by Claire, Ava
"I said, GET OUT!"
With an hmph, she finally got the message and turned to exit—but not before Jacob threw open the dressing room door. I was clothed, but my arms still wrapped around the front of my body instinctively.
Sleek and composed, only his eyes moved, narrowing in displeasure.
"What the hell is going on in here?" He looked back and forth between us like a parent scolding naughty children.
Neither of us said a word.
“I said, what is going on in here?”
What could I say without sounding juvenile? That I’d fallen for her ploy to get a rise out of me? That I was screaming like someone with no class because she hurt my feelings? I felt the anger seeping from me like air from a balloon and hung my head.
When Skye stepped forward, I expected her to throw me under the bus but instead, she tried to smooth everything over. "Just a small misunderstanding, Mr. Whitmore." She gave me a smile that said, ‘play along’. "Maybe we should give Miss Montgomery some time to-"
"That'll be all," he snapped, dismissing her without another look. He turned to the side and allowed her to leave before shutting the door and turning his ire back on me.
"What was this misunderstanding about, Leila?"
"N-Nothing," I mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.
He snapped his fingers. "When I talk to you, I expect you to look at me. I will have your respect."
I raised my chin, shooting daggers his way. "Respect? Like you snapping at me like a dog just now? Or how about your revolving door policy?"
His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"
"Skye told me how you change your personal assistants like underwear. I better enjoy all of this before you throw me out like trash, right?"
His cerulean eyes flashed with something that looked a lot like hurt before they hardened to sea glass. He blazed forward and I gasped as he backed me against the wall, essentially pinning me in place.
I wanted to say something smart, but my brain couldn’t work with him so close to me. The heat of indignation melted and arousal quickly took its place.
His tone was harsh, but I felt his lust thump from behind its Armani prison. "I don't appreciate being talked to as if I were the one in your employ."
Staring at him, feeling powerful, damnable feelings made me want to drop to my knees and submit wholly to him, but the bullheaded part of me wouldn’t let me back down.
"Well, I don't appreciate being treated like being in your employ is tantamount to prostitution.”
The side of his mouth crept upward. "Prostitution? I never called you a prostitute, Leila."
"So all of this-” I attempted to move my hand and make a grand gesture, but his hands found my wrists and held them firmly at my side. “Almost two thousand dollars in clothing isn't because I signed your little contract and agreed to be your submissive?"
Turned on or not, I could tell I was starting to get on his nerves as he let out an impatient sigh. "All of this is because the woman beside me shouldn't look like something out of the bargain bin."
"The bargain bin?" I said incredulously, my voice rising. "Just who do you think you are?"
"Lower your voice," he said coolly.
“You think just because I signed some document you own me? That you can just...” My words trailed off as he released my wrists and moved his hand to my hip, finding the zipper and quickly pulling it downward. I wasn't sure what was worse—that he obviously felt entitled to my body, or that I was thoroughly turned on by it.
It really didn't matter in the end because the feel of his hand on me turned all brain functioning off.
There was only desire. My breath came in gasps as his fingers spread out inside the front of my underwear.
Ohmygod he's gonna finger me right here. Right in the dressing room.
Gone was the girl who let her head do the thinking...I just listened to the words of my body. And it was screaming for him.
"Don’t stop," I whispered.
I arched into his touch as I felt him skate toward my center. He made a V with his fingers, spreading me wide. He leaned in close, his eyes tearing into me. His lips traced my jawline, soft as a whisper, stopping at my ear.
"Tread very carefully, Miss Montgomery."
He removed his hand, leaving me hot and bothered. Without another word, he strode from the room.
I gazed at the door, letting his warning sink in. I was pretty sure there was a silent ‘Or else’ tacked to the end.
****
I clutched my overnight bag to my chest as the driver eased onto the exit ramp for the airport. Just the sound of the airplanes whooshing overhead was enough to make me tremble.
I hated flying. The long lines, the unnecessary grope-age by the TSA, the overpriced food both on and off the plane, and most of all, the seats that forced you to get to know your neighbor whether you wanted to or not. It just seemed like every flying experience in recent memory involved paying for the privilege of being uncomfortable.
Not that this trip was being charged to my credit card. All my expenses were being paid for by Whitmore and Creighton. I should have taken a small bit of relief from that, but the bright terminal signs that hung overhead still made me queasy.
I pushed my shades from the tip of my nose to the bridge and took a swig of the Perrier beside me. If you can agree to being one of the hottest men on the planet's submissive, you can do this.
"You can do this," I said aloud. "You can do..." My self-affirming confirmation trailed off as I peeked out the window and saw we weren't pulled to the bustling curb of a terminal or some parking deck, but a small parking lot in front of a non-descript building.
The driver killed the engine, pulled out the keys, and stepped out of the car.
I frowned up at him with confusion as he pulled open my door. "Where are we?"
My question bounced right off him and as dreamlike as recent occurrences were, there was no mistaking the final three words that came out of his mouth: Private aviation terminal.
“Private aviation terminal?” I clutched my bag tighter. "As in private jet?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes ma'am. Now, if you'd allow me to attend to your luggage?"
