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

by Claire, Ava

  "It's just a formality really," he said smoothly. "I've already talked with Mrs. Joy and she's prepared an office for you whenever you're ready."

  I held the phone away from my ear for a moment. Was this the Twilight Zone? "Maybe you're still jet-lagged, but we've already had this discussion. I don't want you to pull any strings and promote me, Jacob."

  I heard him shuffling around, probably pacing back and forth in front of one of his floor to ceiling windows. Throwing daggers toward the Whitmore and Creighton building. "I thought you'd be pleased."

  "I never find it pleasing to be completely ignored."

  "Completely ignored?" His tone hardened to a razor's edge. "I hardly think giving you your dream job qualifies as completely ignoring you."

  "I don't need you to give me anything!" I said indignantly. "It's bad enough that I got the fast track on day one, but how can I face them or myself if I know that I only got this because I'm your girlfriend?"

  "You need to take a breath and calm down-"

  "Do not patronize me," I growled into the receiver. "Don't you dare."

  The pause did give me time to draw a ragged breath and exhale but it did no good. With everyone in the world looking at me, judging me and thinking the worst, how could he do something that just validated their suspicions?

  "I'm not signing any papers,” I started acidly, “Unless it's my resignation."

  "Is that right?" His voice was tight with anger of his own. "You'll quit because I dared to defy you? Because I stepped in and did what was best for you?"

  "No, I'll quit because you don't respect me," I spat. "Because in this building, in my career, I am not your submissive." I shook my head with disgust. Why was I even bothering? "You have a lot of nerve, Jacob Whitmore."

  The controlled tone in his voice was fading as his volume increased. "Goddamn it, Leila why are you fighting me on this? You know you'd be great at it. You'd rather trail around with me writing memos and getting coffee instead of living your dream? Toil in the trenches just so you can say you've earned your stripes?"

  "Damn skippy!"

  He let out a groan of frustration that tore into my ear. I held the phone a few inches away, but I didn't give in. I'd give him anything, but not this.

  "I'm coming to the office," he said finally. "We'll finish this discussion face to face."

  "If you think you'll wear me down you're in for a rude awakening,” I said stubbornly.

  "We'll see, Miss Montgomery," he said with finality. "We'll see."

  ****

  The office door swung open, a thunderclap echoing through the room as it collided with the wall.

  Jacob was dressed to kill, but his annoyance peeked out from behind his signature cool.

  I marched to the desk where the manila folder glared up at me. I planned to toss it in his face, but two muscled, Armani clad arms circled me.

  Jacob pulled the folder from my hand and threw it aside. "We don't need that."

  "But-" Betraying tingles sparked between my legs. "I need to talk to you about-" I sighed in defeat as his fingers found the buttons of my blouse.

  "Later." His hand slid inside the silk fabric and across my abdomen, pulling me back against his chest. I felt the curve of his erection pressing into me. "You see what you do to me?"

  "Jacob-" It wasn't an admonishment, but a whispered plea. He knew very well that I couldn't think, couldn't breathe when he was so close. Not when there were only a few slips of clothing that separated me from him.

  He forced me forward, bending me over the desk. I felt his raging desire and when I tried to use a hand to hike up my skirt, he clucked his tongue with disapproval. "No, Leila. Not yet."

  "Not yet?" I said in a tiny voice, frustrated that I was whining and so willingly forgot how pissed I was with him. Frustrated that I wanted him to take me so bad that it hurt.

  "Not yet," he said again, his deep voice hypnotic. "Though to be honest, I want nothing more than to plow inside you right now." His hand gripped my hips, sending a pang of pain, of pleasure, to join the chorus of other emotions he evoked. "But you'd enjoy that. And right now, for that little display earlier, you deserve punishment."

  It was beautifully terrifying how that word could make me hot. "How will you punish me, Sir?"

  The deep groan he let out made me smile. He loved it when I was headstrong, and doubly so when I submitted. The hand on my hip rounded the curve of my bottom. My answer was a resounding smack and the firework of discomfort that accompanied it.

