To Need A Billionaire (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (The Billionaire's Baby Book 2)

by Claire,Ava

  I eased my legs over the edge of the ottoman, making sure my feet were on the ground. That I wasn't secretly passed out on the couch, full of chicken and Jacob's cock and baby presents. I even blinked my eyes and stopped short of pinching myself.

  I was still awake. This was all happening.

  But...

  I frowned, the first part of her sentence not sitting right with me. “Did you say that I texted you?”

  Alicia looked at me strangely. “Yes, you texted me a few hours ago? Right after the shower?”

  I shook my head slowly, scanning the room for my phone. It was on top of the mantle and before I could make my way to it, Jacob retrieved it. He handed it to me, still holding tight to his skepticism. The struggle wasn’t visible to the untrained eye, he was a Whitmore, after all. But I knew him. I saw it churning in the intense blue.

  Questions. Doubts.

  Now that she was talking about some fictional text I sent, I had doubts too.

  I woke up the phone and shot to my messages icon, holding it up so she could see that I'd only sent a handful of texts recently, and none were to her.

  I expected her to drop the act and tell us she'd been bored with torturing her servants and decided to switch it up and mess with me and Jacob, but she just rose to her feet and marched back the way she came, leaving dirty shoe prints in her wake.

  Jacob looked almost relieved and it broke my heart. It told me that he was hoping it was all an act. It was easier to hold onto anger, especially if it was justified, than to forgive and risk being hurt all over again.

  But Alicia wasn't making a quick escape. She reappeared, her purse in tow. I knew it had to be hers because I'd seen it looped around the arm of a few clients...and it cost as much as a Toyota Camry. Not my thing by a long shot.

  She fished out her phone and marched over to us, plunking it in her son's surprised palm. “See for yourself.”

  He opened his mouth, probably to foist it back on her as he mentioned that he didn't know her passcode.

  “It's your birthday.”

  He let that sink in a minute, staring at the screen before he entered it and made his way to her messages.

  He brought the phone close, his face scrunching in confusion. There was a lot of that going around, apparently.

  “You didn't text her?” he asked finally.

  “Jacob, I'd remember if I texted your mother,” I huffed, holding out my hand. “Lemme see.” I scanned the screen, seeing my number there, clear as day, and a message that I definitely did not send glaring up at me.

  Leila:

  Alicia,

  I just wanted to thank you for coming today. It meant a lot to me. I know we have been through so much and I'm hoping the baby can be a new start. Let's show the little one the real meaning of family, k?

  I read it over and over, the words exactly what I claimed she'd never get from us without owning her past actions. It was the kind of fresh start that I wanted, but believed was impossible.

  There was just one problem.

  I didn't send it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Eichmann.”

  The name filled our bedroom like poison, my skin crawling as I remembered Paris. Remembered Brittany, or what was left of her after Eichmann got his hands on her.

  I remembered Cole, and the gash on his neck after Jacob got his hands on him.

  Jacob was on the warpath, pacing back and forth, barking orders into his phone.

  “I need a dossier on Eichmann, and I need it yesterday. I don't care what you're working on, shelve it. Money is no option and failure is unacceptable.” His voice was hot with anger and every line in his body was as tight as the noose that seemed to be wrapped around my neck. “I want hourly status updates. I want to know what that son of a bitch has been up to.”

  There was no thank you, no goodbye, nothing as he ended the call unceremoniously and rushed a hand through his hair. He sliced through his dark strands with a force that made me cringe, dropping my eyes to the floor. The hardwood beams seemed to bend and morph into the living nightmare that still haunted my dreams from time to time.

  There was no remembering Cole, Brittany, and Eichmann without remembering the kidnapping. The helplessness I'd felt when I realized I'd been drugged. Reliving the moment I blinked out of consciousness, drowning in the pure, unadulterated hate in Brittany's eyes...and a face that carried my husband's striking features before it all went black. I was dragged back to that motel room, duct taped, bound, with a knife to my throat. No control. No idea what came next.

