by Ava Claire
The Billionaire’s Secret (His Submissive, Part Six)
Ava Claire
Copyright 2013 Ava Claire
The His Submissive Series
The Billionaire’s Contract (Part One)
The Billionaire’s Touch (Part Two)
The Billionaire’s Passion (Part Three)
The Billionaire’s Heart (Part Four)
The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (Part Five)
The Billionaire’s Secret (Part Six)
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****
Escape.
It was the thing I’d wanted since I realized that my friendly cup of coffee with Whitmore and Creighton’s new client, action star Cade Wallace, had been a horrible mistake.
I’d come to my senses too late, just in time for a photographer to snap enough pictures to tell a story. A story where I wasn’t Cinderella at all--unless Cindy liked to spread ‘em for any Prince that came knocking.
I thought I had time for damage control; to surprise Jacob with a nice dinner and after his belly was filled with steak and he had a glass of wine or two, explain myself. I thought I had time to ease him into the truth before he saw any photos of me staring into the eyes of a man I swore meant nothing. But Jacob was home and without saying a word, I knew something was terribly wrong.
I held my breath, hoping the savory aroma would sink in and he’d lose the scowl on his lips. Instead, it deepened.
“I picked up some Sullivans for dinner.” My stomach churned madly as I tried to explain. “I remember you saying how you loved their prime rib so...”
My voice trailed off as he ignored me completely, instead, peeling off the remnants of his work day. He put his briefcase down with a click near the door. His coat was next, easing one arm out, then the other. He loosened his tie with an abrupt yank.
His movements were mechanical and precise and when he finally gave me his full attention, his face was tight and void of any signs of emotion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that his silence was par for the course. Classic Jacob. But he didn’t mask his emotions around me anymore. Not unless I was in big trouble.
I tried to convince myself that he couldn’t know. There was no way the story, the pictures, could be live that quick...right?
He finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Sullivans, huh?”
I bit my lip and nodded, surprised I didn’t draw blood. “I hope that’s alright.”
He opened his mouth and anger rippled across his face, but he hid it away almost instantly. He walked past and whatever was on his tongue was left unsaid. The tension screeched in the silence, so thick that I needed an ax to hack through it.
I drew a shaky, barely steadying breath and followed him into the dining room, wanting to get the truth out before I lost my nerve. Jacob was already seated, pouring himself a glass of wine. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence, eyeing the ruby red liquid before raising the rim to his lips. The coward in me wanted to say the words from where I stood, away from his steely gaze and in a somewhat close proximity to the exit. But running was the thing that had me sneaking out of the office to meet Cade, avoiding Jacob to minimize drama. I needed to look him dead on and explain myself. I owed him that much.
“I need to talk to you.” I yanked out the chair beside him and sat down, feeling like I was about to walk the plank.
I hesitantly brought my eyes to him, seeing only the razor sharp jut of his jaw until his gaze shifted to me. I was sure there would be something in those pools of blue, but he was still playing his cards close to the chest.
Of course he is, I thought, dread pulling my heart to the pit of my stomach. Cold as ice is Jacob Whitmore’s default mode when he’s pissed.
“After the meeting with Ca—” Really?! Now’s a good time to take his insistence on first name basis to heart? “Mr. Wallace,” I corrected quickly. “I, um, we…”
I swallowed the stumbled confession that rose in my throat. I just needed to get it out.
“Cade and I had coffee and when I was leaving, I ran into a photographer.” I practically sighed with relief when it was out--until I saw the icy daggers shooting from Jacob’s eyes.
“And you want me to pay the photographer off?”
I pulled back, surprised and slightly offended by his callous remark. “Uh, no, I just--”
“Well then what’s done is done.”
I gawked at him, watching him scissor through the prime rib, mouth opening and closing, Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘What’s done is done’? Why was he holding back? This was clearly affecting him more than he let on. Maybe he wanted me to beg. To prove that I knew it was wrong.
“I’m sorry, Jacob.”
It was a whispered plea, every ounce of me pouring into the words, wanting him to look at me and see that I meant it.
He didn’t.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said with a half-shrug.
His dismissal hurt. It was as palpable and real as a blow to the gut. But my hurt feelings were irrelevant. I needed to make him understand. “It was just a cup of coffee.”
“Then why are you apologizing?” He snapped his napkin like a whip before dabbing the corner of his mouth. “It’s done. You had coffee, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear--”
“He did not whisper anything,” I said indignantly, heat burning my cheeks. I knew I had no right to be insulted or blush like he’d just called my honor into question when I did a fine job of that myself by meeting Cade in the first place. “It didn’t mean anything.”
He let out a snicker that was deep and condescending. “You were millimeters from kissing him in one of them, Leila. That means everything.”
And just like that, the world stood still.
He’d seen the pictures.
