by Claire, Ava
I held back the urge to smile. The fight in her, the spark was what set me on fire. Leila was a strong, feisty woman who was so attuned to her needs, her dark desires that she offered herself to me and trusted me to guide her to the bliss beyond the pain. It overwhelmed and humbled me.
And made me hard as a rock.
I stroked her cheek and she leaned into my touch, curls spilling into her eyes. I fingered her wild tresses, wanting to taste her bottom lip as she nibbled it nervously. I had every instrument imaginable. Clamps and cuffs and riding crops and floggers and a stock of belts that varied in material, size, and the way they whistled as they collided with her skin.
None of them seemed right. Not for our first time since…
I unlocked my fist when I saw her face drop. She was reading me. She saw the path my mind pulled me down. A path she refused to walk.
Not now.
Not tonight.
I held her face in my hands. “You’ve trusted me with your body. I’m trusting you to tell me if it’s too much by using the colors.” I gripped her chin firmly, but I couldn’t resist sweeping in my thumb over her bottom lip softly.
“Yes sir.” She answered with her words, then her tongue sealed her fate. She swirled it around the tip of my finger I nearly lost all control. I wanted her tongue on another part of my body. I needed to bury myself inside her.
I pulled away slowly, my fingers dropping to my fly. “Off the bed.”
Her face scrunched with the effort of pulling herself upright, then scooting to the edge. She flexed her feet on the ground and rose. She dropped her chin as I took in her bare, delicious body, but I nudged it back up so she could see what I saw. “You’re perfection, Leila.”
The blush in her cheeks wasn’t embarrassment. She was no longer the woman who couldn’t touch herself in front of me. It seemed like those early days were a lifetime ago. I was no longer the Dom that used contracts to control his submissive. Leila was no longer a force outside the bedroom but too cautious to let go and let her instincts and desires take the wheel. The blush in those cheeks now was sheer arousal. The same electricity that made me grip her nipples until she was on her toes, face awash with ecstasy and agony.
Her mouth was frozen in an open cry, chin shuddering as she reached for words that wouldn’t come. I knew the moment was near. The way her face would change. When she could take no more.
I released her and she nearly crumbled to the floor. Chest heaving as her breasts quivered. Skin slicked with sweat as she fought to catch her breath.
“On your knees.”
She pursed her lips and inhaled while she worked around her binds. She moved her lithe body more sensually than she realized. There was no awkward focus on lowering herself seductively, no fluttering of her eyelashes as her knees made contact. She dropped to the floor in a single, seamless move, sitting back on her heels with her bound wrists resting on her thighs.
The perfect height and position…
I gripped the base of my member, taking the steps to separate the distance between us. Throbbing wildly as her breath hummed against the tip of me.
“Take all of it.” I said hoarsely, desire turning my voice into something raw and wild.
She spread her lips and I was undone. Her tongue stroked from base to tip as she took me deep, working her way to taking it all. I held the sides of her head, needing to hold her, ground myself before the pleasure overwhelmed me. But she was lost in it, in me; her lips, her tongue, the hot scrape of teeth on my balls. She was on a mission to make me explode and I ached with a need that would only be sated by more.
I pulled my bulge from her lips, my next order coming out more hoarse than I intended. “Forward.” I was intentionally vague, knowing she’d frown up at me. I gripped a handful of chocolate curls and pulled her forward until her palms were flat on the floor.
I bent down and rounded the curve of her ass, her goose bumps bringing a stampede of my won. She gasped when my hand collided with her bottom and I rushed to free her ankles. I had plans to spread her on the bed, but I couldn’t wait one second more.
She let out a hiss that spurred me on as I gripped her hips and pulled her toward me. She curved her back, ass in the air, her juicy core open and waiting for me. I took her, her warmth wrapping, gripping as her muscles vibrated around my cock. Every stroke. Every moan. Watching her fingers curl into the hardwood, control slipping away. I told her to come and she bucked in my embrace.
