The Billionaire’s Ultimatum: His Absolute Need(24)
Author: Cerys du Lys

"That’s… a nice outfit…" he said slowly.

"Um, Asher?" I said. His hand, still not moving away. I glanced down at it, then back to him.

"Yes? Oh, uh… uh…" He pulled his hand away, thrust it into his lap. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. Where did you get that? What the hell did Jeremy buy you? I’m so sorry."

"It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault." I lay there, lewd and on display, not sure what to do.

Asher pulled the tossed blanket off the floor and placed it on me, covering my legs and lower body. "Well," he said.

"Well," I agreed.

We made out. Asher dove on top of me, throwing the blankets aside once more. Surprised at first, I shook out of it fast. He practically smothered me, pressed his body against me, his lips seeking mine. His hand grabbed my breast and he groped and squeezed it and his knee settled between my spread legs. He kissed me hard and I reveled in it, kissing him back. His soft, sensuous lips, so smooth and light yet hard and yearning. I didn’t know what came over him, but it was so obvious that right now he wanted me.

I desperately wanted him, too. I pulled him closer, tugged at his shirt. I undid some of the top buttons, wanting to strip him of his clothing, but he pulled my hands away.

"No," he said. "No, let’s…"

He never finished his words, but his lips spoke volumes. He pressed into me, onto me, his whole body covering me like his mouth covered mine. Desperate, gasping, as if there was only a limited amount of me and he wanted to take it before I vanished. His hand squeezed my breast harder while his other hand swept lower. Down my side, to my stomach, lifting up the skirt of my babydoll to the thin fabric barely concealing my crotch. He pulled at the strings and my thong dug into my sensitive skin.

I squirmed, caught up in the pleasure of it. Of him, his kiss, his touch. All my feelings manifested into one ecstatic lump that settled into the center of my being and radiated warmth. I wanted him to take me like he’d taken me before, with reckless abandon and unadulterated passion. I wanted him to forget Beatrice and remember me, and…

Asher stopped. He got off of me, rose to his feet, and paced on the carpet around the couch, fretting. I lay there, legs splayed wide and on perverse display, my babydoll bunched up with one of my br**sts slipping out of the top. My visible nipple was hard as a rock and poking straight up and at Asher.

"Get off the couch," he said, as quick as that. "On your knees."

"What?" I asked.

He repeated himself. "Off the couch. On your knees. Put your hands behind your head."

Odd, that, but I scrambled to do it. I lunged off the couch and landed by his feet. Kneeling, sitting on my heels, I put my hands behind my head and looked up at him.

He grabbed my chin between his fingers and inspected me, turning my head side to side, this way and that.

"How do you feel right now?" he asked me.

I scrunched up my brow. "What do you want me to say?" I asked.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me how you feel."

"Asher, I’m really horny," I said. Shy, confused, I added, "I don’t mean to be and I’m sorry if…"

He smiled. "Shh. No, that’s good."

I wanted to say more, was just about to, but his hand reached down and grabbed my breast. He squeezed it in his hand and I moaned aloud, excited. His fingers grabbed the curves of my breast, then inwards to my nipple. Pressing my nipple between his index finger and thumb, he tweaked it lightly, then twisted it around. Not hard at first, just a little, then harder, harder, until I rocked forward, almost rose from my knees, and…

"Stay on your knees," he said, his tone calm.

"I…" I gasped.

"Shh," he said. "Jessika, stay on your knees. Don’t get up."

I buckled down and remained kneeling. He twisted my nipple harder now, but slowly, gently. So sensitive and soft, just a little nub of flesh. Pleasant at first touch, but ever-so-slowly becoming streaked with pain. I couldn’t think, had no idea what he was doing, but I stayed kneeling because I didn’t want him to stop.

Or, it wasn’t that I didn’t want him to stop, per se, but I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I didn’t want him to regret this, to regret kissing me, touching me. I saw him before, saw the look in his eyes, heard the disappointment in his voice. When we slept together, somewhat on accident after he took pictures of me, he seemed distraught. Unsure what to do, not sure why he’d done it, and I didn’t want him to feel that way again.

So, if this was what I needed to do, if this was how I could keep Asher from feeling guilty, I would do it. His fingers squeezed slightly, twisting my nipple further, but I remained steadfast on the floor. My knees quivered and I imagined something else entirely. Asher’s mouth around my breast, tongue caressing my nipple, soft, luxurious.

Everything stopped and I realized his hand wasn’t on my breast anymore. I looked up at him, smiling. He smiled back.

"Very good," he said.

"Thanks, but…" A thought came to me. "Is this some kind of bondage thing, Asher? I really don’t understand that stuff, to be honest."

"I don’t think it is," he said. "I don’t know. Do you want me to tie you up?"

"I don’t know. Do you want to tie me up?" I asked, coy.

We had no rope. He used his belt. "Put your hands behind your back," he said. "Tight together."

I did as he asked.

"Stand."

I stood.