I let him take my carry-on, threads and seams supporting the fact that it'd seen better days. I slid out after it, still in a daze. Private jet. I assumed that Jacob would travel in style, but I was just hoping for a first class ticket.
I wordlessly walked behind him. No, walking wasn’t right. It was more like gliding. I floated through the sliding door and wasn’t bombarded with a cesspool of noise and bustle since there were only a handful of people inside the lobby. A smiling attendant greeted us that seemed far too congenial to work at an airport. Instead of standing in a security line that crawled, having to remove my shoes and getting molested by some woman who wasn’t any happier about it than I was, I flew right through security.
The driver handed over my bag and I took it gingerly, realizing that I had no cash to tip him. That’s what rich people did, right?
“Mr. Whitmore has taken care of everything, Miss Montgomery,” he said, reading my discomfort and empty pockets. “Have a safe flight.”
I pulled up the bar on my bag and drug it along as I took in the quiet surroundings. There was no strip mall feel here, no walking past endless gates and scouring the place for monitors with flight updates. No bobbing and weaving around people willing to take you down to make their flight.
I sunk into a leather seat near sliding doors that led to the jets and ruffled in my bag for my itinerary. I scrolled the check-in information along with finding and boarding the plane.
I still couldn’t believe that Jacob Whitmore thought I was worth the trouble. Not that any of this came free of conditions. They burned in the blue fire of his eyes when he cornered me in the dressing room. Obey. And keep my lips zipped. I wasn't particularly good at either. But with his body against mine, his hands staking claim to me, damn it if I wasn't putty in his hands. Even
though I found his type A antics infuriating, everything I learned in Feminism 101 went out the window as soon as he touched me.
"Miss Montgomery?"
I glanced up in surprise, taking in the woman standing in front of me. She was dressed in a navy blue suit with silver buttons that glimmered like gun metal. Fiery red coils sprung from a doll like face, rebelling against her otherwise tailored appearance. I felt an instant connection to her, like we were long lost sisters of the Girls Whose Hair Won't Behave club.
"My name is Maggie Hall. I’ll be servicing your jet today," she said smoothly, extending a pale hand.
I shook it gingerly and rose to my feet. "Oh! Thanks for servicing me.” Yikes. That came out creepy. “I mean...for attending me...or, uh, the plane.”
I was grateful when she smiled instead of looking at me like I was an idiot. “Your first time flying in a private jet?”
“That obvious?” I said with a nervous chuckle.
“You’ll be fine,” she said supportively. “Oh! I was given this by Mr. Whitmore...” She reached into her purse and handed me a slender white envelope. "You are to follow the instructions prior to boarding the jet."
I frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Mr. Whitmore requests that you read this and follow the instructions before you board." Before I could open my mouth to protest, she held up a hand in defense. "I'm just the messenger."
I slowly took the envelope and watched as she moved to the exit, sending a wave of heat whooshing into the waiting area when the doors slid open.
Sweat exploded at my temple and found company with the bitter taste in my mouth. Follow the instructions before boarding? I had a feeling that ‘Remove all traces of your poor-ness’ was scribbled on the paper. Couldn't contaminate his precious jet, now could I?
I broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out a crisp piece of paper. "Remove your-" I read the last bit silently, shock moving across my body like wildfire. I had to read it twice and the words still punched all the air from my lungs.
In brisk curves and fierce lines, his requirements were simple: Remove your bra and panties prior to boarding.
Remove my underwear? I thought incredulously. Hell no!
He'd told me to wear the colorblock dress for the flight and I was already breaking into hives thinking about how close I'd been to ignoring him and wearing the sheer black dress because of the heat.
“Absolutely not,” I said to myself, my voice hoarse. “I won’t do it.” Who cared if I signed a contract, agreeing to submit myself to his will? Rough, kinky sex, was one thing, but no underwear? Didn’t he know that I wasn’t some A cup waif that could go topless without flopping about?
My cheeks darkened as it sunk in. Of course he knew. That was the whole point. Making me uncomfortable. Reminding me who was in charge.
I turned quickly, swinging my bag over my shoulder. I was just going to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I wasn’t, under any circumstances, taking off my bra and undies. I kept repeating it, over and over, even as I stepped into the stall and slowly pulled off my underwear. It would have been easier to pretend I wasn’t giving into his humiliating request if I could just magically remove my bra without taking off the dress. No such luck.
When I pushed out of the stall, my bra and underwear were a bundle of cotton and polyester in my bag. I held my breath as I rushed out of the lobby toward the loading dock, focusing on the tail end of the aircraft. I just needed to find the jet and get on board before a strong wind made a neon sign of my naked body.
“Miss Montgomery?” Maggie stood at the landing of a set of stairs leading up to the belly of a jet. “Are you ready to board?”
I couldn’t manage an actual response so I just took a step in her direction and hoped she took it as some sort of affirmation.
“I’ll take your bag.” She reached for the Frankenstein-like thing and did me a solid by not holding it gingerly between two fingers. “Mr. Whitmore is in the sleeping chamber and requests that you join him as soon as you board.”