I let go and the world was our bodies.
We couldn’t make it back to the bed. Weak with exhaustion, we curled up on the floor. I nuzzled her, the smell of her hair, her flesh flooding my senses.
“Just like riding a bike,” she joked, pecking my chest with a kiss.
I shook my head, a chuckle escaping my lips. Outside of this room there was darkness, but with her in my arms, I had the sun.
Chapter Three
I pushed into the conference room, welcoming the burn of warmth as the coffee hit my tongue. It was always the heat that energized, more so than the caffeine. It was all in the flash of discomfort that dulled everything else for a few moments.
Every time I stepped through those doors I knew that I was meant to be the CEO of Whitmore and Creighton. I’d taken a company in crisis and turned it into a Fortune 500 that outperformed every forecast that was thrown our way. My father had no romantic notions about legacies: that’s why he indiscriminately chased tail around the globe. He was an actor, who decided to start a PR firm as a hobby. If his health hadn’t failed, he would have washed his hands of this place with no remorse; no concern for the hundreds who would be unemployed because of his poor leadership and direction.
I took another hearty sip from my cup. It snuffed out the temptation to become sentimental about all I’d accomplished when it was all about choices. I could have chosen a different path. Gone into finance. Law. But something drew me to the opportunity to take something my father failed at and do the exact opposite. To do more than succeed… to excel.
Once I made Whitmore and Creighton profitable, I could have sold it to the highest bidder, but I made the choice to stand by my work and my employees.
Even the ones that try my patience, I thought with an internal frown. Missy Diaz and Natasha Lancaster made their entrance, giggling like the popular girls in school, plotting out some poor kid’s torture for the day.
Missy’s laughter died off instantly, her dark brown gaze landing on me and brightening. “Good morning, Mr. Whitmore! How are you?”
I nodded in her direction, settling in my chair at the head of the table. “Missy, Natasha--good morning.”
Natasha practically curtsied, then booked it past Missy, spotting my coffee cup. “I’m sorry I was a few minutes late-”
“Ten-” I glanced at my watch. “Eleven minutes late actually. Can you get me the brief on the Murrow campaign?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her head bobbing enthusiastically. She left immediately and Missy’s sudden silence spoke volumes. Under most circumstances I gave them more latitude than they deserved. I knew they gave Leila drama, even though she refused to ‘narc’ or let me get involved. Most days I kept my annoyance with Missy and Natasha in check, separating Jacob the Husband from Jacob the Boss. When Natasha hustled back into the room, handing off the folder then waiting expectantly, I knew that fragile balance would be challenging today.
“What are you waiting for?” I snapped. “A ‘thank you’ for doing your job?”
Her face fell instantly but she pressed her lips into a line. “Do you need anything else?”
Guilt flickered through me but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize for sniping. I rationalized it by telling myself I was repaying her for some off hand comment she tossed at Leila. It didn’t help much--my wife fought her own battles and didn’t complain about her wounds. “That’s all, Natasha. And...thank you.”
She bowed out and Missy was lockstep with the folder in front of her, like one look from me would send her to
an early grave. I knew if Leila was here she’d put business first, even if she couldn’t stand biting her tongue. I put aside my personal feelings. “I’m looking forward to your thoughts on an effective comeback strategy for Lisa Murrow.”
“You are?” She hesitantly met my gaze and when she realized death wasn’t imminent, the consummate professional I hired was back in full force. “I know my team and I have put together a fantastic game plan, Mr. Whitmore.”
Missy didn’t have to wait long to make good on her words. The others trickled in, everyone arriving with several minutes to spare. I waited for Missy’s assistant to distribute the handouts and setup the easel with cloth draped over the campaign. Everyone took their seats and after I inclined my head, Missy cleared her throat, turning to her assistant and murmuring something that sent the young woman to her feet, heels tapping as she dimmed the lights and pressed the button to bring down the projection screen.
