Because He Owns Me (Because He Owns Me, Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Ford, Hannah

  BECAUSE HE OWNS ME (Because He Owns Me, Book One)

  by Hannah Ford

  Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CALLUM

  I was about to leave when I caught sight of her.

  She was sitting at the bar alone, her hands clutched nervously in her lap.

  Long blonde hair hung straight down her back, and she was dressed in tight jeans that hugged the curve of her ass and a snug black t-shirt with a line of tiny white buttons down the front. The shirt clung to a pair of full, pert breasts. It was cold in the club, and her nipples were prominent through the cheap material.

  It probably tore easy, I thought, imagining what it would feel like to rip the buttons off one by one until her swollen nipples came into view. I wondered what those high breasts would look like covered in ropes of my cum.

  My cock twitched.

  A pair of black high-heeled sandals encased her feet, and her toenails were painted a deep pink. I’d never had a foot fetish, but the color was undeniably sexy.

  She had full pouty lips and a wide face, her skin porcelain and smooth. She’d obviously never been here before. I could tell by the way she’d laid her phone on the bar, keeping it close in case she needed to call someone.

  A first-timer.

  My cock twitched again, more insistent this time, as I thought about pulling on that long blonde hair, tangling it in my fingers, her back arched and my dick nestled between her ass cheeks as she moaned in ecstasy. I imagined tying her up in one of those back rooms, pushing her to her knees, her full lips stretching out around my dick.

  One night only.

  It was my rule.

  I was never with a woman for more than one night.

  It was a rule that could never be broken.

  No exceptions.

  Ever.

  I had my reasons.

  But was she the type that would go for an arrangement like that?

  I took another sip of my drink, letting the beat of the music wash over me.

  The girl at the bar looked around nervously, and as she did, she met my gaze.

  Her eyes were clear blue. I thought about how she’d look down on her knees, her hands tied behind her with a rope, those big wide eyes looking up at me as I fucked her mouth.

  You can’t do that to her, Callum, I thought. You could have any woman in this club. Find a different one. She’s too pure.

  But her pureness was what drew me to her.

  Was she even from New York? Everyone who came to Manhattan was looking for something. What was she looking for? A quick little tryst before she went back to East Bumfuck or wherever it was innocence like hers came from?

  She turned to look at me, and our eyes locked. Something rushed through me, an overwhelming feeling unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of me.

  I recovered quickly and smirked at her, and she flushed and turned away.

  I was about to get up and go get her when she dipped her hand into her purse.

  Then, ever so slowly, I saw her remove a small white pill from a pink shell case.

  Well.

  That settled it.

  I had two rules.

  The first was one night only. Never any more.

  And the other was no drugs.

  Ever.

  I turned away, the disappointment that rolled through me out of proportion to the situation.

  Five more minutes.

  Then I was getting out of here.

  ADRIANA

  I’d been stood up.

  It was my own fault, really. I’d known meeting a guy on a dating app was not the best idea. But Nathan had seemed nice enough – he’d gone to Stanford, he was at NYU business school getting his MBA, he had a nice smile and sandy blonde hair. Nothing about him screamed raging asshole or serial killer. Of course, I’d been a tiny bit suspicious when he’d insisted on meeting for a drink and not dinner or a movie, but he’d sounded nice enough on the phone, and if I was being honest, I knew little about the New York dating scene.

  Everyone here was so busy and rushed. Drinks or coffee seemed like a reasonable suggestion.

  I sighed and took another look around the restaurant/bar, wondering if perhaps Nathan was here and I’d somehow missed him. I searched for any guys who were sitting alone or seemed like they might be looking for someone.

  No one looked even remotely like the pictures of Nathan I’d seen online.

  Although the man in the corner booth was staring at me. I blushed, feeling the color rising on my cheeks. God he was gorgeous. Everything about him was just so dark -- dark hair, dark eyes, dark stubble on his chin, dark suit with a matching black button-down underneath. The only thing light about him was his eyes– a piercing blue that stood out even all the way over here.

  The man was sipping something clear, and he was all alone, which made no sense. Why was he sitting alone? He was the most gorgeous man in here, all smoldering eyes and broad shoulders and messy hair. It wasn’t even a matter of taste or debate. Women should have been throwing themselves at him. My pulse pounded and I my blushed deepened as he caught me staring.

  A smirk played on his beautiful full lips.

  Those lips.

  I turned away, embarrassed.

  I was sure he was making fun of me.

  Suddenly, the lights in the restaurant dimmed, and the music – a heavy rotation of 90s songs that had been remixed to give them a pounding bass line – got louder as the time on my phone screen switched over to 11 o’clock on the dot.