  He leaned forward, his muscular body pressing mine into the desk. "Why am I spanking you?"

  I drew a shaky breath, a second, a third when I felt him thumping against me. "Because I've been bad."

  "And what happens to bad girls?"

  My eyes rolled back in my head as he began rocking his hips forward, teasing me. "They're punished."

  "That’s right." He stood upright, taking all the air from my lungs with him. I was hollow without him, missing the feel of him so much it made me shake. Relax, Lay. Soon you'll feel his hand again and you’ll regret it.

  "I want you to count, understood?"

  I licked my lips and braced myself. "Yes sir."

  His hand whistled as it sliced toward my bottom. I gasped when it collided, swallowing before I said, "One."

  Just as tears brimmed my eyes and I’d counted out the twentieth, he brought his hand to my back, caressing it. "You can stand."

  It was easier said than done because my whole body was like a blob of gelatin. I tried to stand upright, but my knees buckled. Jacob had me in his arms before I could even bat an eye.

  He kissed my forehead and I nuzzled him, locking my arms around his neck. “Jacob.”

  His blue eyes were bright with concern. "You should have used your color, Leila."

  I shook my head. "I didn't want to stop." I peered up at him, on fire with need. "And I still don't."

  Jacob was all hands and desire as I straddled him and sank onto him. He let out a sigh as he fell backward into the chair, locking his arms around my waist. I knew I was seeping into him; swallowing him in my depths and going to a place where there was nothing but our two bodies.

  He took my mouth with a fevered urgency, like he was a dying man and my mouth his only salvation. I met his tongue, dancing and swirling in time as everything faded except for his body and my body and the maddening pulsing inside me. We found the beat as I rocked my hips and pulled him in before slowly drawing him back out, watching the ticks and pleasure ripple across his face.

  His fingers ran down my spine, pausing on the round curve of my buttocks while he whispered that he loved every inch of me, how I made him come alive. It was an exhilarating contradiction; him gripping my waist, digging his fingertips into my heated flesh and the sweet nothings that tugged at my heartstrings, The competing lash of controlled dominance and the powerlessness at the overwhelming love that I felt for him.

  I felt the tension, turning the air electric around us. Even with him deep inside the velvet contours of me, I pulled him deeper, closer, my nail clawing at his back. I got lost in him, mixing and swirling and morphing and changing as we climbed to the peak together.

  His fingers threaded in my curls as he rained kisses up and down my neck. “Now, what did you want to talk about again?”

  I went rigid. How could a guy who’d just been so full of passion flip a switch and become so cold and dismissive?

  Without another word, I stepped around him and snatched my skirt from the crumpled pile, turning my back to him as tears of shame burned in my eyes.

  "Leila-"

  "‘Now what did I want to talk about again?’" I snapped, zipping my skirt in one vicious stroke. "Could you be any more patronizing?"

  I was mad at him, mad as hell even, but I was just as mad at myself. How could he take me seriously if I just melted every time he came within five feet of me?

  I couldn’t even look at him. I couldn’t even look at myself.

  He put one hand o
n my shoulder, silently trying to get me to face him. When I didn’t turn voluntarily, both hands pivoted me 180 degrees. Still, I kept my eyes on the floor.

  "Look at me, Leila."

  When I made no moves to obey, he caught my chin and tilted it upward. I rolled my eyes but when they were done with their rotation, I finally settled on his piercing gaze.

  "I don't mean to be patronizing," he said, releasing me with a sigh. "Or to disrespect your wishes. Hell, I thought I was granting your wish."

  "But I told you no more favors." I caught the accusatory edge in my voice along with the tightening of his jaw. The wary expression he wore said the obvious—I could give an inch. Jacob was trying to say he was sorry, even if he was acting like saying the actual words were akin to waterboarding. "Last night I thought I was being clear. I said I didn't want you to promote me because we were dating. When I get a promotion, I want to have worked for it."

