Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve)

by Claire, Ava

  Yes to him.

  There were no more words, only moans as I gave into the overwhelming sensation of his touch. I could die on the spot and it would be worth it. The bliss, the ecstasy, it was everything. It blotted out rationality and common sense leaving nothing but a need that only he could fulfill.

  His fingers slid back and forth and the building monsoon at the heart of me made everything spin into one. I wasn’t sure where I stopped and he began and I didn't care.

  "Come for me," he ordered, ratcheting up to a furious pace.

  The sounds of my moans and my core sticky and wild whipped around us and I let go with a scream that he smothered with his mouth. My orgasm was magnified as his tongue dove in and swirled about mine. He tasted like sex and peppermint and I cried out as my body slammed and tumbled against him until his kiss became something less ferocious and close to tender. Sweet.

  When my heart stopped racing and my legs stopped shaking, he rounded it off with a peck and took a step back.

  Red flushed my cheeks as I stood there awkwardly before bending to pick up my clothes. As I redressed I watched him gingerly pluck a handkerchief from his breast pocket. When I looked at him, I stopped cold.

  There was a look so hollow on his face, so full of regret. It was a familiar look, a look born from nights with too much alcohol and going home with guys who in the light of morning were a colossal mistake.

  Oh God. Did he think I was a mistake?

  "Mr. Whitmore-"

  "If you follow the stairs you'll find your way back to the lobby." His back was taut. I was so confused, but there was no mistaking the remorse in his final words. "I lost myself, Leila. It won't happen again."

  ****

  "Miss Montgomery?" A deep rumble followed the question. "Uh, Leila Montgomery?"

  My eyes fluttered and readjusted to the sound of my name and I snapped upright, remembering the feel of Jacob’s lips against mine, his firm body powering through his sleek suit.

  I’d fallen asleep in the waiting room.

  I glanced down at the magazine sitting on my lap. It was the front of Entrepreneur Monthly and Jacob's aqua eyes bore into me from the cover. When I licked my lips, I could taste him on my skin, lusty and powerful.

  “Miss Montgomery?”

  Embarrassment made me turn fifty shades of red as I flashed the secretary behind the desk an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry. W-What were you saying?"

  "Mrs. Delacourt will see you now."

  I gave her a small nod and steeled my nerves as I rose to my feet. I gently placed the magazine on the table beside the chair and gave the front of my skirt a nervous sweep. "Of course. I mean, thank you." I forced my shoulders back and straightened my spine as I walked up to the closed conference door. For a moment, I stood looking at the mahogany, wondering if I should just push in or knock first.

  "You can go on in, sweetie," the secretary said softly. I wasn't sure if it was pity or condescension behind her tone and shook it off at any rate. Yes, she saw me drooling in my seat, but she wasn't the one I had to impress.

  I pushed the door open a little too forcefully, creating a gunshot that was heard around the world and melted into a puddle when saw that the Mrs. Delacourt was sitting beside none other than Jacob Whitmore himself.

  Mrs. Delacourt’s thin lips formed into a scowl, clearly agitated that she'd actually asked this idiot girl that was hard of hearing and all thumbs in for a job at their company. But Jacob, his face smooth with eyes and lips that made any hot blooded woman swoon, was a blank slate. He was completely unaffected by my clumsiness. Unaffected by me.

  "Quite an entrance, Ms. Montgomery," he said, not even looking up from the manila folder in front of him.

  "Sorry." I quickly tried to change the subject and began again. "I just want to say that I-"

  "And quite an impressive resume," he continued, ignoring me completely. "Student council, honor society, president of several clubs." He let out a sigh and slapped the folder shut. "I'd say the only thing missing is Girl Scout troop leader or savior of abandoned kittens."

  My nostrils flared at the jab. "Excuse me?"

  "Your university accolades are commendable, but this isn’t a job for Most Likely to Work Herself Into an Early Grave," he said, tone as frosty as the air that flowed from the vents. "You are aware that the position you are applying for is the research aide?”