  Something about the bar getting darker and louder flipped a switch inside of me, and the social anxiety I’d struggled with since I was teenager roared to life, threatening to take over. I reached into my bag and pulled out an Ativan, then changed my mind and put it back in its case.

  Why waste a perfectly good Ativan on some asshole from a dating app?

  I stood up and grabbed my phone off the bar, threw a twenty down to pay my tab (I’d had two diet cokes and a cranberry juice while I’d been waiting) and headed for the exit.

  I was almost to the door when I felt a pair of strong hands slide around my waist.

  “Where are you going?” a deep male voice breathed into my ear, and I felt myself getting pulled back into a hard, broad chest.

  I turned around and fell into a pair deep blue eyes.

  It was him.

  The man from the corner booth.

  He moved so he was standing in front of me, loosening his grip on me but keeping his hands on my hips, like he was afraid if he let me go I was going to slip through his grasp and out into the New York City night.

  “Um, I’m leaving,” I said.

  He was even more commanding up close – at least six-foot-two, his suit impeccably cut, his hair fading perfectly into a pair of short sideburns. He smelled like a yummy aftershave, something so male it made me dizzy.

  “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you… are you Nathan?” He looked nothing like Nathan’s picture, but perhaps Nathan was one of those catfishes I’d heard about who used fake pictures stolen from someone else’s facebook profile. But if you looked like the man standing in front of me, I had no idea why you would bother to use a fake picture. Nathan’s picture had been nice enough, but it had nothing on the man standing in front of me.

  “Never apologize,” the man admonished. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

  “What?” I aske
d, confused. “I didn’t –”

  He was still holding my hips, and his hands snaked around to my lower back. A delicious warmth radiated through my muscles, instantly relaxing me.

  “Give me the drugs,” he demanded.

  “What?”

  “The drugs in your purse.” He let go of me and held his hand out. There was no threat in his voice, just the tone of a man who was used to ordering people around.

  “I don’t have any drugs in my purse.”

  “I saw you with drugs.”

  “You saw me with drugs?” I shook my head. “That’s impossible.”

  His eyes darkened, and I saw something burn deep within the depths of his irises. He didn’t like me contradicting him.

  “Open your purse,” he commanded.

  I started to tell him that was absurd and ridiculous, but something about the look on his smug face made me want to prove him wrong. So I opened my purse and showed him what was inside.

  A couple of dollars.

  My license and debit card.

  A tube of red lipstick.

  A newly purchased subway card.

  And my tiny pink shell case.

  He reached in and pulled the shell case out of my purse, cracked it open and glanced at the tiny pills.

  Then he flipped the case over and poured the pills onto the ground, grinding them into a fine powder under the heel of his expensive leather dress shoe.

  He handed the case back to me and then began to walk back into the bar.

  My mouth dropped.

  Had he really just dumped my Ativan all over the floor then ruined them with his stupid expensive shoe? Indignation bloomed in my chest, pushing out any of the anxiety I’d been feeling a moment ago.

  I followed the arrogant jerk back to his booth, the red leather one that was situated in the corner of the club. He sat down and calmly took a sip of his drink, seltzer water with a fresh slice of lemon floating in it.

  “Hey!” I said. “Hey, those pills were mine, you know. You can’t just go around destroying people’s things. It’s against the law.”

  “So call the police.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re so concerned about laws and who’s breaking them, then call the police.” He took another sip of his drink, then glanced at his watch, an expensive black and silver Rolex. A thoughtful look passed over his face, almost like he was trying to decide how much of his precious time he was willing to devote to this conversation.

  “No, I don’t…” I took a deep breath. Something about him was flustering me. Probably because he was so god damn good looking. “That’s not the point.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “The point isn’t that I want to call the police. The point is that you can’t just go around wrecking people’s things.”

  “Trust me, sweetheart, I did you a favor.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

  “Then what should I call you?”

  “What?”

  He sighed in exasperation, like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with the likes of me. “What. Is. Your. Name?”

  “Oh.” I was thrown, not expecting that. “Um, it’s Adriana.”

  “Adriana,” he said, looking me in the eye for the first time since he’d sat down. I liked the way he said my name, slow, like he was turning over every syllable, trying to figure out what they all meant. Something flashed in the depths of his irises, something intoxicating and unfamiliar, skepticism mixed with trepidation mixed with surprise mixed with desire.

  “What’s your name?” I demanded, wanting him to know that he wasn’t the only one who could ask questions and needing something to distract myself from the rush of attraction that was pounding through my body.

  “Callum.”

  “Callum?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “That’s a made up name.”

  “I’m hurt that you don’t trust me,” he said sarcastically, like he actually couldn’t give a shit. He reached for his drink and took another long sip, the sleeve of his shirt slipping up to reveal a tan, muscular forearm.

  “Trust needs to be earned,” I informed him.