  The tremble started in the memories, fear seizing my entire body. Even if I wanted to snap out of it, shake my head furiously and come back to now, to safety, I still saw the stained, patchy carpet from my makeshift prison.

  My hands flew to my throat. Even though there was no knife in sight, and certainly no blade pressed to my throat, my fingers still trembled because the fear brought the terror back to life.

  Jacob had put the blame on Eichmann, but a different name fell from my lips.

  “What about Brittany?” Dread wrapped the words in sandpaper. My question came out in a hoarse whisper that only a person with super hearing should have been able to make out, but I heard the floor creak, Jacob booking it to where I stood.

  I didn't look up because I couldn't bear to see him worry about me. We'd come so far with therapy, but the darkness that flickered in his eyes whenever that ordeal and its repercussions reared their ugly head brought a wave of guilt and resentment that leveled me.

  He gently cupped my chin and lifted my gaze from the floor. A floor that was finally shifted back to home. To safety.

  “I spoke to Cole a few days ago and Brittany is still at the lake house.” When I twisted my mouth to the side, not all that reassured, he added, “And I still have her under surveillance. There's not a move she makes that I don't know about. Whatever this is, it's not Brittany.”

  I thought my lessons at the Whitmore School of Masking Your Emotions had helped me keep my own under wraps, but he cradled my cheeks in his massive hands. As his eyes bore into me, pain swirling in the deep blue as he accepted that some wounds would never heal, I knew that I wasn't nearly as slick as I thought.

  “I'm fine,” I proclaimed firmly. He didn't look convinced and I knew full well I wasn't being honest. “I will be fine,” I remedied, nuzzling his palm. “No stone left unturned, right?” I tried to infuse some cheer, some lightheartedness into my voice, but it just sounded flat and fake.

  “Leila, after all you've been through, it is okay if you're not fine,” he said gently. He pulled me in close, his arms warm and tight around me. “No one will hurt you again. I won't allow it.”

  I knew there was no way to guarantee that, no rational reason that statement should have given me any relief, but in his embrace, I felt the tenseness that gripped my limbs relax. My pulse slowed. My heart rose to my throat and tears raced to my eyes as I gripped him as tightly as I could.

  I believed him; believed that he'd slay whatever monsters, real and hypothetical. He'd protect me and our baby until he drew his last breath.

  I sniffed, my tears turning the front of his dress shirt into a Kleenex. This time, when I tried humor, it felt a little more natural. “It's probably nothing. If your mother was more tech savvy, I’d chalk it up to her shenanigans.”

  “Considering I had to put the family thread on 'Do Not Disturb' because she was posing individual conversations to the entire group, I think we can count her out,” Jacob quipped. He dusted curls from my eyes. “And maybe all the baby excitement is making me soft, but I could have sworn I saw a legitimate tear bubble in her eye earlier.”

  “Just one,” I smirked. My smile faltered as I eased to the window, drinking in the city skyline, but very much here. Thinking back to Alicia's uncharacteristically agreeable behavior downstairs, before she shared the text that I didn't send.

  I wrapped my arms around my body, hope fluttering in my chest despite the fact that her track reco
rd spoke volumes. From the moment I met the woman, she oozed disdain and hatefulness like some elite perfume. Jacob had shared stories of a mother who was basically a mother in name only, her love and attention focused on philanthropy, the Whitmore name, and a husband who stole away whenever he could manage it. The scars of his childhood ran deep, rippling over Jacob whenever the past crept into the conversation, and more currently when we talked about parenting and family. He'd joked that the only way to go was up considering his own parents had shown him what rock bottom looked like.

  I turned back to him, my heart aching. His eyes were on his phone, his face a storm of emotions. Every sign pointed to the fact that someone was going to wish they never effed with The Whitmores.

  “It was probably some sort of glitch,” I offered weakly. “Or some fan playing a prank.”

  “For their sake, I hope not,” he said acidly, eyes still locked on his screen.

