by Claire, Ava
Beams of light glittered like diamonds, illuminating every square inch. The expansive living room and fireplace were flanked by lush couches, generating a clean, modern feel. The separate dining room could have been pretentious but instead it had a classic, lived-in ambiance, mixing dark wood and paneling. The library room off the dining room was lined with books and opened up to an amazing terrace that overlooked the bustling city. A floating glass staircase ascended to what I was sure would be even more exquisite furnishings and views.
Jacob stepped up behind me, wrapping me in a warm embrace. His lips pressed against the slope of my neck, uncoiling the deep rooted desire in the heart of me. I turned and looked up at him. Nothing compared to seeing love in his impossibly blue gaze. Nothing compared to the tingle of knowing the most beautiful man I’d ever seen could look at me like I was the only woman in the world.
I licked my lips, zeroing in on his mouth. I wanted him so bad I could taste it.
"I'm guessing the tour is over.” The side of his mouth quirked upward as he stroked my cheek and brought a single finger to trace my bottom lip.
"Not quite.” I pressed my body into his and felt physical, hardened proof that great minds really do think alike. "I still haven't seen the bedroom."
It should have been jarring to be jerked up a flight of stairs, but it didn't bring me down from cloud nine. My head was occupied with thoughts of Egyptian cotton and fluffy pillows to scream into as he ravaged me. His urgency was contagious and knowing it was only moments before he sunk inside me made me quiver with desire.
He threw open the door to the master bedroom and wasted no time boasting about the rustic hardwood floor or what I was sure was an original Van Gogh above his bed. His fingers clawed at the buttons of my blouse and in a moment of frustration, he just yanked the shirt open.
Neither of us cared about the blouse or anything else. There was nothing except the need to feel our bodies beating as one.
He ran his hands up my skirt, looking for underwear to discard. He paused when I gasped, his fingers brushing against my bare flesh.
“Good girl.”
He let out a growl as I coyly slid back onto the bed, spreading my thighs wide. There was a second guttural, animal like sound and then I felt his hot, wet mouth on me. I dragged my fingers through his dark locks, tugging as his lips circled my clitoris and sucked. All the blood in my body rushed to the nub in his mouth, engorging it as I writhed in his erotic hold. I tossed my head back and forth, his assault making me lose the capacity for rational thought.
I knew the rules—and no climaxing without his express permission was in the top five. While we were in Venice I learned to focus and control my body and the reward was longer, more powerful orgasms along with pride and lust in Jacob's eyes as I gushed when he saw fit.
But when he brought his finger into the mix of sensations, plunging it deep inside as he continued to lick my fleshy button, my release slipped like sand between my fingers. There was no breathing through it or holding it back. I was coming—and I was coming hard.
His mouth abandoned me as I convulsed and moaned, the rhythmic squeezes of my release overwhelming me. I crumbled as my body vibrated on a frequency of sheer bliss. I didn’t want to come down...especially when I knew I’d be disciplined. But I had to open my eyes eventually.
I drew a deep breath and cautioned a look at him. He shed his sleek button down shirt, so I got an eyeful of the tight muscles of his abdomen and the tantalizing v cut that led to his groin area.
He stood there watching, waiting for me to gather myself, ever the model of control and patience. But his eyes told another story. They were glazed with lust at watching me come—and excitement about inflecting punishment.
Forgetting my training would cost me dearly.
As he unfolded his pants from his body, it was like peeling back layers to get to the juicy fruit beneath. His mouthwatering erection protruded from his underwear, massive and swollen. I slid back onto the bed, fear and arousal gripping the words of my apology.
"I-I know I was supposed to wait." I swallowed as he came closer, naked and unsheathed, holding his bulge firmly in one hand. "I just couldn't hold on any longer."
There was a devilish smile on his lips that extended all the way to his clear blue eyes. "You should save your breath.” His voice deepened. “You're going to need it."
There was no amount of psyching myself up or preparation before Jacob wrestled a handful of my hair, pulling me toward him. Once my lips were close enough to his erection, he released his shaft and tangled both hands in my hair, holding tight.
I had no time to trace the veiny length of him; barely drawing a breath before he pushed past my lips and into my mouth. I gargled around his length, stretching my mouth wide and moaning into the salt and musk of his skin.
He thrust deep, deeper than I was expecting and nearly forced his way down my throat. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I gagged on his length. The wet, sloppy sounds seemed to turn him on even more as he used my hair like reins and dictated a feverish beat.
After a few minutes of discomfort chased with the warmth of giving him pleasure, he slowed his thrusts, drawing back until the head of his cock lie just behind my lips, letting me lick and tease the angry purple head with my tongue. From the way his muscles tightened and his breath hitched, I knew that he could have melted in my mouth then and there—and for my infraction, I had no right to expect any more than that. But my body hummed for more, it needed to feel him and touch him from the inside.
With a hollow moan he pulled from my mouth and climbed on the bed. I couldn't stop a smile from stretching from my mouth to the very sun that was dancing on the beautiful contours of his body. He was clearly trying to maintain control, his arms flexing as he poised the head of at the edge of my slick heat, his eyes narrowed and stern.
