His Passion (By His Command #4)

by Ana W. Fawkes

  “You like my hobby?” John asked.

  It caught my attention and I froze.

  “I guess my son and I both enjoy the thrill of a kill… although mine are meant to be with animals.”

  I could sense Jonathan wanting to explode. “Oliver Rush was an animal.”

  John laughed. He pushed himself up from his chair and walked for another drink.

  “Fair enough, son, fair enough. We obviously can’t undo what’s done here. I can’t bail you out of this one. Can’t take back death.”

  “I’m sure you’d fix this if you could, right?” Jonathan asked. “Like you’ve always done.”

  “Is that sarcasm?” John asked.

  His next drink was twice as big as the first. He walked back to his chair and sat down, bringing his right leg up over his left leg. He gripped his ankle and smiled.

  “Come on, Jonathan,” he said, “don’t be an asshole to me.”

  I gasped. Hearing someone call Jonathan Black seemed dangerous.

  “I did what I had to do with you, didn’t I? You were healthy, fed, educated. What more can a father give his son?”

  “A couple dollars when you throw him out,” Jonathan said.

  “Eh, that doesn’t teach character, does it?”

  “I guess not.”

  The conversation grew silent again as John drank.

  He didn’t just drink, he gulped. He polished the extra large glass of liquor and then shook his head and blinked a few times. The alcohol was settling in, and fast. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “You know why you’re here?” John asked.

  “I’m assuming we’re going to talk about money,” Jonathan said.

  “We always do. But now my son is a murderer. Interesting, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “I saw a problem and I solved it.”

  His voice was still calm and in control. He spoke of murder like a common thing that happens in life. It wanted to scare me but Jonathan was just so sexy talking about it.

  I was hopeless.

  “Well, I can see we aren’t going to talk, are we?” John asked.

  “You can talk,” Jonathan said. “I’m just here to collect my…”

  “Why bother wasting more time?” John asked. “It’s dark now, we’re safe.” John’s eyes shifted to me, meeting my eyes. I quickly felt uncomfortable and tried to slide closer to Jonathan.

  Something was happening around me, something I didn’t know. I felt left out of a conversation that wasn’t happening. The sense of being watched came over me again and I wanted nothing more than to jump and scream.

  “Take Isabella Grace to one of the bedrooms,” John said. “We have business to tend to.”

  Jonathan stood and reached for my hand. I took it and stood, wanting out of the room and out of the presence of John. Jonathan led the way and as we walked by his father, he reached out and the tips of his fingers touched my wrist.

  “See you soon, Isabella Grace.”

  I shivered and ignored him.

  -7-

  It wasn’t a bedroom.

  It was a loft.

  A large loft.

  But in the eyes of a billionaire, perhaps the extra large bed, couch and chair, fireplace, desk, bookshelf, bar, private bathroom and kitchen were all just parts of a bedroom.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s a waste,” Jonathan said. “Just a way to flaunt…” He growled for a second and then added, “This is what an inheritance gets you.”

  “Inheritance?” I asked.

  “My grandfather left a lot to my father. Granted, the man was able to make sound investments and create wealth but he never did anything. Did nothing. Ever. And he gave me nothing.”

  That’s where the history lesson and memories were cut off. Jonathan grabbed for my wrist and pulled me towards him. I crashed against Jonathan and his hands were around me, holding me tight. He stared down at me and I could tell his eyes were filled with anger and hate.

  “Trust me,” Jonathan said.

  “Always.”

  His right hand moved from my back to my leg, slowly around front, making my knees bend as I moaned.

  “The house is sound proof,” Jonathan said. “Bullet proof. Bomb proof.”

  “He must be a paranoid man,” I said.

  “Or he’s pissed off a lot of people in his lifetime.”

  “I don’t care which one it is.”

  “I know you don’t,” Jonathan said. “You’re mine, that’s all you’re allowed to care about.”