  "And you have worked for it," he said, folding a curl behind my ear. “You did a great job with Rachel.”

  I gave him the most incredulous look I could muster. "I bumped heads with Rachel at every turn. I could barely be in the same room as her, let alone work with her best interests at heart."

  "I don't know if that's the best example of your abilities-"

  "It's the only example of my abilities," I interrupted gently. "And even though I hate to admit it, she showed me I have a ways to go before I can be the professional that Whitmore and Creighton deserves."

  He still had a guarded look on his face, but his voice softened. “You forget how amazing you are Leila—and how amazing you make me feel.”

  I nibbled on my lip coyly. “How do I make you feel?”

  “Crazed,” he answered, without missing a beat. When I scowled, he held up his hands in defense. “Let me finish. I say crazed because you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and you don’t leave my mind all day. Even when I’m doing the most mundane things I find myself thinking about you, wondering what you’re doing, and wondering if you’re thinking about me.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was blushing, but he turned away quickly, obviously shying away from being too sappy. “You’re always on my mind, Leila. Making you happy is always on my mind.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, even with the whole promotion thing. That feeling—the tingles and butterflies that fluttered all over—it never went away. I went back to the desk, propping on the edge and watching him. “You really do love me, huh?”

  He breathed deep and exhaled with a chuckle. “I do. You drive me crazy, but I do love you, Leila.” He tightened his tie, his eyes flashing with mischief. “Which is why I’ll drop the promotion—under one condition.”

  I didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do anything, Jacob. Anything.”

  He leaned forward and brushed his thumb over my hand, sighing softly like he was imprinting the feel of my skin on his heart for safe keeping.

  “Don’t ever change, Leila.”

  ****

  I plunked my tray on a table in the corner and sat down with a weary sigh.

  After sending me on several errands all over town, I had a feeling Jacob was still punishing me for our argument. Before sprinting to 18th to catch a lead before they left the country, Jacob gave me the once over, noting my heavy breathing and the sweat that glued my blouse to my chest and asked if I had everything under control. My answer? "What's next?"

  I was finally taking my lunch at 3pm and only after Jacob said he'd physically carry me down to the cafe and tie me to a chair. I’d never admit it to him, but it was nice to kick my feet up and inhale some food instead of oxygen to keep from keeling over.

  I took a swig of apple juice to wash down the panini and glanced around the room. I saw the reason everyone called it a 'cafe' instead of a 'cafeteria' wasn't out of smug elitism, but because it was the gospel truth.

  The expansive room had muted walls with framed art and boutique vases. The tables were lined with crisp white linens and fresh flowers. I'd drawn more than one look when I'd walked toward the back area, expecting a buffet style setup and asking about trays. Apparently we placed our orders at our table unless we wanted to grab something to go. The menu was a glossy mix of American and ethnic dishes but I decided to save pad thai for another day.

  I settled back in the plush armchair and took in the view from the window. The city looked so beautiful, so full of promise. I scooped a forkful of veggies in my mouth, crunching them slowly. Things were finally looking-

  "Are you Leila?"

  I tilted my head toward the deep, sultry and very male voice. My eyes went over a bulging chest, barely contained by a powder blue polo, up until I hit a handsome face I'd seen plastered on glossy movie posters. When he smiled, lines creased around his mouth and eyes as he extended a hand.

  "I'm Cade Wallace," he said, dwarfing my hand in his. "Jacob Whitmore’s secretary told me I could find you down here."

  My mouth started working but no words came out. The main reason I hadn't been completely star struck when I met Rachel was because romances and chick flicks were rarely my thing. I preferred to watch things go boom and laugh at ‘roided up men delivering over the top one liners before the bad guys ate a bullet.

  I'd pretty much seen everything Cade had been in since he became the ‘It’ guy five years ago, drawing comparisons to Bruce Willis with Cruise-like good looks.

  He definitely had the All-American thing going on with blond hair, green eyes, and a body both men and women salivated over. But he was more than eye candy; there was a realness about him that made me seek out his movies with a special brand of voraciousness, even his attempts at more serious, 'actors' movies that took him from a household name to a household joke.