  I had no reason to feel anything other than vindication that whoever was behind this mess was getting their comeuppance, but I still shivered, pulling my zippered hoodie tighter. “How about your mom?”

  He cut his eyes at me like I'd spoken a foreign language. “You mean Alicia?”

  “That's the one.”

  “What about her?” He forgot her instantly, returning his attention to his phone.

  I squeezed onto the bed beside him, gut twisting when I saw the slightest tremble in his hand. I would have missed it completely if I wasn't up close and personal. And even then, I would have chalked it up to a trick of the light because his face was made of rock. Unaffected. Unmoved. Unweathered.

  The tremble told a different story. It said his facade couldn't be further from the truth.

  I covered his hand, and the phone, forcing him to look me in the eye. I used to be no match for that steely blue gaze, but today, the tables had turned. I was the one that glared, that didn't budge until he put the phone away and gave me his undivided attention.

  “Do you think Alicia's change of heart is real or another ploy?”

  His brow knitted in confusion as he stared back at me intently. “Are you feeling well? Feverish? Suffering from amnesia?”

  “Ha ha,” I rolled my eyes. “I'm being serious, Jacob.”

  “And so am I.”

  I half expected him to press the back of his hand to my forehead. Heck, I almost did the same thing, just to be sure.

  He surprised me, interlacing his fingers with my own, holding tight. “You think I don't want to believe that my mother can change? That I don't seek some end to this never-ending battle to see beyond all the pain and hurt she inflicts?”

  Before, he may have retreated into himself, found comfort behind the wall and the mask that had protected him for years. He didn't raise the alarm and dig his heels in, pretending that she didn't hurt him—I saw the pain weaving through his devastatingly handsome face. It made me want to march downstairs and drag Alicia from our home by her hair. It made me want to throttle myself for even asking the question, for even daring to hope and for forcing my husband, my rock, to reopen those wounds.

  Tears weaved down my cheeks as I leaned against his shoulder. This was real. We were real. I wouldn't let my fantasy of all of us moving forward and being a family taint our future. “I'm sorry. It was just...at the shower, all day, she seemed genuinely happy. Happy for us. Happy about the baby. I should have known better.”

  He roped his arms around me, his hands resting on my belly. “The fact that you don't is one of the things I love about you.”

  “That I'm a gullible idiot?” I strummed my thumb across his fingers.

  He nestled closer, lost in the curly locks that drove me crazy...and drove him wild. “That you see the best in people.”

  “Even if it doesn't exist?” I followed softly, catching my tear with a knuckle.

  He swept my hair to my other shoulder, exposing my neck. “I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist, Lay.” His lips whispered across my bare flesh and desire rocketed through me like a lightning bolt. “I'm just happy that you exist.” His fingertips stroked my tummy. “Both of you. You're my family. The only family I need.”

  His words gave my heart wings, and when his hands started roaming, picking up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted, my core came alive with want, aching for more of him.

  All of him.

  He rounded my breast, his fingers dancing over my nipple. “I can't keep my hands to myself when you're looking so delicious.”

  I tossed my head back as his touch made everything else go away, except a teeny bit of skepticism. “Clearly you’re the feverish one because I look-”

  My self deprecation was left unspoken because he'd moved to the floor, between my thighs, and was looking at me like I still took his breath away. It didn’t matter whether I was in a tank, hoodie, and leggings...or nothing at all.

  “Don't make me have to get the ball gag,” he warned, his lip tilting upward. If his mouth was playful, his eyes were the opposite. They weren't interested in fun and games, they wanted pleasure.

  Moans.

  Without saying a word, Jacob made one thing crystal clear: he wanted me.

  ~

  “Y-your mother is d-down-”

  “I could care less about her current location,” Jacob interrupted, pausing just long enough to make me regret stating the obvious.

  The truth was, the fact that she was downstairs, while we were well on our way to doing something that would really make her clutch her pearls, was panties meltingly, why-are-we-still-wearing-clothing hot.

