. He wanted to pick the meat up in his fingers and lean towards her, close, placing it lightly in her mouth, feeding her the morsel, letting her chew and swallow it before kissing the remnants off her pink, delicate lips.

  That was too much, though. If he scared her, worried her, he didn't think he'd have another chance. He wanted to squeeze her, grab her, demand things from her. He wanted to lay her down on the bench right then and there and rip off her clothes and press his warm mouth against every part of her body.

  He wanted her to be her, but he wanted her to be his, too.

  And so, without thinking, the urge overriding the logical part of his brain, he'd asked her to model for his photography hobby. She agreed. She agreed! This startled him somewhat, but he wasn't entirely surprised. Except now what?

  He needed to tone this down, to lighten the mood and keep all intimate thoughts at bay. This would be strictly an enjoyable pastime where he showed her a few things about taking pictures and modeling. And that was it. No more.

  He had a wife, he knew that, and this was some odd, mild fascination with an interesting woman. Nothing more or less than that, and in time it would pass.

  ...

  I had taken a taxi to the restaurant since I didn't own a car; it was easier to travel in the city without one most of the time. A lack of parking spots, or traffic issues, or any other numerous problems could and did happen on a daily basis, making owning a car more of a luxury than a necessity here. I liked not having a car, anyways. Sometimes it was nice to imagine it as freedom. With cars I was stuck on city roads, but walking, or a taxi, or the subway could bring me almost anywhere.