Missy rose, straightening her blazer as she drew attention. “As you all know, Lisa Murrow had a series of successful movies a few years ago. Audiences connected with her kick ass, take names energy.” The screen lit up with the movie posters that spanned Lisa’s career thus far. It switched to a white page filled with bold headlines, touting Lisa as a ‘force to be reckoned with’ and ‘an actress to watch’. “The audience loved her, critics couldn’t get enough. And then, it all came crashing down.”
The image splashed before me nearly knocked me out cold. The woman was tied to a chair, her arms drenched in blood. Her head was thrown back at an impossible angle, her eyes wide and terrified. I wasn’t in a conference room. I was inside Cole’s shit hole apartment. A handful of a hundred dollar bills was enough for the super to let me in--he didn’t even ask what my business with Cole was. Just when I was ready to raze the building to the ground, my phone screeched. The screen said it was Lay and for a millisecond, I felt relief. By the time I answered, I knew that everything was fucked.
Sweat exploded at my temple and I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t hear Missy’s words. There was that girl’s voice, spilling from Missy’s lips, telling me that they had my wife. Leila’s sobs, all the pain and fear ripping her vocal chords. The woman in the poster was frozen. Her mouth was stretched open in an eternal cry of terror and agony.
“Cut her Cole.”
I shoved backwards from the table, the room spinning out of control. All eyes were set on me. Rounded with confusion and fear.
Missy took a step forward and thought better of it, retreating behind the podium. “Mr. Whitmore, is everything-”
“This meeting is over.” Nothing was okay or fine or any other word she could gather. I was falling apart.
I smoothed a hand over my hair and forced my voice to steady. “Let’s reschedule for-”
“But I haven’t-”
“Did I stutter, Ms. Diaz?” I snapped, baring my grit teeth. I knew I was going too far, control long gone…and there was no stopping the runaway train. “Get your things, take your people, and get out of my sight.”
There was a mad dash for the exit, a flurry of suits and skirts; loafers and heels. Missy was last, avoiding my gaze, but the look on her face told me she had a few choice words to spare. She wisely kept them to herself.
I was alone.
The lights were still down…that movie poster…
I turned my back to it, parting the blinds and welcoming the light that flooded the room. I looked out at the city and choked out the desire to put my fist through the glass. To dosomething. My body wouldn’t listen to my commands. There was no air and no matter how many breaths I took I felt like someone had their hands wrapped around my throat. I shook like there was an earthquake beneath my skin. Blood roared in my ears, but it wasn’t alone. Leila’s scream stabbed my ear drums.
You couldn’t save her.
“Jacob?”
Leila.
I relaxed my fists at my side, the oxygen finally flowing. The tremors that shook me steadied. Only Leila could reach me. Hearing her voice, feeling the magnetism between our bodies as she glided toward me took me as close to peace as I could be.
I closed my eyes when I felt her hand on my back. Her love flowed through her touch.
“I’d ask if you were okay, but I saw the way Missy’s team cleared out of here like their lives depended on it.” She tiptoed to my shoulder, her grip gently turning me to face her. When she saw my face, hers darkened. “Oh.”
I pointed my gaze at the projection screen and she followed suit.
“Oh.” She wrapped her arms tight around her, then went rigid like she was caught red handed. She dropped her arms with a giggle that sounded like she was choking. “That’s pretty intense. Just like the film was--so extreme that people commented even Eli Roth would wince.”
I knew colorful story ofThe Cabin. It was a misguided career choice; a horror film about a woman whose car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and all the cliché plot twists one would expect followed. It was a flop, and the other projects Lisa had on the slate suddenly disappeared.
But I could care less about the intensity ofThe Cabin. Ever since I got her back, I couldn’t help but see the marks Leila refused to talk about. Not the knife wounds, but the emotional toll. The way she caught herself whenever she was fraying at the edges. Stamped a smile on her face and dried her tears. And that wasn’t the most heartbreaking part...when I looked at my wife’s face, I saw the mask. I saw me, before I let her in.
