His Passion (By His Command #4)

by Ana W. Fawkes

  The car came to a screeching halt and he turned to look at me with the rage of a true killer in his eyes. He looked so angry and so mean, I felt – even for a second – that Jonathan couldn’t protect me.

  “Are we here?” Jonathan asked in his calm voice.

  “Yes,” the driver said.

  His cheek was red and his eyes didn’t leave me. He flicked the switch for the headlights and when they illuminated I saw we were just feet away from an airplane.

  I gasped and looked at Jonathan.

  “What…”

  “Here, let me see,” Jonathan said. He reached for my hand. He held it in his hand, his thumb rubbing along my now red knuckles. He looked into my eyes. “You did so great. So beautiful. Perfect.”

  “You need me to punch someone else?” I asked with a flirty smile.

  “Probably,” he replied.

  Jonathan pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  He then opened the door to the car and ushered me out. We walked towards the private jet and the feeling of being watched came over me again. I looked over my shoulder and saw the driver of the car staring at me, touching his cheek. He smiled but there was nothing kind about it.

  We boarded the plane and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the state… maybe it would take the feeling of being watched away.

  Maybe.

  -5-

  Jonathan demanded we sleep since we were safe up in the air.

  That’s exactly how he worded it too, making it impossible to fall asleep comfortably.

  He hadn’t acknowledged the idea of us being in trouble, getting in trouble, or doing anything wrong. He kept his arms tight around me, holding me to his body. I hated the position we were in so I managed to roll to my other side, facing Jonathan.

  His eyes were open and lost in thought.

  Was this how this man relaxed? Did he ever stop thinking? Working?

  “I won’t sleep until you’re asleep,” he whispered. “Protection.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Mr. Black.”

  “Good girl,” he said. He came forward and kissed my forehead. “My beautiful Isabella Grace.”

  When he said my name, it created a blanket of peace around me. I left my eyes stared at him for a few more seconds, taking it all in, and then I closed my eyes.

  We were on the run. We were murderers. We were together.

  Every second of our lives ticked down towards death, like everyone else, but for us, it seemed to tick louder and perhaps even a little faster.

  Asleep, I was in the arms of billionaire Jonathan Black, and for all I cared, death could come get me right then and there.

  But it didn’t.

  I woke to something touching my face. I recognized it as fingers. Caressing my cheek, down to my neck, around and up to my chin. The fingers along my jaw, back to my cheek, repeating the same motion. I felt my eyes flutter but tried to fight it, not wanting to give away that I was awake.

  “Open your eyes.”

  When I did, I found Jonathan Black staring at me. He had since taken his suit jacket off, telling me that he had watched me fall asleep, then got up to deal with business. I had to understand that no matter we were doing, he still had a massive global company to run. It wasn’t that long ago I stood in his office, thousands of miles away, making plans to fly to California. We were supposed to go to California to handle business, which turned out to be Oliver Rush creating his own deathbed.

  “Where are we?” I whispered.

  “Almost there. Do you like snow?”

  “If I’m with you, I like anything.”

  “Good answer.”

  His hand moved from my face to my shoulder, forcing me to my back. His hand left my body but only for a few seconds before touching me at my stomach. His fingers curled, lifting my shirt followed by his fingers twisting at the button on my pants.

  I moaned and reached for him with my right hand. I cupped his thickness, surprised that he was already hard. I had mastered the zipper on his suit pants by now, that tiny smooth zipper that barely made any noise.

  His fingers were moving down into my panties with speed, seeking out my sweet curve, leading to my wetness. When his fingers touched my slit, he groaned as though he was surprised that I was wet. I looked at him and smiled. Of course I was wet… Jonathan Black was gorgeous and my body couldn’t resist it.

  He touched me with gentle care, the tips of his fingers penetrating me. He circled and stretched me, slipping two fingers into me. His other hand pulled up my shirt right to the bottom of my bra, leaving my stomach exposed for whatever he had planned.