  He laughed, like he couldn’t believe how naïve I was. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a leather wallet with some expensive-looking designer logo stamped on the front and slid out a crisp white business card.

  He held it out to me, and I took it, my face burning as our fingers brushed. I’d always been prone to blushing, and with my fair complexion, it was almost impossible to hide. I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but his eyes were on my face, watching me carefully.

  CALLUM WILDER was printed on the card in a simple black font. So what, I thought. So he had a card with the name Callum Wilder on it. He probably printed them up and brought them here so that he could seem suave and cool. And what was with the all caps? Talk about being self-important.

  Callum Wilder.

  It was just the kind of name a man would make up in an effort to get women to sleep with him.

  Of course, that didn’t explain the fact that he was wearing very expensive clothes. Even someone like me, whose idea of high fashion was Banana Republic, could tell the suit had had on was expensive.

  My eyes ran down the card to the next line.

  CEO and Founder, Wilder Holdings, LLC

  Wilder Holdings.

  I knew that company.

  Everyone knew that company. They were famous for swooping in and taking over smaller, failing companies, infusing them with cash and turning them around before selling them off for a profit.

  He must have been a billionaire.

  I swallowed.

  So not only was he extremely good-looking, he was also rich.

  I hated him.

  “I believe you,” I said haughtily, handing the card back to him. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

  “I don’t prove myself to anyone.”

  “Then why did you feel the need to show me your business card?”

  He shrugged, like it was inconsequential.

  His disinterest infuriated me.

  His eyes flicked back to mine and he ran them down over my body, not even trying to hide the fact that he was checking me out. I felt my nipples harden under the cool air of the club, and I cursed myself for wearing such a sheer t-shirt.

  “Anyway,” I said, trying to get back to the task at hand. “You owe me fifty dollars. That’s how much my Ativan prescription cost.”

  “Would you like to sit down and discuss this?”

  “No, I would not like to sit down and discuss this,” I fumed. “You owe me fifty dollars. There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “I am not going to pay for your drugs, Adriana.”

  “Those are not drugs,” I said. “Those are prescription pills, the kind of pills that people take because they need them. The kind of drugs people pay good money for. Not that I would expect someone like you to understand that.”

  “Someone like me?” He cocked his head, interested. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you probably don’t have to worry about stupid things like, oh, I don’t know, healthcare costs, that you probably enough money not to have to freak out when your premiums go up or worry about whether or not Obamacare is going to be deemed unconstitutional.”

  “The Affordable Care Act already stood up to the challenges it faced in the Supreme Court.”

  “I know,” I said, frustrated, feeling my hands ball into fists at my side. “That’s not the point.”

  “Sit down, Adriana.”

  This time, I sat. I wasn’t completely sure why. It was a reflex, automatic, almost like he had a hold on me I could resist for only so long. It was like fighting against a wave that was trying to pull you under in the middle of the ocean. You could try to swim against the current, but eventually your muscles and your breathing gave out, and you couldn’t fight anymore. All you wanted to do was surrender.

  Surrender.
/>   The word pulsed through my brain.

  “What are you thinking?” Callum asked.

  “I’m thinking about how I have no idea what the hell I’m still doing here,” I answered honestly.

  The answer seemed to please him.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve been to New York before. I live here. Well, I just moved here. But I’ve never been to this club before. I was supposed to meet a guy here.”

  He looked around. “And where is this guy?”

  “He, um, had to cancel.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling him all this, but I had to draw the line somewhere. It was one thing to reveal your date wasn’t there, but it was another level of humiliation to have to admit he’d completely blown you off, no text, no phone call, nothing.

  Callum raised his eyes at me skeptically. “So you know what goes on in a place like this?”

  “Yes, of course,” I lied. What was he talking about, a place like this?

  A waitress appeared seemingly out of nowhere and set a fresh drink down in front of Callum. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Wilder?”

  She was practically salivating at the sight of him. She was pretty, too, with auburn hair and huge boobs and a tiny little waist. He must have been a regular here for her to know his name.

  But Callum kept his gorgeous blue eyes on me. “No, thank you,” he said to the waitress, his gaze never leaving mine. “But my friend Adriana will have a seltzer with lemon.”

  “I don’t like lemon.” We were friends now?

  “Lemon is good for you,” he said, nodding to the waitress to go and get my drink.

  She scurried off.

  Callum stared at me across the table, the sides of his mouth sliding up into a knowing grin. He said nothing to me, and I shifted on the booth nervously.

  “Are you… I mean, do you come here a lot?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “So you’re not a regular here?”

  “I’m here because I’m thinking of buying this place.”

  “So you can infuse it with cash and fire everyone before hiring new workers who will work for half the money?” I scoffed, hoping to make it clear to him that I knew exactly the kind of company he ran.