  "Y-Yes," I said, my cheeks going hot again.

  "A position you are extraordinarily overqualified for?"

  "Yes," I said slowly, taking a step forward. "But I believe that-"

  "Perhaps you believe that this could be a-" He raised his hands and made quotation marks with his fingers. "‘Starter’ job. Something to whet your appetite until something juicier comes along."

  Juicier. That word, combined with the things he'd done with those fingers, made lust flare between my legs. It would have been easy to cross my legs and relieve the pressure if I’d made it to the seat in front of the conference table, but he'd attacked with one foot still practically out the door.

  "I’m flattered that you chose Whitmore and Creighton to pop your cherry, but I have no interest in training you then biding our time until you inevitably leave us for a position better suited for your extensive resume."

  His words were like a slap across the face, but I pushed away the hurt and indignation for the moment. I knew enough about reading people to know that when he glanced at a clock ticking away behind me I was losing him. When he leaned in to whisper something to Mrs. Delacourt, I knew it was now or never.

  I took a step forward. "Clearly you hold this position in high esteem, Mr. Whitmore." He opened his mouth but I blazed through, not letting him derail me. "Why else would the boss sit in on the interview of a lowly research aide?" I said a prayer as I strutted to the seat in front of the table and let out a silent sigh of relief when I didn't stagger or fall on my face. The surprise in those intense eyes emboldened me.

  Good. I had his attention.

  "I know I'm over qualified Mr. Whitmore, but I’m a perfect fit for this company—you're the best at what you do, and as far back as I can remember, I was the best. I am the best.” I captured his gaze and held onto it for dear life. "I'm applying for the research aide position because it was the only opening you had. I'm passionate about publicity and if I have to scrub toilets to work at the most progressive, tenacious PR firm in the world, so be it. Because I can't stop, I won't stop until I get exactly what I want." I stopped to catch my breath and saw he was watching me intently. Measuring me. "I'll work nights, weekends-"

  He cleared his throat, cutting me off. "That's not necessary. The aide position is Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm."

  Did that mean..."I've got the job?" I looked at Mrs. Delacourt and she turned to look at him, just as surprised as I was.

  He rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket. "Maria, expedite her paperwork. I want Miss Montgomery in tomorrow morning."

  I leapt to my feet and stepped in his path, jutting out my hand. "Thank you so much, Mr. Whitmore! You won't regret this."

  He strode past, not even giving me a second look. I couldn't let him leave without knowing how much this opportunity meant to me, even if a niggling part of me worried that our rendezvous might have something to do with it.

  "Mr. Whitmore," I said behind him, trying to keep my voice low. "If I could just get a minute of your time to talk about earlier-"

  He slammed to a stop and I took another step, reaching out toward him. The ice in his voice made my hand hang in the air and my words caught in my throat.

  "Give us a moment, Maria."

  My interviewer rose from the table without another word. Every inch of her was business in her tailored suit as she strut from the room. The door clicked shut with an ominous thud before silence rushed in.

  He pivoted to face me, his features hardened to stone. "I thought you had something to say, Miss Montgomery."

  The formal tone in his voice was a blow to my ego, but I didn
't show it. Fear would be blood in the water...and he'd eat me alive.

  "I just wanted to say thank you for giving me a chance." He perked a brow, not oblivious to the meat of why I really wanted a moment. "And about before-"

  "There was no before.” He cut deep when he shrugged a shoulder. "If that's all-"

  "It most certainly isn't," I interjected. My voice was doing that thing where each word was louder than the last and my frustration hung on each syllable, but I kept going. Him pretending it was nothing, that I was nothing, was more than I could bear. "You marched me downstairs like some petulant child and practically forced yourself on me!"

  He let out a cruel laugh. "Oh please, spare me the damsel in distress bit. You wanted it." His eyes dropped to my lips as he took a step forward and god help me but I wouldn't have shoved him away if he kissed me.