He circled his belt around my body, trapping my arms behind my back. Tightening the belt until I couldn’t move my arms, he twisted it around so that the buckle was behind me, then he latched the belt buckle and admired his work.

"Can you move your arms?" he asked.

I tried to move them, to wriggle them free. I thought I could if I had enough time, but as it was I was rather firmly stuck. "Not really. Not much," I said. "Now what?"

"I don’t know," he said.

I paused, regretting what I needed to say. "Asher… we probably shouldn’t do this. Beatrice, and…"

"We had an argument," he said. "I… I know that’s not a good reason for anything, but she’s so difficult. You were there tonight. She listens to me, but… she doesn’t. There is never a compromise with Beatrice. It’s always a battle and she never gives in. I… I just want…"

"What do you want?" I asked. "What do you feel?"

He grinned. "A turnabout, hm? I don’t think I can say. You won’t like it."

"Try me," I said, defiant. I lifted my chin and stared at him.

…

Asher knew Jessika would regret this. He thought he might regret it, too. Try me, she’d said, and, oh, he couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t that he was controlling, or dominant. Or, he was, he supposed. People said he had a certain air about him, a kind of possessive, obsessive quality. He owned himself and knew how to put that forward to others, but sometimes he felt helpless, too. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t do anything and it was all a farce. Silly, really, since he was rich and powerful, except that wasn’t everything. In fact, if he had to meter it out, he’d say power and riches were only a small part of who he was as a person; the smallest part.

Asher was a dreamer. He was a thinker and a doer and a wanter. Not needlessly, though. He wanted to share with others, and in turn share in their feelings. He liked when people were happy. Beatrice called those people his pet projects, but he didn’t think that was it. Jeremy was one such "pet project," but Jeremy was eternally grateful, too. He liked Jeremy and he never thought lesser of him, even if he’d first met the man working in a dead end job as a busboy.

He never wanted to control Jeremy. In fact, if Jeremy wanted, he could leave at any moment and Asher would never begrudge him that. He’d give his friend enough money to settle into a nice life of his own, and ask him over for dinner every so often.

Jeremy never left, though. He appreciated everything Asher did for him, and in turn Asher understood and appreciated him, too. Even though Asher asked him, sometimes ordered him, to drive him somewhere or pick something up, Jeremy did it willingly. It was Asher’s request, but also Jeremy’s offer.

Jessika was much the same, except so very different, too. He wanted to explore her, discover her, control her. But, then, not control her, too. He wanted her to be willing. She could leave at any moment.

Except, right now, she wasn’t leaving. Sitting on the couch, with Jessika draped over his lap, stomach pressed against his thigh, Jessika wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wanted her to stay, even though he did, but because she wanted to.

…

I wasn’t quite sure what I’d agreed to, or why I was doing this, but a part of it excited me. Asher picked me up like a ragdoll and draped me over his lap as easy as that. Arms still strapped tight behind my back, his belt keeping them stuck in place, he leaned back and admired my ass.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I don’t know," I said. "I’m not sure if I’m sure, but I’m willing to try."

He laughed. "Alright."

"I… I trust you," I said.

Asher remained quiet. Contemplative. He rubbed his hand across my ass, caressing my bare flesh. The g-string that came along with the babydoll didn’t do much to hide my rear assets. It did even less when he plucked at the strings and pulled them down to my knees.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he said. "Like… like a safe word. Alright?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Pick a word. Any word at all. If you say that word, I’ll stop, but if you don’t, then I won’t. So you can flail and scream and say no, no, no all you want, but if you don’t say the word then I won’t stop."

"Isn’t that a bit extreme?" I asked.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But, just in case."

I didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. I had no idea what we were doing. It turned me on so much, though.

"Leather," I said, saying the first word that came to mind. His leather belt wrapped tight around my body and my arms.

"Alright. Ready?" he asked.

Before I answered, he slapped my ass with the palm of his hand. I squeaked, silenced, and my body jolted beneath his rough handling.

It didn’t hurt, but that didn’t stop the surprising abruptness. He lifted his hand and spanked me again, harder this time, louder. I wriggled, squirming in his lap as he spanked me harder and harder.

He stopped for a moment and rubbed my ass, squeezing my butt in his palm. "You have a nice butt," he said. "I just want to…"

He slapped it hard. A resounding smack echoed through the air. I bucked my h*ps up high, relishing in his touch.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, sounding concerned.

I grinned to myself and refused to answer him.

He spanked me. "Does it hurt, Jessika?"

I whimpered, but said nothing.

He slapped my ass again and asked me the same question, but didn’t even wait for an answer before he spanked me once more. It didn’t hurt so much as it tingled, pleasant and rough. I could tell he was being careful, unsure, but trying to be dominant. Controlling me, dominating me, so close and intimate and…

"You’re red," he said. "I’m stopping."

I panicked, yelped. "No, it’s alright. You can keep going."

"Shh," he said. "I can, but I don’t want to."