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

by Claire,Ava

  To the chest.

  I licked my lips, drawing a few sobering breaths. My mind darted through the possibilities.

  Paddles.

  Clamps.

  Belts.

  Vibrators.

  All of the above would make it impossible to wait for his permission to let go because I was already so wet that I could feel my desire coating my flesh. I desperately held onto the ledge, so disturbingly excited by the prospect of whatever he had in store.

  Pain had become as tantalizing as pleasure.

  I was tempted to steal a look, to spoil the surprise when the floor creaked, announcing his return. He even teased me, tossing the implement on the bed beside me.

  Testing me.

  Driving me crazy.

  Turning me into Sherlock Holmes, trying to use clues to figure out what awaited me. Unfortunately, the weight of it, and the way it whistled before it collided with the tangled bedsheets, gave nothing away.

  I begrudgingly followed his orders and kept my eyes forward.

  The dark wood grain of the headboard filled my view and I outlined the ebony and birch, swallowing hard as thrill seized every fiber of my being. Even with my vision blurring as I struggled to obey, to not peek, my core danced with the eroticism of his gaze. I felt him tracing my curves. Drinking me in. I felt it as surely as if he reached out and touched me.

  “Since you’re in such a chatty mood, I want you to count every strike.”

  I bit the inside of my jaw.

  A spanking.

  Was it a paddle beside me?

  A whip?

  I licked my trembling lips, deciding to stop topping from the bottom. “Yes sir.”

  “Use ‘red’ if you need to.” The sound of his zipper sliding down the track and the rustle as he shed his clothes told me it was unlikely I’d be using the safeword anytime soon.

  I instantly determined that I’d spoken too soon, because there was no warning, no point in preparation because a flurry of strikes collided with my bottom, taking my breath away.

  There was no single point of impact, which would have confirmed that he wielded a paddle. The pain wasn’t the slender sting dealt by a standard whip. This was like fingers snapping in near unison against my skin.

  My eyes bulged excitedly.

  The cat o’ nine.

  God yes. “One.”

  The second strike seemed to sync up with the first, pangs of discomfort biting my naked bottom as delight clutched my voice. “Two.”

  By the time we reached fifteen, tears were on my cheeks and I’d gathered most of the fitted sheet, flat sheet, and comforter in my fists. I couldn’t stop trembling and I was so close to oblivion that I knew I’d have no choice but to disobey. The minute he finally entered me, his thick cock sliding into my warmth, I would be lost.

  He must have known because he tossed aside the cat o’ nine, right on the pillow I’d stopped moaning into. I drank in the tiny strips of leather, sighing with pleasure when I felt the aftercare cream gliding across my tender skin.

  The bottle plopped near the whip and his fingertips raked down my spine. “Come on my cock.”

  As his thrusts filled me, my body wrapped around his body, I did just that.

  I surrendered, exploding with a screech, as the world spun off its axis.

  His arm draped around me as he thrusted deeper, transporting us both to a place that was ours and ours alone. I came again and he unleashed a howl that I felt in my bones, my core overflowing with his desire.

  Both of us collapsed against the mattress, struggling to catch our breath. I stroked his arm with my fingertips, sated, my bottom tingling from the cream he’d smoothed on my skin.

  “That was-” My eyes flew open. “Alicia!”

  He was right—I really had forgotten all about her.

  Jacob all but shrugged his broad shoulders, lounging in the covers so deliciously that I was tempted to go for round 2.

  Sex later, check in with your surprise visitor/mother-in-law now.

  I zipped up my hoodie to mask my swollen nipples and tugged on a fresh pair of leggings, but I didn’t bother trying to mask my embarrassment. There was no point in postponing the inevitable, but I still eased down the stairs like a kid who’d broken something and was about to face the firing squad.

  When I hit the landing, I realized my slow descent was pointless.

  The living room was empty.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen, taking stock of the cupboards like my mother did when I left her alone.

  Alicia was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  I had to check the address twice when I peered out the window of the taxi.