  "T-That doesn't matter," I said, taking a step backward. "What matters is-"

  "It happened," he said savagely, his voice building in candor until it filled the room. "It won't happen again. And that’s the end of it!"

  I licked my chapped lips, just needing more. Needing something. "But Jacob-"

  "You will address me as Mr. Whitmore,” he growled over his shoulder. “And we're done."

  I watched him go, throwing open the door and stomping away in a huff. I wanted to yell after him. Lay it all out and screw the consequences. Jesus—five minutes in his arms and I was ready to throw it all away.

  But Mrs. Delacourt came in and gave me a look that gave me pause. It was one of sympathy, and it opened a box of worms I wasn't prepared for. How many women found themselves alone with him, laid bare and tossed out like trash?

  She cleared her throat and held the door for me, wisely changing the subject before either of us could dwell on what was behind her stormy gray eyes. "Come. Let's get you squared away."

  ****

  I paused to take a breath, glad that I'd opted for flats for my first day instead of the pumps that Mom kept trying to force onto my feet.

  They'll elongate your legs, she’d insisted. They're slimming!

  Considering the manager of the research division must have been Wile E. the Coyote in a past life, tennis shoes would have been one better. I'd run the circuit around the expansive research and lead development office so many times I was surprised I hadn't worn a path in the carpet fibers. And then there were coffee orders and breakfast bagels and dashing in and out of the Whitmore building. Going up and down in an elevator should have been less work, but I huffed and puffed like I took the stairs.

  I didn’t have time to meet my fellow grunts, but I did know that the manager, Christy, snapped her finger at a mousy girl with inky hair and cleared her throat at a middle aged man with spiky blond locks, so I’d affectionately named them Snap Girl and Spike. When Christy and I spun back into the room with our cart of outgoing mail, both looked at me with pity before turning back to their work.

  Christy turned to face me and there was no pity on her hawk like features. "Come along, Lily."

  "It's ‘Leila’,” I said pointedly, smoothing it over with a smile when she frowned at the correction.

  She waited for me to catch up before continuing to a wall lined with lcd screens. Each was filled with documents and memos and the names and documents changed every couple of seconds or so.

  "I know it looks complicated," Christy said, eyes on the screen. "But it certainly doesn't take an Ivy League education to figure out." I bristled at the jab and she stopped to give me a hardly sympathetic smile before continuing. "Now, if you'll take a look at-"

  Snap Girl cleared her throat behind us. "Uh, Mrs. Moore-"

  "If it's a page for me just hold it until I'm done with, Lauren,” Christy snapped.

  I opened my mouth to correct her, but someone beat me to the punch.

  "It's ‘Leila’."

  Both of us whipped our heads toward the smoky voice.

  "You!" I gasped, my eyes locking onto him. Jacob looked like something out of GQ in a charcoal gray suit that fit him like sin. A pale blue tie against his white shirt made his eyes glitter. "What are you—why are you-"

  "Mr. Whitmore!" Christy said quickly, pushing in front of me like I was some royal embarrassment. "I wasn't expecting you!"

  Her babbling became an unpleasant buzz in my ear and then it was nothing, nothing but his eyes smoldering and every inch of me humming with awareness of him. My whole body tingled—my shoulders beneath my silk blouse, the area at the back of my knees, my toes. I couldn't help but imagine throwing my arms around his sturdy neck and feeling his hands run against the curve of my bottom as he lifted me up. I couldn't help but wonder if his swell would thump and dance for the freedom we both crave.

  My secret desires must have been all over my face because the side of his mouth curved upward slightly and he broke the trance, turning to Christy.

  "I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mrs. Moore."

  She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You do?"

  "You'll be down an aide until a replacement for Miss Montgomery can be found."

  Oh no. He was firing me?

  My throat was dry as sandpaper. I couldn’t lose this job. An alarm went off in my head and I opened my mouth to beg, grovel if need be, but he held up a finger, silencing me.