  My hand was inside his pants, digging through cloth, finding his warm, hard skin. I pulled, yet another mastering feat of mine, and took Jonathan out of his pants. He was long and throbbing, my hand moving faster and eager.

  Jonathan’s fingers were going right for the orgasmic kill. My hand remained tight on his shaft and I stroked him, giving it right back. I stared at him as he stared at me, our breathing obviously loud. We were able to release all the emotions we wanted to, the ones we held back while we were in the stairway.

  I could feel the plane starting its descent; that wild lose-your-stomach feeling.

  We were going to be on the ground in a few minutes.

  The way Jonathan’s eyes burned at me, I knew what he wanted. He wanted to come before the plane landed. That was my next challenge.

  No problem.

  Besides pumping him with my hand, I used my body to bring Jonathan to climax. I planted my heels in the bed and thrust myself at his fingers, working into the same motion and speed, increasing the pleasure for myself and feeling for Jonathan. The more he moved – and the more I moved – the hotter and wetter I became. As I approached my own orgasm, I gripped him tighter, pulling harder and faster. I turned my body just a little, allowing the tip of his erection to graze my stomach.

  I stroked him root to tip, the way Jonathan liked to be pleased. At his root, he thrust and my fingers were tight, pulling, wanting his warm release on my body. At his tip, I squeezed, adding that extra pressure to the most sensitive part of his sex.

  His fingers were relentless inside my slit, fingering me through my orgasm. I whimpered and opened my mouth, letting out small cries. I didn’t need to tell Jonathan I was coming, it was obvious. My walls were tender, hopeful that Jonathan would thrust himself into me again, but that wasn’t going to happen right now.

  I continued to pump myself at his fingers, even as he slowed. In my hand, his erection started to engorge, thickening and hardening to its final state. Jonathan started to thrust himself at my hand and I moved as fast as I could, bringing my pace to one he could keep up with. My hand still touched everything on his shaft and with a long, satisfying grunt, Jonathan started to come.

  I placed the bottom of his shaft to my stomach and felt the pouring release on me. I cried out and continued to stroke him, opening my hand and rubbing as fast as I could on the top of his cock while the bottom was against my stomach. As I breathe, it increased the pressure, and he continued to come. His right hand still touched between my legs, his fingers tensed, tight, and sexy. His left hand had slipped behind my head, taking a handful of my hair. He twisted it, making my moan.

  When he finished, my stomach was smothered in Jonathan. I stopping stroking him but Jonathan didn’t stop thrusting. He continued for a few more seconds, allowing my eyes to stare down and absorb it all. Watching his perfect sex running between my stomach and my hand.

  Why couldn’t we just fly around the world and have each other’s bodies?

  The plane then landed and Jonathan instructed me to clean myself up and get ready. As I moved from the bed towards the bathroom, he called my name…

  “Isabella Grace?”

  I turned and smiled, watching him put his jacket on. I stood holding my shirt up, his orgasm clinging to my stomach, trying to run down towards my open pants.

  “Yes, Mr. Black?”

  Jonathan smiled. “Yo
u’re going to want a winter jacket. I have a few here for you.”

  “Winter…?”

  “Oh, Isabella Grace, I told you we were traveling.”

  “We’re not back in California?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “My father likes to hide himself anywhere he can. He has houses in all fifty states, along with plenty more across the world.”

  “Like father like son?” I asked, regretting it the moment I asked it.

  Jonathan’s face dropped. “Never compare me to him. Dress warm, we’re in the Rockies.”

  -6-

  It appeared to be a small cottage, something quaint and for the use of those in need of rest, relaxation, or maybe a gathering with family and friends during or around the holidays. A picture perfect setting with snowcapped mountains, sun rays massaging but never breaking up the snow. The air was bitterly cold but an almost refreshing kind of cold, the kind where you take a deep breath and actually feel alive and well.