  Jacob gripped my knees, imprinting his intentions with his hot touch, and I realized that I wasn’t gonna have to worry about the clothes for very much longer.

  “I need you, Leila.” His tone was impassioned, giving me chills. “And I don’t care if my mother is downstairs...” His fingertips skimmed my thigh, detouring past the aching, throbbing part of me, then shot to the elastic waistband of my yoga pants, slipping inside. “Soon, you won’t either.”

  I lifted slightly off the bed, my pulse quickening, core twitching with anticipation. I’ve already forgotten. I just want you. However you want me.

  I bit my lip, nearly drawing blood as I watched awe and lust wash over his face as he took me in. The moment only lasted for a split second because he lunged forward, not even bothering with taking my pants off entirely. He was too hungry to wait one more second to have me.

  He opened my thighs and dove into the space between, mouth first. His lips were wild as he grazed my erotic folds. He tasted my skin, breathing in my arousal like it was the most decadent thing he’d ever experienced.

  I braced myself, throwing my head back, squeezing my eyes shut as I rode the massive waves of pleasure that crashed into me. The self conscious girl I was before was a distant memory, the girl who saw oral as something reserved for special occasions, requiring so much preparation that all eroticism of the act dimmed to nothing at all. I’d blossomed into a woman that was proud of her body and basked in the feel of her lover’s mouth in that secret, wet place.

  And not just any lover. The lover. The one who made every other fade to dust.

  He feasted like he couldn’t get enough, would never get enough but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t try. He went deeper, thrusting his tongue, his fingers, his passion inside me. His tongue swirled around my bundle of nerves, the knot swollen and ready. Crying out for more when he wrapped his lips around it. Grazed it with his teeth.

  “Oh Jacob,” I said hoarsely, my next words not words at all. They were grunts, indiscernible pleas for him to keep going. Begging for him not to stop in a language made of moans and gasps.

  He spread me wider, one hand tugging my pants lower so he could have more of me. He used the other hand to stroke my wet flesh, to awaken parts of me that felt new and undiscovered and at the same time, felt like going home. Like this was how it should have always been.

  Like this was destiny.

  When he thrusted his fing
ers back inside me, I was snatched away from the roses and heart emoji romance and consumed by a need that eschewed all things flowery for all things naughty.

  “You’re so damn wet,” he said breathlessly. “So wet for me.”

  “It’s all for you,” I sighed.

  He crooked a finger inside me, connecting with that button, that spot that made me buck my hips like something possessed.

  “Is that right?” His voice was filled with dark desires that told me that when I came, if he let me, the whole building would hear it. “Let’s put that to the test.” He tore my pants completely off.

  Even slightly disoriented, dripping wet, flustered, and so horny that I would climax if he just whispered, ‘Come for me’, I still caught him taking a page from my book, flinging the clothes aside.

  I scrambled back onto the bed, anticipating his next move, grinning at his lack of control. “I guess I’m the only one that has to fold my clothes neatly and-”

  “Get on your hands and knees.”

  Uh oh.

  Even if his eyes weren’t flashing with a tempered glee that he’d just received license to punish me, his order shut me right up.

  Wondering if I’d fully grasped the gravity of my ballsy statement and its repercussions, I went slower than necessary, rolling on my side, panting as I slowly vaulted on my hands and knees. He only gave me a stay of whatever he had planned in the allotted time it took to make me reasonably comfortable with pillows.

  I craned my neck towards him and his hand shot to my dangling breasts, gripping one of the mounds.

  Going for my nipple.

  “Eyes forward,” he growled. “You don’t get to look at me. You don’t get to do anything without my permission after that little remark.” He turned his fingers into pinchers and pain seized my nipple, swelling, dominating the pleasure.

  I gasped, balling the sheet in my fists. “Y-yes sir.”

  As soon as the ‘sir’ left my trembling lips, he released my nipple and disappeared into the closet.