I was caught, a fish wriggling in the tangles of a net. Not knowing when to let go. Not knowing when to shut up. “Jacob, I’m just trying to explain that--”
“I don’t want to talk about Cade Wallace!” he thundered, slamming both fists on the table.
Everything in the room that wasn’t nailed down shook, along with my resolve to lay it all on the line. Clearly, talking was just making this worse.
I wish my mouth got the memo.
“But I’m--”
“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I swear to God.”
He finished his wine with an angry swig before slamming the glass down on the table. It was divine intervention that it didn’t explode. Not that it mattered. Jacob was clearly picking up the slack in the exploding department.
“I just want to eat dinner,” he said heatedly. “You want to help? You want to make things better?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my throat on fire.
“Then just sit there and shut your mouth,” he snarled, his handsome face colored with rage. “I don’t want your excuses. I am sick of your goddamn excuses!”
My first instinct was to snap back at him, but I reined it in, taking my lumps. The only sound came from utensils scraping and my heart hammering in my chest. In the quiet, with the whisper of his anger hanging in the air, I realized that I wanted more than coming clean. This dinner, my co
nfession, was orchestrated so I could alleviate my guilty conscience.
He had every right to be furious. It wasn’t fair to make him my priest and confess to make the sick regret go away. My actions had only shifted the weight from my shoulders to his heart. And after he let me in, after he told me what I meant to him, I deserved to carry it all.
I pulled my plate toward me and forced my trembling fingers to grip the fork and knife. Even lukewarm the steak was delicious but the more I ate, the more nauseous I felt.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sit here and eat in silence, face to face with this problem I couldn’t solve. I couldn’t stand the stories my mind weaved with every passing minute, every ending more sad and hurtful than the last. I couldn’t bear having hurt him and not being able to do anything about it.
I put my napkin beside my plate and slid my chair back from the table.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped, cutting his eyes at me.
“I don’t know yet,” I said hoarsely. “I need some air, some--” My voice caught and my nostrils flared as tears pooled in my eyes. “I hurt you.”
He looked away before the ‘you’ even fell from my lips, clearly trying to illustrate how false the statement was. How he was indifferent, despite evidence to the contrary.
He was trying to hurt me now, and I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t working. My lungs felt like they were clenched as tightly as the fists at my side. Every part of me felt heavy as I turned toward the door, just trying to keep it together until I got in the elevator.
“Don’t go.”
My gaze shot to my elbow. I was tethered by his hand burning through the silk fabric, holding me in place. This time when I looked in his eyes, I didn’t see what he wanted me to see--I saw what he didn’t. I saw vulnerability and a need that made my heart go from gasping for its next breath to a wild, racing thing.
I was putty in his hands as he wheeled me back to face him. He gripped my chin, forcing it up until his intense gaze captured me. He was looking at me, looking through me, trying to find the truth. If I was sorry. If Cade meant nothing.
I felt dizzy and gangly, stripped down to mismatched parts and pieces. Actions spoke louder than words and my actions painted an ugly, contradictory picture. All I knew, all I cared to know, was that I loved Jacob.
He didn’t relent, bringing me closer until I swore he gazed upon my very soul.
I couldn’t hide. I didn’t want to.
Heat gathered between my thighs and I couldn’t help but arch into his embrace. I knew it was unfair to say the words with my mouth, but I had no choice but to say them with my body.
My hands drew up with a mind of their own, stretching up and down the front of his shirt, feeling the answering solid muscle beneath. My lips parted slightly as I replaced my fingertips with my chest. My solid, aching peaks strained against my bra, needing skin to skin. Flesh to flesh.
He let out a lustful groan as he brought both hands to the side of my face. “You don’t know what you’re asking. With everything going on and with you looking at me like that…” His fingertips fanned the warmth in my cheeks as he gripped me tighter. “I don’t know if I can hold back, Leila.”
I turned my head slightly and brought his thumb to my mouth. I slid my lips down the digit, and when I retreated, grazed it with my teeth. “I don’t want you to hold back.” The final word danced on my tongue. “Sir.”
Something in his eyes changed and his lips spread into a hungry grin. My clothes melted away beneath his skillful fingers and I said to hell with protocol and tore open his shirt, buttons flying.
His eyes were a fusion of shock and desire. “You’ll be punished for that.”
I grinned up at him as I went to work on the fly of his trousers. “Good.”
I wasn’t sure who cleared the table, sending dishware shattering to the floor, and I didn’t care. All I knew was the way my body clicked against the contours of his like we were made for each other. Beautiful tendrils of warmth curled and uncurled in my lower abdomen, fanning their fiery fingers outward until the blaze roared louder than training or rules.
I claimed his mouth, knowing he was about to admonish me, remind me, ground me; but I needed to listen to the orders of the ache. I kissed him like our lips would never meet again, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, forcing him to match my fevered rhythm or be left in the dust.