  The best part was the distance we now had between ourselves and the corpse of Oliver Rush. I promised myself that would be the only time I would think of him, but I knew it was a lie.

  The place looked empty and dark, and something told me that was done on purpose.

  When Jonathan took the first of three steps to get to the front door, he stopped.

  “He’s knows we’re coming,” he whispered. He shook his head and moved from the steps to the ground, his hand tight in mine. “He’ll want to show off. For you.”

  “For me?”

  “He knows. Everything.”

  Hearing that from Jonathan about Jonathan would be hot. Hearing from Jonathan about another man wasn’t so much. I preferred to be left what I was before Jonathan Black chose me, a hopeless intern wanting to prove my worth in hours and dimes.

  We walked around the cottage and I admired it some more, seeing obvious signs of aging and maybe even a touch of neglect. Part of me believed I was going to meet Jonathan Black’s father and see him as a rugged mountain man, living off the land.

  I had questions but I didn’t want to stir the emotion pot that was Jonathan Black.

  When we arrived to the back of the cottage, there was a back deck that overlooked the mountains. It was just minutes from darkness and the sunset was at the front of the house telling me the sunrises were off the back deck. The sunrises must have been beautiful. Well worth living in a cottage that needed a little work.

  “The view is beautiful,” I said.

  “Don’t be fooled,” Jonathan said.

  He pulled me to his side and his hand went to my hip. He held me tight and we stood in place, staring at the cottage. As I started to ask him what exactly we were doing, he let out a series of quick whistles. A second later, the ground beneath our feet started to shake. I thought the mountain had given way and we were going to be part of an avalanche, but then I heard the mechanical hum of machines working. My body jumped as the ground moved down.

  “Jonathan…”

  Jonathan squeezed me tighter and put his lips to my ear. “I told you to call me Mr. Black. You’re going to pay for that one… sweet Isabella Grace.”

  The ground continued to move, small patches of snow cascading down around us. We were now standing at an extreme angle, staring at a large, silver garage door.

  “No way,” I whispered.

  “He likes gadgets,” Jonathan said. “You think he’d find better ways to invest his money.”

  Jonathan put an emphasis on the word his telling me that Jonathan Black was not some silver spoon kid turned into man. Maybe I’d find out. Maybe I wouldn’t.

  The garage door came up as Jonathan started to walk again, taking me with him.

  The slow moving door brought into view the figure of a man, standing with his arms folded, his face cross, and black shiny hair. His head was back and his lips puckered as though everything happening was a complete waste of his time.

  When we were close to enough to talk, he spoke first.

  “Jonathan.”

  “Father.”

  Father.

  It sounded childish coming from Jonathan’s mouth.

  “I believe you are to call me Mr. Black,” his father said. He smiled with a vindictive smile, digging fingers into old wounds so fast.

  This was going to be an interesting visit.

  “Unfortunately, I’m Mr. Black,” Jonathan replied. “May I remind you of the global enterprise I started, on my own, and still continue to run, on my own.”

  “Big shot,” his father replied. “I forgot.” His father looked at me, his eyes deadset on my eyes, the same way Jonathan looked at me.

  The effect was nothing near the same.

  I could instantly tell Jonathan’s father was manipulative, calculating, and cold. The stare was so cold and so deadly. My body shivered and I sought the comfort in Jonathan’s hold on my waist. There were obvious features in Jonathan’s father that compared him to his son, but there were lines along the corner of his eyes that time had created along with crater like patches on his cheeks that suggested whiskey. His jaw line had the potential to be like Jonathan’s, rewinding time maybe, and the stubble on his face teetered between needing attention or just leaving it go to grow into actual facial hair.

  He unfolded his hands and stepped from the garage towards me. His hand was out, looking for a handshake.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  Disrespect Jonathan Black.

  Or disrespect Jonathan Black’s father.

  Jonathan made the decision for me, his hand going to my elbow and pushing at it.

  I shook his father’s hand and everyone still remained silent.