  His hand moved between my legs and he groaned.

  “Mr. Black, are we in trouble?” I asked. I showed emotion I should not have but I needed to know.

  “We?” Jonathan smiled. “You are. Get the handcuffs out. I owe you for not calling me Mr. Black. Before I leave.”

  I heard the words before I leave but before I could speak again Jonathan put a hand to my lower back and pushed. I stumbled, caught myself, and reached for my bag. I always kept everything we had used together, with the exception of fleeing California. When we arrived to our new destination (to murder Oliver Rush) Jonathan had new items waiting for me. Everything he had was for me and fit me. It made me wonder how long he’d been watching me in secrecy. I had watched him in the open, pretending to read magazines while he came to work. But just what had he done to watch me?

  It drove me wild thinking about it.

  I opened my bag and found a pair of handcuffs along with the black cloth he used to blindfold me – and tie me up when needed – along with the new pieces of blood red and black cloth from the stairway back at the hotel. Part of me wanted to leave them there but my knowledge of crime television spoke otherwise, not wanting to leave clues behind. Then again, for all I knew, we could have been on camera again and again throughout the hotel, maybe even in the stairwell. Maybe some lucky employee got to watch Jonathan tie me up and have me.

  I took the cuffs from my bag and when I took a step back, I felt Jonathan right behind me. He groaned, then growled, the mood in the room changing.

  He was angry. Annoyed.

  I knew he didn’t want to be there, with his father, but something made this meeting occur. I just didn’t know all the details yet.

  Jonathan reached around and ran his fingers along my hand, interlocking with my fingers. Then he reached for the handcuffs. He smelled my hair, then rubbed his cheek against mine, exhaling. He turned his head, his nose pushing at my cheek. I turned my head too. His eyes were different and vicious. I prepared for whatever he had to offer me.

  Our lips touched but we didn’t kiss. Our eyes were open. I was breathing heavier than he, as always. When he finally closed his mouth on my lips, it was just a single kiss. Something so tender, even romantic, perhaps a contradictive warning of what he was going to do to me.

  “Hands behind your back,” he whispered as he pulled away.

  He took the handcuffs from me as I put my hands behind my back.

  He applied the handcuffs, the steel tightening around my wrists one at a time. It was something I wasn’t used to. When he let go of the cuffs, I pulled, making sure they were in place.

  They were.

  Jonathan put his hands to my hips and guided me to the bed. He turned me around, surprising me. I tried to imagine being on my back with my hands behind my back. I wasn’t sure it would all work but I knew I was going to find out.

  Jonathan went for my pants and in a matter of seconds, I was stepping out of them. I stood in my panties, my shirt coming down covering most of them. He then reached for my shirt, lifting it up slowly. I wanted to lift my arms, letting him take it off, but that wasn’t possible in my current state. He wrestled and brought my shirt up over my bra. He put it to my mouth and looked at me.

  “Bite it,” he said.

  His voice was angry. Very angry.

  I swallowed hard and opened my mouth. I bit down on my own shirt, holding it
in place.

  His hands touched my covered breasts, cupping my bra, moaning as he did so. His hands were large and flat, moving along my chest, towards my neck. His fingertips ran up my throat and then back down. When he came to my bra this time, his fingers curled and he pulled, taking my bra down, exposing my tender breasts. My nipples were pink and erect, in desperate need of his touch, his tongue. My bra was then under my breasts, lifting them, holding them firm and ready for Jonathan.

  His middle fingers took the lead, coming up and flicking my nipples. He then circled my nipples, making me sigh and whimper. The feeling was tingling and pleasure filled. My hands curled behind my back. I was already in need to have my hands free. To touch Jonathan. To touch his amazing body, let my fingers wrap around his hair, to pull at him.

  His left hand came flat against my right breast and he gently squeezed. His right hand moved down until he was in my panties, touching my bare skin, flirting with the top of my sex, just resting his fingers there. Just the presence near my pussy had my body flooding. My knees were bending and an orgasmic warmth had already begun.