  "I have another position that would be perfect for our new employee."

  Now I was the one looking at him strangely. "You do?"

  "Yes. Come with me."

  I hesitated, not missing the look of disdain behind Christy's dark eyes before I hustled behind my boss. I had so many questions, but as I watched his muscular frame move beneath his slick suit, everything melted away except for his body. My gaze washed over his shoulders, then down the muscular expanse of his back.

  Stop it, I chastised myself, looking away. He told me to never speak of that day again. Clearly he thinks it was as big a mistake as I do.

  We pushed into the elevator and I stood awkwardly beside him, chewing on my lip. The quiet, the not knowing, along with the close proximity of him was maddening.

  "I'm being considered for another position?" I let out hoarsely.

  "Yes."

  "What position?"

  "A highly paid one."

  I cocked my head at him. "And what highly paid position am I being considered for?"

  "Personal assistant." He adjusted his tie. "My personal assistant."

  I opened my mouth to protest, but remembered my whole spiel about 'scrubbing toilets'. After all, from mailroom clerk to personal assistant in four hours was pretty impressive.

  It probably didn’t hurt that I’d let him fondle me yesterday.

  Ashamed, I swallowed the rest of my questions and dropped my head. I still felt his eyes dance over me.

  "You worry that this promotion is due to our time together, don’t you?"

  I didn’t respond, looking forward stubbornly as I remembered how he snapped at me when I dared to bring it up. I had a feeling he already knew the answer, but I nodded anyway.

  "A verbal response would be appreciated, Leila." It wasn’t a request.

  Red gripped my cheeks, but indignation made me whip to face him. "I don’t know—are we talking about it today? Or is it still our dirty little secret?"

  His body tightened at my snide remark. “Answer the question, Leila. Do you think I’m promoting you because of what we did together yesterday?”

  “Yes,” I said, barely above a whisper.

  "I see."

  The cabin came to a stop and the doors pushed open and the ‘wow’ that rose in my throat came spilling out. My guilt over how I secured my position faded away as I took in the posh executive suite. While the lobby had wooden statement pieces and glass sculptures and the other floors were lined with mahogany with postmodern desks and Pollock paintings, the suite employed less is more with crisp white walls and marble floors. The only color came at the end of the corridor, the secretary's desk a soft sandalwood.

  We took stock of e
ach other, she raising a blonde eyebrow at my ensemble and me craving the white shift she wore.

  "Hold all my calls, Natasha."

  The surprise on her face spoke volumes but she managed a 'yes sir' and I gave her a smug look before following Jacob into his office.

  The elegance that permeated through the rest of the building blossomed in Jacob's office. Wood carvings hung on the white walls and splashes of color were found in the chaise in the corner, and a minibar on the opposite side. Behind a cherry wood desk, all the colors of the bustling city sparkled behind the floor to ceiling window. I felt the life pulsing through the glass, so close and vibrant that I could reach out and touch it. He didn't even break his stride, immediately moving to retrieve something from his desk.

  He handed me the device and when I pressed the button to bring the screen up, I saw a scanned document. It was an electronic contract.

  He walked to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge. "Feel free to read through it in its entirety. A copy was also emailed to the address we have for you on file."

  I was far from fluent in legalese but when I skimmed it words like ‘non-disclosure agreement’ stuck out at me. Made sense—for all the pictures determined photogs snapped of him and his flavor of the weeks, none of the women ever gave a tell-all account.

  "I can give you the highlights," he said after a moment. "As my personal assistant, you will be given a healthy salary along with a clothing and travel allowance. In addition to any administrative needs I may require, you will make yourself available as my submissive."

  Submissive. The word sent a wave of longing through me. I'd always been curious about the lifestyle, the leather, the domination, the taboo. BDSM definitely wasn't a term I'd ever associate with Jacob Whitmore, though. I gave it all away, my features frozen in shock. His, however remained unchanged.

  "You are familiar with the term submissive? With BDSM?"