  This was where I was meeting Angelique?

  The driver looked just as surprised as I was, glancing at his navigation screen, then over at the building on 19th and Jones. ‘Building’ was being generous since it looked like there was a war waged at some point in the city that I didn't know about—and this was the spot where it went down. There was no discernible sign indicating there was a restaurant here at all. Busted out windows were boarded up with mismatched wood. The concrete was charred and even from the curb, I worried a piece would chip off and come hurtling down to end me Final Destination-style. Everyone on the sidewalk seemed to hustle right past the building, like they knew something we didn't know.

  “This is the place?” the driver asked skeptically, lifting off his trucker cap to scratch his balding head.

  “I think this is it.” I scrolled to Angelique's text and verified that I was in the right spot. I read off the address and he confirmed warily that this was where I was supposed to be.

  I shot off a text to her that I was outside.

  Me:

  19th and Jones, right? I'm here at the curb in taxi.

  I took my time fishing out my debit card, giving her ample time to tell me there was a typo, give me a restaurant name, or a landmark to look out for. I couldn’t believe it was the dilapidated building that everyone, including an elderly woman with a walker, seemed to be in a hurry to hustle on by.

  Since Angelique’s track record as far as response time via text rivaled some of our millennial clients and I received no follow up text, I decided to go with Plan B.

  “ Bonjour, Leila!”

  Angelique's voice carried through the window and relief washed over me, quickly replaced by surprise when I saw that she was coming from the foreboding alley beside the building...and dressed as stylishly as she had been when we met.

  Her statuesque frame was wrapped in a merlot colored, 70’s inspired jumpsuit that teased her cleavage and swayed to and fro as she strutted towards the cab. Her onyx colored hair was pulled into a bun at the crown of her head, golden hoop earrings dangling from her lobes. She looked ready for her close up, and I was just in slacks and a blouse, my usual outfit for a business lunch.

  Instead of blushing or feeling out of place like I had when I realized Angelique Entoine was in the Whitmore and Creighton building, I smiled back at her. Blush or no, I still had to ride out the high of being starstruck all over again. Angelique just had this infectious, mysterious energy where she made you feel like you were the star. And she could pull off anything—turning the sidewalk, boardroom, restaurant, wherever into her own personal catwalk.

  “You didn't have any trouble finding the place?” She opened my door for me.

  The heat I’d repressed came flying back to my cheeks. I wasn’t used to being treated like a VIP by a new client. They were usually too busy puffing out their chests, in denial about the fact that they needed help. “Uh, no-”

  “You're someone famous!” The driver interjected, tipping his hat back so he could get a good look at her.

  Angelique took the comment in stride, letting out a chuckle. “Your passenger is the famous one, sir.”

  The old man didn't look convinced, glancing at me curiously before he turned his spectacled gaze back to Angelique. “I've seen your face on buses. Are you an actress? One of those famous TV s
isters? A model?” He scratched his chin, trying to put his finger on it.

  “What I am is hungry,” she replied with a wink, holding out a hand to help me from the cab.

  The driver lingered for a few seconds before he slowly pulled away from the curb, still trying to remember where he knew Angelique from and kicking himself for not asking for an autograph or taking a picture.

  Speaking of pictures...

  I swept the area for paparazzi. They generally traveled in packs, but every now and then you encountered a lone wolf who fancied himself an amateur spy, decked out in a disguise that made him even more conspicuous.

  I didn't see a group of men with unwieldy cameras, bulbs flashing as they tried to snap a high dollar photo, or someone in a trench coat and fedora despite the warm temperature.

  “Oh, they don't come to this part of town,” she assured me by patting my shoulder. “Here, they don't ask you politely to leave—they throw you out on your ass.”

  Angelique smiled at the last bit, like she was picturing some paparazzo being hurled into oncoming traffic. I was no fan of the paparazzi, especially the ones that yelled vicious things for a reaction, but I didn’t wish anyone harm and her glee was a little unsettling.

