The Billionaire’s Lust (His Submissive #7)(13)
Author: Ava Claire

I gave her a shaky laugh and lessened my death grip on Megan. “Aubri Rose. She’s a local designer.”

“Could you pose for us, Leila?” Another photographer asked.

I took a step backward and put my hand on my hip, mimicking the quiet smiles I’d seen on countless magazine pages when celebrities were snapped. I tried various poses as other photographers took notice and said my name, still in a daze that these publications wanted pictures of me. They weren’t tabloid magazines. EW was here, Getty…

“She looks amazing, right?”

I recognized the gruff playfulness and I turned and saw Cade, his muscular physique tucked into a perfectly tailored two piece suit.

I smiled and gave him a brief hug, forgetting all the drama that almost kept me from attending tonight. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

“We’ll see if I make the ‘Best Dressed’ list.” His olive eyes twinkled. “You look great.”

“Ahem,” Megan said beside me.

Cade turned to her, extending his hand. “And who’s this?”

I began the introductions. “This is my friend Megan Scott. Megan, C–”

“Oh I know exactly who he is.” She shook his hand, her voice dripping with disdain.

Cade released her with a nervous chuckle. “I, uh…it’s nice to meet you, Megan.”

She pulled her hand away, raising her chin. “Pleasure.”

I jabbed her with my elbow and when she broke off her staring contest with Cade, I mouthed Behave.

The reporters were saying his name in unison, so I took the opportunity to steer her away before they captured the animosity funneling off her in waves. “We’ll see you inside, okay?”

His smile broadened. “I’ll find you.”

“I bet you–”

I cut Megan off by yanking her toward the theater. “Me and Cade are on the same page, remember? Just friends.”

“And if he comes over, I’ll be right there,” she said, stepping up to the attendant at the door. “Making sure he remembers.”

****

The doors of the elevator stopped and I stepped out, still high from the events of the night. Cade’s movie, Soldier’s Creed, was more amazing than I expected and I’d shed a tear or two. I’d swept them away before Megan spotted them, having to be a force to be reckoned with since I was the only thing keeping her from giving Cade a real piece of her mind.

Her head almost exploded when he followed through with his promise, taking his name card from the front with the rest of the cast and plunking down in a chair beside us for the screening. They’d traded barbs all evening like an old married couple. When I’d shared that metaphor with Megan, expecting a laugh, she just rolled her eyes, saying that you couldn’t pay her money to date another jock type.

I opened my mouth to tell Jacob about my evening but forgot how to speak because of the way he was leaning against the counter. He was perched at the edge, cool and relaxed. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to the elbows, khaki colored slacks drawing my eyes to the snug fit around his groin. I swore I could make out every swollen inch of him—from the mushroom contour of the head of his c**k to the staff curving around his thigh and…

I gulped, heat rippling from my cheeks all the way to my core. Suddenly, the last thing on my mind was the premiere.

Ice clinked as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. When he lowered it, his gaze flickered over my body. “How was the premiere?”

“G-great,” I stammered, feeling a fluttering between my thighs.

He arched an eyebrow, scanning my face before smiling slightly. Knowing the effect he had on me all too well. “You want to talk about it?”

My body screamed hell no, but I eked out a throaty, less desperate, “No.”

He held me captive with his hooded, cerulean gaze. “What do you want, Leila?”

I swallowed hard. “I want to submit to you.” On the balcony, right here, anywhere.

I stood there, heart in my throat, need flashing in my belly, wetness blossoming in the sliver of lingerie I wore. I’d frowned at the thought of a g-string but in the form fitting dress it was that or nothing at all. No way was I risking some photographer snapping a shot that would become the official Leila Montgomery image in a google search. Not that any of that mattered considering I may as well have been na**d from his cool, piercing gaze.

Even though several painful feet separated us and I was frozen in place, I felt like he could see exactly what he was doing to me. Hear it in the tiny breaths I released. Smell the aroma of lust that was seeping from me. I was a hop, skip and a jump from falling to my knees. Willing to do anything to have him.

And that was just the way he wanted it.

He stroked his chin as he moved closer, circling me like a hawk hunting its prey. “You don’t want to talk about how beautiful you looked tonight? How every pair of eyes in the place made love to you in that dress?” He reached out and stroked the nape of my neck then swept over my collarbone, his touch making me tingle all over.

My lips trembled. “None of them matter.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” I murmured softly as my heart stomped around in my chest. “What you want, what you need is the only thing that matters to me. You’re the only one that matters.” I found my zipper and pulled it down, relishing the feel of the fabric retreating and the way he followed every movement. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were heating with approval or with the delight at punishing me for undressing without his permission. That unanswered question thrilled me and I knew that I was hoping he disproved, hoping that he’d do something erotic and delicious that danced on the thin line between pain and pleasure.

The dress was a silver, glittering puddle at my feet and I stood with my br**sts round, ni**les swollen and pulsing. The only thing that stood between me and total nakedness my underwear. Whatever coy game he’d been playing was over when he put his glass down on the counter and his deep, stern tone put equal measures of fear and excitement in me.

“Did I tell you to undress?”

My voice shook, but my hands were sure and knew exactly what they were doing. What they were provoking. “No sir.” I had a thumb hooked under each string. I started pulling them downward, peering up at him from behind my thick eyelashes.

He stepped closer, his body tense. “You’re asking for it.”

No, Jacob. I’m begging for it. He watched me pull them down, drinking up the tease of the dark landing strip that marked the way to my heat before he reached out, gripping my wrists.