  It must have been a family trait. Break people down with silent stares.

  Jonathan’s stare was erotic. His father’s stare was evil.

  “You must be Isabella Grace,” his father said, letting my name roll of his tongue. “I wasn’t so sure I’d welcome your company, considering the events leading to this, but I can reassure you my position hasn’t changed. You can call me Mr. Black.”

  “No, she won’t,” Jonathan said. “As I’ve said, I’m Mr. Black.” Jonathan talked to me, allowing me to break my stare from his father. “You can call him John.”

  My mouth fell open, wanting to know if Jonathan had been named after his father.

  Old wounds, fresh blood, I reminded myself.

  I looked back to John.

  “Fair enough,” he said, still holding my hand. His other hand came forward and he started to caress my hand. I hated the touch, hated it. “A woman as beautiful as you, miss Isabella Grace, is welcome in my home and my heart.”

  He smiled at me but looked at his son.

  “Can we at least go inside?” Jonathan asked. “You wanted us here, here we are.”

  “You needed to be here,” John said. “I’m sure we all can agree on that.”

  John looked back to me, offering an eyebrow raise with his smile. He broke our handshake and then started to walk, his hands slipping in his pockets. I waited for Jonathan to move, giving his father plenty of room ahead. I could sense the apprehension instantly, knowing Jonathan wanted to rush back to the car, the airport, and just fly away.

  I couldn’t say I blamed him. I’d rather be back in the plane too. In the bed. Our hands… each other’s bodies… his sexual command. His need.

  “Move,” Jonathan whispered and we started to walk.

  Ten steps into the walk, John paused and spun around. His finger was pointed at us and I gasped, seeing a gun for a second. There was no gun.

  “Question for you, son,” John said.

  “Ask away.”

  “Did you get your three billion back?” He asked with sarcastic tone, telling me he already knew the answer to that question. When he turned to walk again without giving Jonathan a chance to answer, it was obvious he knew the answer to that.

  When we stepped into the garage, it started to close. Once it touched the floor, the ground began to lift back up, creating the
illusion that the garage didn’t exist. In the garage, everything was chrome. Bright. Expensive. Manly. I counted seven cars – all makes and models that were well into the six figures, all black – before we moved from the garage to the basement. The basement was more of a great room, with a ceiling that had to be at least twelve feet high. The architecture of the house was nothing but a farce. The outside made to look like a simple, somewhat run down cottage. The inside the epitome of luxury and money.

  A fire burned in a large stone fireplace.

  There were a total of five pieces of furniture in the room. John walked to a bar and poured himself a drink. He held it out and nodded to Jonathan and myself, then took the drink.

  “Ah, perfect,” John said. He licked his lips and then put the glass down.

  He reached for two more and poured all of us a drink.

  Jonathan retrieved the drinks and handed one to me. He pointed to a leather couch and together, we sat. John walked from the bar to a black leather chair near the fire. It was positioned so he sat sideways along the fire, making his silhouette look as though it were on fire.

  “Drink up,” John said.

  We all took a drink, John finishing his glass. I could tell where his terrible aging had come from. Jonathan took a small drink and I took a sip. The alcohol was raunchy and spicy. It burned my lips, tongue, and throat.

  “Need a chaser?” John asked.

  I looked at Jonathan and he stood up to get me some water.

  The fire broke up the silence that fell between all of us by crackling and spitting a few sparks as knots of wood tried to hold onto their life.

  “This is home,” John said. “At least for this weekend.” He smiled at me then turned attention to Jonathan, who was walking back towards me with water. “You’re lucky you caught me here when you did. I’m set to fly out tomorrow afternoon. Heading more north.”

  “I guess I’m just a lucky man,” Jonathan said.

  He sat next to me and I gazed around the room. That’s when I realized there had to be damn near every animal possible in the room. Mounts of deer, elk, a moose, bear, fish, and some rodent looking things too. There were scenes made up – another bear, swatting at the hind quarters of a deer.