He gripped a fistful of my hair, tugging me closer with a moan. His body tightened beneath me, and he pulled me backward, breaking contact. I let out a groan of desperation, my lips inches away from his. I didn’t want the lull to allow my head take the wheel. I just wanted him. I needed him.
It went from a recommendation to an order as tingles of pain raced across my scalp. His eyes washed over my face, taking in my wild lust with a chuckle.
“There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants, love.” His smile dimmed. “But do not forget your place. I am in charge and I will decide how to use that beautiful body of yours.”
“Then use me,” I whined, my body hungry for more of him and less talking.
I swirled my hips and I could feel how swollen he was. His desire was fighting and raging against me, despite the measured tone of his voice or controlled way his thumb brushed my cheek.
“Let me taste you, Jacob.” Urgency flooded me and I almost said to hell with it and just did the thing we both wanted.
His eyes narrowed over my face, desire turning the cerulean near black. “You won’t be the only one tasting today.”
The table barely creaked as I vaulted my body up and turned until I was trembling, eye-level with his beautiful swell. The first word that came to mind was majestic. It was a strange word to use to describe a cock unless I was from the Regency era, but it just felt right. It was solid as a rock, veins pulsing as his manly musk surrounded me. All I wanted was to worship it. To worship him.
I ran my tongue over my top lip before I took him in my mouth. I hovered at the tip, honey, salty desire seeping from him. His thigh muscles pulled tight as a bow string, sharp hisses echoing over me as he sucked in breaths. Even without words I knew he was enjoying the way I teased his cock.
And then I felt his mouth on me.
He didn’t tease or wait for my body cues. He gripped the globes of my bottom and drew me closer. He didn’t care if it threw me off kilter or prevented me from taking care of him. He rewrote the rules of the position, but I gave no complaints.
He buried his mouth in my secret folds, his tongue on a mission as he went places and sparked sensations that drove me wild. He knew what he wanted and nothing would keep him from it. He was relentless and the maddening pressure built, expanding until there was only the throb. I could come as easily as drawing my next breath, but he hadn’t said so.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice rough. Unfamiliar. “I’m so close.”
He pulled his mouth away but his fingers quickly took its place. He centered on my bundle of nerves, his tongue swirling, propelling me toward the edge. All he needed was to say the word. To release me.
The swirls became slow, methodical licks that made me groan and he sighed against my quivering flesh. “Take me, Leila. All of me.”
He could have asked anything of me and I would have done it. I just didn’t want him to stop.
I leaned forward and reclaimed him with my mouth and he returned to my warmth. I pushed myself, forced myself to take more of him, ignoring the pangs of discomfort at his massive manhood stretching me wider, pushing further. He matched my ante. Tongue swirling wilder. Fingers burrowing deeper.
I felt him tighten before he exploded with a cry of abandon and somewhere in the moans, the curses, he told me to let go.
I melted and I swore I was flying, soaring into the arms of bliss. I didn’t want to come down, to sink back into my bones because in that shimmer, everything else faded to black. It was only our bodies doing the thing that felt so right. So perfect. It was only me and Jacob.
&nbs
p; I climbed off him, playing hopscotch around fragments of porcelain. I turned back to him, feeling playful. Feeling like maybe, just maybe we’d be okay. When he refused to look me in the eyes, the smile dropped from my face.
“I’m gonna take a shower.” He walked past, suddenly in a hurry.
I pushed away the whispered voice in my head that said he was consumed by regret. That he wanted to scrub off the feel of me. The taste.
I decided to prove it wrong, taking a step in his direction. Please prove it wrong. “If you want company--”
“I don’t.” He didn’t even stop his ascent. “Please show yourself out.”
****
Saturday morning came streaming through the musty Super 5 Motel curtains despite my best efforts to keep it at bay. I blinked my heavy eyes, gunk and lack of exhaustion turning something effortless into hard labor. Once I pried them open, I realized that I'd really been better off in the dark.
The room was the very definition of sketchy. Cracked walls were unintentionally two toned where someone half-assedly tried to touch the paint up but ended up making it look worse than before. Every piece of furniture in the room had seen better days. The bedside table beside me had an inch thick layer of dust and the rinky dink lamp perched on it had cobwebs hanging from the yellowed shade like delicate, disgusting earrings. The tiny AC unit sounded like it was on its last leg, circulating sour gusts of air that added to the musty, toxic odor that flooded my nostrils. My first thought was too pull the cover over my head so I wouldn't have to look at my last minute digs, but as soon as I saw the comforter was speckled with god knows what, I changed my mind.
It was more than my accommodations that bothered me. Before Jacob, family trips were spent in motels just like this one, sucking it up and enduring because spending lots of money on a room wasn't an option if we wanted an actual vacation. The thing that made me sick to my stomach was the fact that it was a new day, sun beaming, highway buzzing outside the window and all--and my romantic situation was even more pathetic than when I went to sleep.