She tried to cover the slip, finishing my coffee and glancing at the papers on the conference room table. “I know whatever Missy comes up with is-”
“Irrelevant,” I finished for her. “Look at me.”
“Jacob-”
“Look at me.” I didn’t yell. I didn’t bark an order. I asked her from the deepest place in myself. A place I didn’t willing venture because it made me vulnerable. But with Leila, my heart never stood a chance. I couldn’t keep her out.
She braced her fingertips on the table, her body tense. “If I look at you, I’ll see that look.” She turned her head slightly, cheek pressed to her shoulder. “You know the look. The one where you ask me to let you in.” She only gave me her silhouette but I saw her nostrils flare. “And I want to. But there’s this door and I know once I open it, I won’t be able to close it again.”
“We’ll close it together,” I said softly.Then I’ll close it for good.
She exhaled, facing me, slowly raising her chin until we were eye to eye. “I know you want more, need more--but what good comes from recapping the worst day of my life?”
She bit her lip, tore at it until I had no choice but to kiss her. I tasted her pain, her fear, her everything. Her tongue slicked over mine, her fingers digging into my neck as she pulled me closer. Even in a suit and tie and her dress I felt her. The hotness of her breasts, her nipples, her smooth body beckoning to me. White hot need flowed though me as I gripped her ass and took her bottom lip between my teeth and tugged.
Her moan was immediate, her body relaxing in my arms. She gripped the sides of my lapel and surrendered a final kiss before she broke away. We were a breath away from each other when she spoke.
“I was terrified. I was alone, but I got out of there.” She forced a smile that begged me to not go any deeper. “I don’t want to deal with it at homeand here. And you shouldn’t either.”
I had my retort ready. How dare she scold me. But she was right. I went too far today, let the poison seep into this building. Yet I didn’t need her to point out my missteps. I needed the very thing that she fought for when we met: openness.
With what I had planned, I needed Leila more than ever. I needed her to tell me that she neededme.
Instead, she pecked my cheek and changed the subject. “Can I run a benefit idea by you?”
We weren’t done, but I let it go for now. “What did you have in mind?”
Chapter Four
I was exhausted. There was no need to look at my watch to confirm that it was time to leave
my post and put Whitmore and Creighton in my rearview.
Earlier, after my third coffee and a gentle nudge from my wife, I called Missy to my office. No matter how upset she was about our last interaction, she held her scowl in her eyes and forced out her interrupted presentation. Apologies were akin to having red hot irons shoved in my eyes, but I offered her one. She accepted it, with her anger melting into suspicion. I dismissed her before she could gather any more intel to whisper around the office.
The rest of my day was spent tackling my ever expanding list of tasks. It ranged from moderately grating (putting out fires with the board, terrified about the LA expansion despite all arrows pointing to the profitable, inevitable end) to my favorite part of the job…giving back. In addition to the golf charity event in two months, Leila came to me with an idea that I would have cringed at a year ago.
My eyes landed on the folder with her neat, precise handwriting spelling out ‘Billionaire Auction’. The specifics would be ironed out later, a dinner at some renown restaurant downtown with me on the auction block. It was the proposed non-profit she suggested that made the raging thing in my chest squeeze and exhale with the knowledge that Leila was incredible.
She wanted the proceeds to go to Haven, an organization dedicated to helping battered women and children get out of abusive, unhealthy situations.
“Do you know how many death threats they get?” she’d said angrily. The fire I hadn’t seen since before she was taken consumed her face. She couldn’t help but feel others pain. She couldn’t help but feel. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. “This is more than a tax write off and good press for Whitmore and Creighton. We have a chance to show the world that violence against women is still a huge; pervasive problem and we need to lift up and invest in the organizations that are literally risking death to help.”
I swept my fingertips over the folder, her heart poured into every page of research, every comment about concepts; powerful, painful stories of women who came to Haven with little more than the clothes on their back and the hope that when they walked through those doors, they would be safe.
