The Billionaire’s Desire (His Submissive #9)(17)
Author: Ava Claire

His eyes blazed downward, stopping at my feet. "And you in those shoes–"

I let out a hot, nervous giggle at that, remembering the associate telling me they said ‘take me now’ but the crystal accents tacked on a throaty ‘please’. I hadn’t been sure about them…me and heels just didn’t mix.

And then I put them on.

I didn’t really believe in the whole item of clothing or even a pair of shoes having the ability to change your life, but when I stood in front of that mirror, something clicked. The way they made my legs go on forever, the way they hugged and accentuated; these shoes were foreplay. And even though I’d cursed having to wear something so dressy since I couldn’t find my more conservative pair this morning, I knew it was serendipity.

I felt like the most desirable woman alive.

My shirt hung open in the front, goose bumps spreading across my fevered flesh when he pressed his palm against my abdomen.

"You’re so beautiful, Leila," he murmured. "The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

"It’s for you," I whispered softly, trembling slightly when he swept my hair to one side, dark curls spilling over one shoulder. I turned around slowly, facing him full-on. I saw myself reflected in his crystal eyes. My wild, unruly hair, the curves of me, my sun kissed skin. I saw what he’d been seeing all along. What he wanted for the rest of his days.

He pressed a sizzling kiss against my cool flesh, heating it until my temperature rose to meet the warmth in my belly.

"Don’t give me all the credit." he said, still taking me in. "You walked in here like a woman in charge."

Since that was his role, I almost worried this was some segue into reminding me of his place, of my place, but he just stepped forward, gripping my hair and exposing the nape of my neck. He rained kisses up and down the sensitive skin, his other hand dropping to my skirt. That wasn’t nearly as torturous as the shirt. He expertly unhooked the clasp and pulled the zipper down until it slumped at my feet.

Lust heated his gaze as he held out his hand, helping me step out of the circle of fabric. I gripped him, moving to take off the heels, but he stopped me, his voice a whip that snapped my gaze back to his.

"No. I want those to stay on. The heels–and nothing else."

Every part of me tingled, the lure of what was to come making my heart skip a beat. My fingers rattled so nervously that I was surprised I maintained my grip on anything long enough to unhook my bra.

His eyes were locked on my chest and when I saw them flicker, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, I let my eyes drop to his crotch. The perfectly tailored cut of his pants teased under the most unassuming circumstances and now…nothing was left to the imagination. I almost stepped forward, reaching, wanting to free it since it was obviously fighting and pushing against the seams.

He cleared his throat and I stopped short.

"Don’t mistake my desire for something else."

He was reprimanding me. And it was making me very, very wet.

I blinked at him coyly, fluttering my eyelashes as I released my hold on the lacy number, bra fluttering to the floor. My panties followed suit as I shimmied them over my hips, then bent at the waist to pull them off the rest of the way.

His eyes took me in like I was some fantasy come to life before his very eyes. The first time I’d come to this office and he asked me to strip, I froze. Every insecurity in me rendered me unable to comprehend how he could find me attractive. I couldn’t fathom how a guy, beautiful, devastatingly handsome, would want to watch me strip and touch myself.

But standing there, naked, and in freaking stilettos, I felt beautiful. I didn’t ask myself if this was a dream or if I deserved him. He wanted me. Needed me. And I needed him. We belonged together.

He strode back to me, pulling his tie loose. He clutched my chin, tilting my lips up to meet him. Nerve endings fired, moist desire gathered between my thighs and thoughts zipped through my head at the speed of light. I was spinning, dizzy from his lips. His taste. This man could turn a kiss into sex. Skin to skin, tongue probing, pulling me against him until everything else was white noise. The only thing that came through in wild technicolor was this kiss.

When he pulled back, letting me catch my breath, I felt the sides of my mouth tip upward as I watched him. His eyes were still closed and he brought his fingers to his lips, like he could still feel me there. Branded on him.

I pursed my lips when he came forward, closing my eyes and expecting him to kiss me again, but they popped open when I felt his lips on my thigh. I looked down in surprise, seeing the dark waves on the crown of his head.

Jacob was on his knees.

He’s about to…

I leaned back onto the edge of the desk, not even caring that it wasn’t the most comfortable of things to be leaning against. The flutter of pain was nothing compared to the rush of blood roaring in my ears when I felt him press his lips against my intimate flesh.

Soft caresses rippled across me as he lingered up and down each fold. His lips brushed my trembling skin, humming. It was like he was savoring my scent. Savoring my taste.

He ran his hands over my calves, around the knot of my knees, smoothing over my thigh until he gripped the bottom of my behind and pulled me forward. For a second, I felt the disorienting shock of having nothing to steady me. Nothing but air. I was going to fall on my butt and there was nothing sexy about that.

But his hands were underneath my bare cheeks, holding me just the way he wanted. Closer. Flush to his mouth.

His tongue replaced his lips, sliding just inside and sending a shiver up my spine. God his tongue felt delicious on my warm skin. It was an instrument and he used it to make music along the walls inside of me.

Every part of me cried out in unison. I wanted him deeper, wanted to spread myself wider to give him that bundle of hot need that pulsed and was yet untouched. Each stroke of his tongue moved closer but he darted out of reach until I was writhing, practically groaning for him to taste it.

He pulled back, lips against my lower lips and I swear I heard something that sounded like a chuckle. He was making me work for it…but I couldn’t muster anything other than moans when his mouth dove back inside. Even the eye roll was a fail, eyes fluttering madly when he finally took his tongue to the swollen knot and went to work. He circled it, flicked it–but I wasn’t prepared for when he took it between his lips and sucked.

Pulsing squeezes sent a cacophony of sensations over me. Beautiful, intoxicating waves took me out of reality and thrust me into what had to be some mad dream. Jacob Whitmore couldn’t be on his knees, with his face buried in my crotch. Those couldn’t be my legs on his shoulders, shoes sparkling as I crossed my ankles and drew him close. And the growl of approval that rumbled from him and right through me…