  Jonathan came down to my exposed breast and placed his lips to my hard nipple. He kissed me – once, twice – then opened his mouth, his lips moving over just my nipple. He suckled, first softly then with more force, drawing a cry out of me. His fingers in my panties curled around and he began to move left to right on my sensitive clitoris.

  And here I was, handcuffed.

  When his teeth came down and up at my nipple, he nibbled with force and pulled as much as he could. I looked down and watched my nipple stretching, pulling my breast too. He took it as far as he could. I let out a desperate scream of pain and pleasure.

  Then he was gone, on the move again.

  Jonathan Black moved to his knees before me, his tongue randomly flicking along my warm body all the way down to my panties. There both hands pulled, forcing them off my body, battling with my wetness as my panties stuck. His hands slipped around to my ass, for a second, and then up to my handcuffed hands. He interlocked his fingers with mine and I thrust at him, moaning.

  It was erotic and romantic all at the same time.

  My emotions were out of control.

  He kissed my mound, the tip of his tongue then coming forward and slipping down. At my tender folds, he licked with a deep lick, reaching from my hole up to my clitoris.

  Just once.

  But it was very effective.

  He pulled on my hands, forcing me back, hitting the bed, and falling.

  My lower back rested on my hands and I watched as Jonathan stood up. He quickly went to work at himself, tearing his suit jacket off and tossing it on the bed. Next came his shirt, followed by his pants. Watching the billionaire strip before my eyes not only gave me a sexy show as I watched his muscles appear before my eyes, it also tortured by body. I was wet and ready but I had to wait. Being handcuffed I couldn’t even touch myself, even though I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to do so.

  He took his clothes off in order, placing them all on the bed. Something about it just felt right and sexy. It was the aura of calm that Jonathan Black spread everywhere. He could be so calm, commanding, and erotic, all in the same sequence.

  Finally, his hands moved into his boxers and down they went. He was thick, throbbing, and he gripped himself at the root of his erection. He came towards me and I instantly moaned for him, wanting him inside me.

  Jonathan hovered over me, his free hand on the bed. He kissed me, his tongue entering my mouth, depositing my own sweetness into my mouth. That was the purpose of that lick between my legs, to make me taste it.

  “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Isn’t it, Isabella Grace?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “You look perfect. You taste perfect. And…” He placed his thick tip to my hole and thrust forward, entering me. “… you feel perfect.”

  Those were the only words we needed.

  I moaned and arched my back with the intense pleasure spreading throughout my body. He was deep and he was fast, his hands going behind my legs, forcing my legs open to a point where they hurt from stretching. With his feet on the floor he had all the leverage and power he needed to have me.

  His thrusts didn’t gradually increase, they started fast. He moved at an orgasmic pace, the kind I would expect to feel just before he came. I lowered my back to the bed and lifted my lower half, making fists with my hands behind my back to hold myself up. I tried to move with Jonathan but it was no use. He held my legs open with his hands and his thickness enjoyed my body. That’s all that mattered.

  I could see the look in his eyes, the way he looked down at me, watching himself fuck me. He was there with me physically but he wasn’t there emotionally. His mind was somewhere else, lost and thinking, using my body to relieve himself.

  Fair enough, I didn’t mind.

  My body accepted his hard pumps over and over. I moaned because I had to and when my body reached the point of climax, I gasped for air and felt everything tighten. As I started to pulse, feeling the fresh heat and wetness surging from deep within, going down between my legs, I tried to call out for Jonathan. I waited for him to slow himself as he battled my throbbing walls.

  But he didn’t.

  He had no care.

  No remorse.

  No need for my orgasm.

  He fucked me harder, faster, barreling with his shaft in and out of my tender slit, forcing my walls open, over and over, even as I came.