Something in her voice told me it wasn’t a request at all and I couldn’t help but hesitate, lingering at the landing and wondering what he had planned.
She picked up on the awkward and leaned in, dropping her volume to a whisper. “You’ll be just fine.”
I knew she meant to make me feel better and more at ease, but I couldn’t help but think about the last person that tried to give me advice. Skye from Le Magnifique came rushing back with her wiggling eyebrows as she pretty much lumped me in with every other girl that cycled through Whitmore’s office and bed.
I didn’t say another word, holding my head high as I walked up the stairs. I said yes, but he didn’t own me. This wasn’t Pretty Woman. I had a degree. I was there to work, damn it.
My temper cooled as I stepped into the crisp body of the jet and took everything in. Gone were the cold, uniformed seats packed tight like sardines like on a commercial plane. In their place were four reclining chairs to the right near the window and a table to the left flanked by two more. The chairs weren’t made of the horrible pleather material either. They were a rich, caramel colored leather. The walls were lined with wood paneling, giving off the vibe and atmosphere of riding in a luxury car instead of a plane. Even in flats, I could feel the plush carpeting beneath my feet.
The sound of Jacob’s smoky, urgent voice floated from the back room and I swallowed hard before standing tall and remembering I was supposed to report to him. As I neared the divider that separated the back of the plane from the front, I caught pieces of his conversation.
“What else have you found out about Leila?”
There was a sliver of an opening and I peered in, my throat tightening when I heard my name.
He paused, raking a hand through his ebony waves. “No boyfriend, no baggage I need to know about?” He paced back and forth. “Yes, I’m aware that she was given the same work up as the others.” He scoffed. “Driven? No, the others were driven. This one...she’s different.”
I took a small step backward, the way he said ‘different’ lighting up every pore of me. This one...she’s different. I let out a long, stuttering sigh. He had to have meant something else. He’d done this before.
But there was a question that rang in my head. A question I never thought I’d be asking myself.
Could Jacob Whitmore be falling for me?
He glanced at the door and I heard something tighten in his voice. “Leila?”
My lips trembled and for a brief moment, I entertained the idea of ducking away. Maybe even booking it out of there altogether, flagging a cab and going back to the real world where girls like me had to toil in mail rooms and cubicles for years before getting their break. Back to reality where a celebrity businessman wasn’t telling people that I was different with a decidedly romantic undertone. Because s excited as the prospect of being more to him was, none of the others got their happily ever after. They fell off the face of the earth as quickly as they entered it on his arm. I wasn’t willing to forfeit my career for romance. I couldn’t.
Done waiting for my response, Jacob pulled open the slider and gave me a long, hard look. “You can come in.”
I obeyed, stepping into the room and gulping as the divider shut with an ominous thud. The room had all the bells and whistles of something out of Architectural Digest with its sturdy furniture and statement pieces. It seemed impossible that so much luxury could be packed into such a small space.
He turned to a shelf lined with bottles of alcohol and ice and picked up a half full brandy glass. “You followed my instructions?”
My cheeks went hot, but I raised my chin and gave him a nod.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lips pulled into a frown. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Yes sir,” I replied with military precision.
He cocked his head, giving me a strange look. “Sir?”
“If this is going to work, we should be as professional as possible.”
His eyes smol
dered. “Is that right?”
“Yes sir.” Even I could feel the awkwardness of the word. This wasn’t boot camp. We were in a tiny room with a bed in it and I was stark naked underneath my dress for crissakes.
His lips dipped in an unaffected curve. “I suppose that would be for the best. Professionalism.” He put down his glass and cut his eyes at me. “Do you have an issue with me checking for your compliance myself?”
“You’re the boss,” I said, weakness creeping back into my voice. God, just the nearness of him chipped at the wall I’d put into place. He smelled delicious; a dark, spicy aphrodisiac that broke me down, brick by brick.
His hands slowly worked up my body, starting at my hips. His fingertips dug into the fabric and clutched me with a need that made my core clench in anticipation. I leaned into his touch, yearning to be stroked and cared for.
No. Not cared for. I had to stop using that kind of language. Need. Care. Different. Next was the ‘L’ word and that was a recipe for disaster.
He continued his circuit up and over my waist, pausing with his hands at the base of my breasts. “Is this okay?”
I glanced up into his azure eyes in shock. “Is this okay?”
He let out a hiss of air through his clenched teeth, like it was taking every ounce of control to not blaze right on through. “Yes.”
I managed a, “Yeah. If it’s what you want.”
“What do you want, Leila?” he asked firmly.
“Miss Montgomery,” I corrected. Professionalism. But my husky retort came out as anything but.
“Miss Montgomery,” Sex hung on every syllable. “What do you want?”
I want you to take me. Hard and rough. Right here. Right now.
I still couldn’t say the words aloud, even though my body was chanting it with every breath. “I want you.”
He rounded the curve of my breasts and my nipples pebbled against his touch. As soon as I let out a moan, his touch deepened.
“Miss Montgomery,” He let out a haggard breath, his put-together facade fraying at the edges. My nipples pulsed against his fingers, completely under his spell. “You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?”