  The moment was forgotten when she evaluated me with a nod of approval. “You look lovely, Leila!”

  I waved off the compliment. “You look lovely. I look capable.”

  “Absurdité!” she exclaimed, leading the way in her sky high stilettos. “You have a certain glow, magnified by the bébé.” She cast a look over her shoulder, eyes flitting over my belly before she flew back up to my face and came to a hard stop.

  I'd thought I was doing a better job hiding my apprehension about following her into an alley that seemed especially dark considering the sun was out, headed into a building that looked abandoned, condemned, or both, but the worry that gripped her patrician features was palpable.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” she explained, roping an arm through mine and navigating us forward. She dropped her volume until it was a spooky whisper that reminded me of spider webs and trick or treating. “I wanted to surprise you with the best burger in the city instead of the usual pretentious fare.”

  I was too busy scanning the shadows for unseen danger to think about food.

  We past a dumpster that had been set on fire and for some reason, kept around for the sake of nostalgia.

  Or to ward off anyone with good sense from doing any snooping.

  I didn't realize I was shaking until Angelique brought us to a stop again, just beside said dumpster. “I can feel your nerves, Leila.” She balled a fist and pressed it against her forehead, her face swirling with regret. “Stress and worry is not good for the baby. Perhaps we should try it some other time and go somewhere else?”

  I wasn't sure what it was about the building, but I forced my anxiety away and pulled the sides of my mouth into a smile. “No way I'm turning back after you tempted me with the best burger in town!”

  She returned the smile and then some. “I don't indulge often and I've been looking forward to this all morning!” Like she sensed that I was getting close to turning back, she led the way, putting a little pep in her step until we reached a gunmetal gray door scrawled with graffiti.

  I watched uneasily as she knocked three times, waited five seconds, then knocked twice more.

  The door creaked open and a man who looked like he could wrench the door from its hinges with little effort appeared. His bald head gleamed like brass knuckles and his eyes were like shiny bullets. They exchanged words in a foreign language and he glanced over at me with laser-like intensity.

  Angelique swatted his chest, admonishing him in English. “This is my friend. Get out of the way before I kick your ass.”

  My eyes bulged because the only way she could take him down was if he was incapacitated or she was hiding a weapon somewhere. The man's stone cold face didn't show a trace of amusement as he stepped aside, his lips clamped together like letting her threat go unanswered was physically painful.

  I stayed where I was until she reached out and pulled me into the dark building. A fluorescent light dangled precariously overhead, stairs descending to God knows where.

  “Angelique-”

  “Ang,” she corrected, drawing the single syllable into multiple ones. Her hand glided down the bannister like we were making our entrance, on some grand staircase while the audience took us in in awe. “The restaurant's just downstairs.”

  Halfway down, the smell of bacon and onions and the sound of music wafted around us. My stomach spoke first, letting out a hungry gurgle. String lights suddenly appeared, wrapping around the bannister. Conversation rose up to meet us and I exhaled, turning off my internal alarm, especially when we reached the landing and I came face to face with our destination.

  More string lights and multi-colored candles filled a cozy room. A handful of wooden tables and benches filled the area and people from all walks of life, suits, construction workers, college students with backpacks, young, old, were hunched over what I was sure would confirm Angelique’s star studded review.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my slacks, wonder turning the fear into a distant memory. “This is one of those secret restaurants, isn't it?”

  “The first, if we're getting technical,” a gruff voice answered behind us. “And the best, if we're being honest.” The man who'd spoken up wore a white apron and a smile, his age-cracked face filling with happiness when he saw Angelique. “Ang! You should have told me you were in the neighborhood! I would have brought in that fancy pinot grigio you like.”

  Angelique kissed he man's cheek, blushing as broadly as he did at the show of affection. “Victor, you know I don't like to be fussed over. And I wanted my friend here to see your place,” she leaned in a bit, cobalt blue eyes twinkling, “And if she can't partake, it would be rude to indulge.”