  It gave me an orgasm that was so intense, I started to growl. It was the only thing my body could do. I took one breath, then lost two. I growled, found air, gasped for that air, then lost it again.

  Jonathan’s hands were on the move, sliding up. His left hand went to my stomach. It was a strange place but it was hot. His hand was large and sweaty. Perfect. His right hand came to my slit and he rested it against my mound, letting his thumb touch my clitoris. He started to rub hard and fast.

  His face looked angry again, his lip curling, teeth showing. His eyes were wide and wild. I could see his body sweating, his muscles flexing with the speed. I didn’t think he could go faster but he managed it.

  “Yes,” I cried to him. “Mr. Black, yes!”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Say it again. Tell him who I am…”

  I knew then this erotic session was about his father. My pleasure would be used as proof to his father.

  I lifted my body more, reaping all the benefits of Jonathan’s need and I called for him again and again.

  Screaming Mr. Black just felt naughty and sexy at the same time.

  Jonathan then moved positions again, his hands suddenly shooting up my body, touching my breasts, and then leaving my body for the bed. He came down to me, his hard muscle against my soft skin, both our bodies hot and desperate.

  His speed suddenly slowed, his thrusts becoming deep and slow. Each time he thrust, he groaned, his eyes locked to mine. He was having me, exploring me, memorizing me. Going fast was his way of getting me to scream his name. Going slow like this was his way of owning me. Planting himself. Our bodies coming together as one.

  I felt my bottom lip shaking from the intense emotions inside me. It was too much to sort through so I tried to be like Jonathan. I stared at him, trying to clear my mind.

  But I couldn’t.

  My body throbbed for him, wanting more of him.

  The thrusts were something I’d never had before. There was emotion and purpose behind each one. Jonathan worked his body towards his climax and I could feel it coming before it did. His cock thickened and tightened, his leg muscles doing the same. His body shook and he grunted as though he were trying to hold back. Then with one last pump, he was deep and he started to come. This time, he held inside me, throbbing and pouring all he had into me. His lip was curled and he groaned each time he came but he never blinked once, never breaking our stare. Even after he was finished, he remained inside me.

  Our bodies calmed together, our breath
ing entangling. I waited for him to speak although I would have stayed in silence forever, just having his body against mine, him inside me, our eyes focused on each other.

  “I have to go now,” Jonathan whispered. “Business.”

  “Go? Where?”

  “Like I said, business. I won’t be far but you need to stay here. It’s why we’re here.”

  “Jona… Mr. Black… I can’t be without you.”

  “You won’t be,” he said.

  He pulled from me and stood up. The sudden change of his body and his eyes not near me left me feeling cold and dying. I hate these moments, when the pleasure ended.

  He reached for his clothing and casually dressed himself. I was on the bed, my legs slightly open, feeling the warm and perfection of our sex.

  As Jonathan tightened his tie, he smiled at me. He reached for my arm and helped me stand. He spun me around and took a second to let his fingers touch me. From my shoulder down to my backside and between my legs. One last touch.

  He took the handcuffs off me and threw them to the bed.

  “Don’t lose them,” he said. “You’ll need them again soon enough.”

  I shivered and moaned. I nodded.

  Jonathan commanded me to dress. I did, while biting my tongue with the questions that would not leave me alone. When he walked to the door and started to turn the knob, I sighed, wanting to call for him.

  He stopped and walked back to me. He touched my face and then pulled me in for a kiss. It took my breath away for a moment and I had the sudden urge to cry.

  “Soon,” Jonathan said. “Soon.”

  He turned and left the room.

  The second he was gone I got that feeling again… that invading feeling that someone was standing nearby, watching me.

  -8-

  I emerged from the room and walked to the only room I could find. It was a surprise to me to find Jonathan’s father still sitting in his black chair, still holding a glass of liquor. The only difference now was that he sipped instead of gulped. When he looked back at me, his eyes were woozy.