But I didn't want control. I wanted all of him.
I locked my legs around his waist, pulling him into me, taking every hardened inch in one swift stroke. If my brazen act rubbed him the wrong way he gave no indication, rocking into me with a frenzy and desperation that matched my own. He drove into me, hard, fast, and wild until we were only heated flesh; until we both reached that fever pitch and melted in each other’s arms.
We didn't move from where we lay lengthwise on the bed, still catching our breath. We were both sweaty and slick against one another, tangled up in love stained sheets.
"That was a pretty ballsy move just now." There was the usual sternness in his voice, but there was something else. Something warm and approving. “I think I like it when my little sub is defiant every now and then.”
So I decided to bring up the thing we'd avoided since he started introducing me as a staff publicist to reporters a week ago.
"I don't want you to promote me, Jacob."
He let out a sigh. "Don't be silly, Leila. Of course I'm going to promote you."
I pushed his hand from its place across my stomach and pulled myself to a sitting position. "Don't be dismissive."
He didn't move from his position of leisure, hands tucked behind his head but his eyes were all business. "I'm not being dismissive. You said you were the best. Why shouldn't you have the best job?"
"Because no one will respect me if I go from aide to personal assistant to publicist in a month."
Business changed to personal as his eyes darkened. "If anyone says a word-"
"That'll show 'em," I scoffed. "‘Better treat Leila extra nice or she’ll run and tattle’." I scooted toward him, needing to be close enough that he could see how serious I was and how important this was to me. "I need to do this for myself, Jacob. I've wanted to do this job all my life. It's my dream."
"Then I'll help you fulfill it," he said simply. "It's settled."
"I don't want a handout," I insisted, my voice rising along with my frustration level. "I want the job on merit, not my relationship status." When it still seemed like I was banging my head against the wall, I took a breath and kicke
d my legs back off the side of the bed.
I walked over to the window, looking out at the beautiful lines of the concrete jungle. This city was full of stories. Pages of broken dreams. Tales of unbelievable success.
Jacob had his own saga—his father wanted him to go in show business: in front of the camera, instead of handling crises behind it. Jacob should know better than anyone what it meant to make a name for yourself and the power of controlling one’s own destiny.
I turned back to him, cooling my temper. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, babe. Really, I do. But I need you to understand how important this is to me."
He sat up and gave me a long, pensive look that rooted me in place. "I need you to understand that it is hard for me to not give someone I love every damn thing under the sun." He raked a hand through his messy hair, shaking his head. "But if this is important to you, I'll try and support you."
‘Try’ wasn’t as concrete as I was hoping for, but with Jacob, I knew I’d have to celebrate inches like they were miles.
****
I breezed through the front doors of Whitmore and Creighton, my heart hammering in my chest. The nerves weren't the same ones I felt when I came in for the interview—chest tightening and butterflies whipping around in my gut—but the same feeling that I stuck out like a sore thumb remained.
I was dressed as stylishly as everyone else, wearing a blush colored blouse that had the right amount of femininity and allure, a inky black pencil skirt hung on my curves and nude pumps. I still felt like I was wearing a costume, playing a role and I didn't quite have the words down.
There was one key difference though. Before, I gawked at the art and glossy lobby I'd only seen on my television screen. When I breezed in, I was the one being gawked at.
Icy, female eyes gave me the once over before taking another go round in disapproval. With their noses practically touching the ceiling, they were clearly stumped as to why Jacob chose me. The men's gaze lingered hungrily before they realized I wasn't oblivious. They quickly turned away like they expected Jacob's wrath to rain down like hellfire. Even the nice old security guard looked at me with new eyes. It was clear I had my work cut out for me. A dash of favoritism got me through the door and I needed to prove I could do this job.
I stepped into the elevator, gravitating toward the back and keeping my eyes front and center. People petered out at each floor until it was only me rocketing up to the executive floor.
It was quiet in the lobby except for the hum of classical music and the click of my heels on the glittering floor. I frowned when I saw that Natasha, Jacob's secretary, was nowhere to be found. I was hoping for a quick refresher course and I would need her key to access my office space. Maybe it would be open anyway since it was unoccupied.
I let out a small sigh of relief as I twisted the doorknob and pushed into the room. It was as unassuming as I expected. The walls were painted a conservative beige with white crown molding. There was a mahogany corner desk with a Mac Desktop computer perched on top. There was a cube like bookcase on the other wall with small decorative baubles in a handful of nooks.
I trailed my fingertips along the hardened surface of the desk, trying not to think about the other women that sat behind it. I opened my briefcase and pulled out some odds and ends to mark my territory. The others didn’t matter. This was my time; my chance to take on the world.
Even as I put my items in place—a little figurine I got from a tacky souvenir shop outside of Venice (much to Jacob’s chagrin) and a crystal figurine of a sleeping kitten that I got from my father as a child (even though I was deathly allergic to cats)—I couldn’t help but notice how inadequate they looked on the glossy wood desk. The high back chair seemed to engulf me as I leaned back into its leathery embrace.
“What are you doing, Leila?” I asked myself quietly.
