The Billionaire’s Touch (His Submissive #2)(4)
Author: Ava Claire

The sound of Jacob’s smoky, urgent voice floated from the back room and I swallowed hard before standing tall and remembering I was supposed to report to him. As I neared the divider that separated the back of the plane from the front, I caught pieces of his conversation.

“What else have you found out about Leila?”

There was a sliver of an opening and I peered in, watching him.

He paused, raking a hand through his ebony waves. “No boyfriend, no baggage I need to know about?” He paced back and forth. “Yes, I’m aware that she was given the same work up as the others.” He scoffed. “Driven? No, the others were driven. This one is different.”

I took a small step backward, the way he said ‘different’ lighting up every pore of me. This one is different. I let out a long, stuttering sigh. He had to have meant something else. He’d done this before. Could Jacob Whitmore be falling for me?

He glanced at the door and I heard something tighten in his voice. “Leila?”

My lips trembled and for a brief moment, I entertained the idea of ducking away. Maybe even booking it out of here, flagging a cab and going back to the real world where girls like me had to toil in mail rooms and cubicles for years before getting their break. Back to reality where a celebrity businessman wasn’t telling people that I was different with a decidedly romantic undertone. Because as excited as the prospect of being more to him was, none of the others got their happily ever after. They fell off the face of the earth as quickly as they entered it on his arm. I wasn’t willing to forfeit my career for romance. I couldn’t.

Done waiting for my response, Jacob pulled open the slider and gave me a long, hard look. “You can come in.”

I obeyed, stepping into the sleeping chamber and gulping as the divider shut with an ominous thud. The room had all the bells and whistles of something out of Architectural Digest with its sturdy furniture and statement pieces. It seemed impossible that so much luxury could be packed into such a small space.

He turned to a shelf lined with bottles of alcohol and ice and picked up a half full brandy glass. “You followed my instructions?”

My cheeks went hot, but I raised my chin and gave him a nod.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes sir,” I replied with military precision.

He cocked his head, giving me a strange look. “Sir?”

“If this is going to work, we should be as professional as possible.”

His eyes smoldered. “Is that right?”

“Yes sir.” Even I could feel the awkwardness of the word. This wasn’t boot camp. We were in a bedchamber and I was stark na**d underneath my dress for crissakes.

His lips dipped in an unaffected curve. “I suppose that would be for the best. Professionalism.” He put down his glass and cut his eyes at me. “Do you have an issue with me checking for your compliance myself?”

“You’re the boss,” I said, weakness creeping back into my voice. God, just the nearness of him chipped at the wall I’d put into place. He smelled delicious; a dark, spicy aphrodisiac that broke me down, brick by brick.

His hands slowly worked up my body, starting at my hips. His fingertips dug into the fabric and clutched me with a need that made my core clench in anticipation. I leaned into his touch like a cat, yearning to be stroked and cared for.

No. Not cared for. Jesus–I had to stop using that kind of language. Need. Care. Different. Next was the ‘L’ word and that was a recipe for disaster.

He continued his circuit up and over my waist, pausing with his hands at the base of my br**sts. “Is this okay?”

I glanced up into his azure eyes in shock. “Is this okay?”

He let out a hiss of air through his clenched teeth, like it was taking every ounce of control to not blaze right on through. “Yes.”

I managed a, “Yeah. If it’s what you want.”

“What do you want, Leila?” he asked firmly.

“Miss Montgomery.” I corrected. Professionalism. But my husky retort came out as anything but.

“Miss Montgomery,” Sex hung on every syllable. “What do you want?”

I want you to take me. Hard and rough. Right here. Right now.

I still couldn’t say the words aloud, even though my body was chanting it with every breath. “I want you.”

He rounded the curve of my br**sts and my ni**les pebbled against his touch. As soon as I let out a moan, his touch deepened.

“Miss Montgomery.” He let out a haggard breath, his put-together facade fraying at the edges. My ni**les pulsed against his fingers, completely under his spell. “You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?”

I answered him by finding my way to his crotch, running my hand along the defined erection probing at the fly of his slacks. He was solid and throbbing, the blood engorging him matching the roar in my ears. I’d never been so in tune, so matched with another lover. Nerves were barely on the radar. There was no room for anything except the consuming need to feel him inside me.

His mouth crashed into me, tongue thrusting past my lips. We swirled and flicked; we moaned and grunted as our bodies collided.

“Jacob,” I chanted, breaking the kiss only to take the tender skin of his neck between my teeth. “Oh Jacob.”

He brought his hands to the hem of my skirt and hiked his hand under the material, finding the curve of my bare bottom and growling with approval.

“What?” I said playfully, kissing the bob of his Adam’s apple. “Surprised I followed your instructions?” I twisted my fingers in his hair, feeling my heart swell in my chest as my eyes bore into his. “I know I’m headstrong, Jacob. But isn’t that one of the things you like about me?” I traced his jawline with my pointer, the last bit coming out in a throaty whisper. “That I’m ‘different’?”

He went rigid as a plank.

I reared back, looking at him with surprise. “Jacob?”

The sound of his name shook him from his stupor and the eyes that were glassy with lust hardened to obsidian as he separated himself from me.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course.”

He turned away and when my fingertips grazed his back, he lurched forward, like my touch was toxic.

My mouth twisted in hurt and anger. What was up with the mixed signals? One second he wanted me, teased me, and the next he was recoiling like I was diseased?