  I sat there, shell shocked and still shaking his hand as he gave me a strange look and repeated himself.

  “I’m guessing your Leila Montgomery? I’m Cade-”

  "Oh I know who you are, Mr. Wallace,” I said, finally speaking and knowing that word-vomit was about to be in full effect. “I loved you in Medal of Honor and I literally cried in Blood and Chrome. And your storyline in The Last Resort was epic. Oh and Rites of Passage-" I burned red when I realized I was totally fangirling. In front of Cade freaking Wallace. "I'm so sorry." I bit my lip, still not believing he was standing in front of me. “I think you’re amazing.”

  "Cade is just fine," he said with another smile that lit up his whole face. "And I always love meeting fans of my work, so apologies aren’t necessary."

  I cleared my throat, realizing he probably didn’t come over to sign an autograph. "Uh, have a seat. And you can call me Leila."

  "Thank you, ma'am." Usually the whole ‘ma'am’ thing would completely turn me off, but there was just something about a megastar that hadn't forgotten his down home roots and manners that I found endearing.

  "I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch-"

  "Oh it's fine," I tossed a napkin over my barely eaten sandwich. "I just wasn't expecting to see you until Monday morning."

  "Yeah, uh, that's what my assistant had written on the calendar." An awkward silence stretched out between us for a minute until he shuffled in his seat uncomfortably and got on with it. "You know I've been out of town, working on a new movie."

  I nodded. "Soldier's Creed." I'd only skimmed the script and flipped through publicity shots on the plane ride back to the States, but even then I knew this would reinstate him back on the action throne. "I know all of us here can't wait for the premiere. The story sounds amazing."

  "It is amazing," he said, arms flexing as he crossed them against his chest. "It's based on a true story. We flew the guy out on location, got to hear it straight. He was a real fucking hero." His face scrunched as he apologized for the profanity. "Beg your pardon. It was just surreal to see what was written on the paper in the flesh."

  "You don't have to apologize." I felt like I needed to. 'Based on a true story' had become a cliché and I'd assumed they'd taken a grain of trut
h and turned it into a virtual bread factory of explosions and riveting soundtrack that had very little to do with truth.

  "He's a true American hero," Cade continued, looking out the window like something transfixed. "Not a wannabe like me."

  “A wannabe?” I repeated.

  “National Guard,” he answered quietly. His whole demeanor changed, the sunny, charismatic force somewhat dimmed. He was somber and almost eerily silent compared to the guy who first sat down at my table.

  I scooted to the edge of my seat, curious. "I had no idea you were military."

  "Yeah," he said gruffly, not meeting my eyes. “I didn’t do anything worth remembering.”

  “Don’t say that.” I reached out, putting my hand over his. There was something about the way his body language changed that made me forget he was Cade Wallace. “Anyone serving our country and fighting for our freedom is worth remembering.”

  “Is that right?” he said halfheartedly.

  “Yep,” I said firmly, deciding to try a different route. “Most actors can only say they’ve played characters, researching experiences to tell an authentic story. You’ve actually done it.”

  He glanced up and he took me in nice and slow like he saw me in a whole new light. Or maybe even for the first time.

  I pulled my hand away and let out a nervous chuckle, wondering what Cade’s story was and why in an age where every booger celebrities picked was readily available there was nothing at all listed as far as a military record.

  "Anyway,” he began, cutting through my musings, “I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd come and meet the team that's helping ensure it gets the box office reception it deserves."

  I wrung my hands in my lap, refreshing the blush in my cheeks. "I'm just a small part of the team, Mr. Wallace."

  "My mother was a nurse. She spent her life doing the grunt work while doctors got all the glory." He winked as he rose to his feet. "Trust me—I know what a big role the small parts play."

  I sat a little taller, wishing Natasha or any of the handful of women that had been looking at me like I wasn’t fit to scrub the toilets were around to hear that. "Well, alright then."