I slumped forward with a sigh, putting my head on the desk. I’d put on a brave face for him, for everyone, and I knew that I was more than capable to be his personal assistant and more, but I couldn’t help but think about the train wreck with Rachel. While our current client wouldn’t sabotage my personal and professional livelihood out of unresolved feelings for Jacob, I still had pause. Jacob never really reprimanded me about my quick temper with Rachel, but I knew I had to learn to put aside my insecurities and issues for the client. It was Business 101 and in publicity, where appearances were everything, I had to work on my poker face. I had to prove that I was the tenacious worker I’d presented at the interview and not just quick witted with a bite.
“Ahem.”
I jerked up at the interruption and came face to face with Jacob’s secretary, Natasha. In a white blouse, a pale blue skirt that danced around her knees and equally blue eyes narrowing in distaste, the title ‘Ice Queen’ came to mind.
“Miss Montgomery, I take it?”
I stood up abruptly, clasping my hands awkwardly in front of me. “Yes—I think we met briefly before I went to Italy.”
“What are you doing in here?” she said abruptly, crossing her arms.
I frowned, stepping around the desk. “This is my office.”
“This is the office for the assistant to the CEO.”
“And I am the assistant to the CEO,” I said pointedly.
She propped a hand on her hip. “You want to maintain your position?” The biting rudeness in her voice slowly shifted to curiosity.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I said, looking at her strangely.
“Well, I’ve seen your resume,” she answered simply. “You’re overqualified. You don’t really belong in this office.”
“Well, I think this position is a lot better suited over research aide,” I rebutted, my cheeks flaming angrily. I got that I wasn’t Jacob Whitmore, but her attitude was rubbing me all sorts of wrong. “Is there something I can do for you?”
She gave me a smile so frigid that I literally shivered. “Actually, yes. I have some paperwork for you to sign.”
I followed her back to the main executive lobby, holding my tongue and trying to remember the being respectful and non-confrontational pact I made with myself, but it was hard to swallow Jacob’s secretaries outright disapproval of me. Even as a secretary, she had more social and political capital at Whitmore and Creighton than I did and I needed someone on my side besides the boss if I wanted a pleasant tenure at the company.
I picked at straws, trying to find any common ground that I could stick a white flag on. Her head was bowed as she picked through documents on her desk, a flash of green glittering in her ears.
“Your earrings are so pretty,” I offered with a shaky smile. “Are you a Gemini?”
She didn’t even acknowledge my attempt at a compliment, instead, holding out a manila folder. “If you could just sign on the dotted line, I can process it and you can go to the job you worked so tirelessly for.”
I accepted it with a scowl, not missing the sarcastic tint to her words. I expected paperwork for insurance and benefits, but neither was to be found in the folder. The documents in my hand detailed the forfeiture of my position as Jacob’s personal assistant and a new position as a staff publicist.
My hands, lips, and voice trembled as I read over the bold font over and over again. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“This transfer was approved by Mr. Whitmore, Miss Montgomery. Surely this isn’t news.”
My eyes flashed as I brought them from the paper to her face. “And I’m telling you there’s been a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Was there an echo in here? “Yes! I didn’t agree on or ask for any new position.”
“Ah,” she said with a slight, crisp nod. “Just the original promotion from research assistant to personal aide to the CEO, then.”
I snapped the folder shut and held it back out to her. “I won’t be needing this.”
“I’d suggest holding on to it,” she said with a patronizing smirk. “I think we both know that whatever Jacob wants, Jacob gets.”
>
The first thought that ran through my head was to rip it up and make it rain all over her smug head, but I just gripped the folder tight and turned on my heels, marching back to my office. I was strapped to a roller coaster of emotions; careening over fury, dipping into shame, and upside down and disappointed.
I told him how important it was that I work my way toward any other positions. I told him I would never respect myself otherwise—and Natasha’s treatment of me was proof positive that my colleagues wouldn’t respect me either.
From the contract that changed my life to the paparazzi snapping pictures left and right, I had very little control. But I could put my foot down here. I could control this.
He answered the phone after one ring, his husky voice almost making me forget that I was furious with him. “Miss me already?”
"Jacob, we need to talk."
"I agree," he said without missing a beat. "You snuck out this morning without a word after I thought we'd reached an understanding."
"I told you I was going to the office today.”
"And I said I wanted another day with you." His voice took on a hungry note that made me tingle. "We still have surfaces to christen."
I fell as silent as if he'd just ordered me so, practically salivating at the thought of us laid out on his dining room table.
"I still haven’t shown you the powder rooms or the Persians with your backside written all over them...”
I found my voice, but it was a tiny, hesitant thing. "No, Jacob."
"Stubborn today I see." A chuckle rippled through the speaker and echoed over my body. "I have the perfect cure for that."
"No." I reined in the part of me that ached for him. The part that could just fade into him if he only asked. "I didn't call to have phone sex or be coerced back to your high rise penthouse of BDSM." When he snickered I added, "Or to not be taken seriously."
"Then why did you call, Miss Montgomery?"
I ignored the way he teasingly said my name and focused on the manila folder in my hand. "Why is your secretary handing me transfer paperwork to sign?"