  “Ange-”

  They turned to me in unison.

  “Ang,” I covered my slip-up. “You don't have to do without on my account.”

  “Sweet and beautiful,” Victor said with a playful grin. He wiped his hands on his apron and brandished a rose, almost out of thin air. “For you.” He placed the other hand against his heart. “I am Victor, but you can call me whatever you want.”

  I accepted the rose with a sly grin. Since I noticed all the women in the restaurant had roses beside their plates, he was clearly quite the charmer. “It's nice to meet you, Victor. I'm Leila. The food smells amazing!”

  “Once you have a bite, you’ll be sold, just like this one.” He was only half Angelique's height but in his domain, he was ten feet tall. “I'll let you two get settled and bring over some drinks and get your burgers on the grill.”

  All eyes in the room followed Angelique’s every move. It was hard to make out any faces, but she carried herself like someone important and it was impossible not to notice her. She was either oblivious to her effect, or she chose not to notice.

  She picked a spot in the corner with chairs instead of a bench. Before I could sit down, she dashed to the back and brought over a plush seat cushion, fluffing it a bit before she lowered it to my seat, grabbing the chair across from mine.

  The space was homey before but when my butt made contact with the cushion, I melted into a puddle. “Text my husband and tell him that I'm taking up residence here.” I hadn't had a bite of anything but considering the plates on the other tables were either bare or well on their way to being devoured, I knew I was about to regret almost turning back.

  “You were acting like I was dragging you to some sort of dungeon back there.” She brought her thumb to her mouth, her eyes glinting secretly. “This place isn't exactly legal, but it's worth the price of admission and then some.” She slowly lowered her hand, her nostrils flaring even in the dim light. “You know I wouldn't put you in danger, right?”

  My stomach twisted at the hurt that colored her question. It hit me that to a complete stranger, with no
background on why I was on edge and she practically had to throw me over her shoulder to get me into the restaurant, it must seem personal. It wasn't terribly professional to give her my entire sordid history, but chalking it up to simple nerves would be unfair.

  “If I seemed a little...” I combed my mind for the right word. ‘Testy’ didn't fit. ‘Suspicious’ seemed worse. And ‘nervous’ was just vague and led to a slew of other questions. “Bizarre, it's because I've been under a lot of stress.”

  I cringed on the inside when my explanation, that somehow managed to be odd, vague, and completely disregard her original question, just rolled off my tongue. I was grateful that we'd picked a corner that was out of the way, with only a single pillar candle to light the area because it masked the full on blush and the sweat that beaded on my brow.

  Victor gave me a few more minutes of not having to elaborate, hustling over with glasses of water and sweet tea. “Burgers and fries for you both?”

  “That sounds lovely,” Angelique quickly brought her straw to her lips to prevent her from having to say anything further.

  I flashed Victor a toothless smile. “Thank you.”

  When we were alone, I let the quiet music fill the conversation for a few minutes, reading her body language. Trying to get in her head. She was about as difficult to read as Jacob, but there was no missing the fact that something was on her mind.

  Some publicists would ignore it and stick to business. Ask her about the radio shows and lay out my thoughts and ideas about moving forward. Give guidance about upcoming projects she was considering. Discuss her 'brand'.

  To me, how I navigated managing her and insuring her career was on the track she desired meant that I had to go deeper than just giving her the spiel and telling her what she should do.

  I tugged at the braid over my right shoulder, gearing up for the question that brought us together in the first place. Where it all began. Why she chose to be an actress.

  “I apologize if I've added to your stress.” She broke the silence first, her tone conciliatory. “With your life, and in your condition, I know how precious peace of mind is.”

  I let go of my braid, placing my hand over hers. “Ang, you're not adding to my stress. To be honest, I kinda come alive in stressful situations.” I gritted my teeth, realizing I was babbling and losing sight of the point that I wanted to drill home. We're good. I'm good. Don't fire W&C because you're afraid I'm in over my head. “I don't mean you're a stressful situation...” I stopped talking.