Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel

Home > Romance > Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel > Page 16
Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel Page 16

by Linnea May

I get out of my shoes and lazily stroll through our luxurious penthouse. Our home.

  I smile as I see the little note and the dark red roses – two of them – that Evan left on our kitchen table.

  I had completely forgotten about our anniversary, mainly because work has been crazy this week. Of course he wouldn’t forget. He’s more of a romantic than I will ever be. I have come to understand that a long time ago and the beautiful roses are just another proof for that.

  Three years.

  Three wonderful years since the day he literally opened his door for me.

  My eyes rest on the roses in front of me. What a different person I was back then. What a different life I was leading. There are so many things I have Evan to thank for. With him, I not only found the love of my life, but also the kind of life I truly enjoy living.

  Yuka made fun of me the first time I invited her to our place after moving. But she was not blind to my new found happiness. And I know she does enjoy having the place we once shared to herself, which is only possible because she changed a few things in her life as well. Even though she is hesitant about admitting it, she may have found the man she has been looking for. And a job that allows her to live on her own for once.

  She even congratulated me for not listening to her back then and giving Evan a second chance.

  Without him, I never would have ended up where I am right now. I am an editor at a small indie publishing company. It’s not a career to boast about, and I could never afford to live in a place like this on my own. All the luxury in our life is still thanks to Evan’s wealth, but I’ve stopped feeling bad about it.

  I love my job and I work hard for it, harder than I’ve ever worked in my entire life. The kind of books and magazines my publisher is responsible for are the kind that I would want to read myself. We serve a certain niche and are far away from mainstream media in many regards. This is the reason why we will never make huge amounts of money, but it serves the right kind of people, a minority with a particular taste in fashion, music and entertainment.

  This is where I belong.

  I love the people I work with – and I love Evan for enabling this life for me. If it wasn't for him, I am sure I would still be at the exact same place I was three years ago.

  A waitress. There is nothing wrong about that, but I was an unhappy waitress who was unwilling to face the uncomfortable questions he forced me to deal with. That’s the difference.

  It was hard work. I had to finish my degree and apply for internships, gaining working experience just like everyone else.

  But Evan was there to help me through it. In many regards.

  I absentmindedly touch the silver ring around my neck. The lock has not been opened in a long time. I wouldn't want him to. Wearing his collar is my pride. And no one has ever asked me about it. For outsiders it appears to be nothing but tasteful jewelry. Jewelry that I truly love. I am wearing it every day.

  I am collared. Yet I have never felt freer, because I finally feel like I belong.

  Evan knows that I have never been a big believer in marriage. It seems obsolete and outdated to me, especially considering its origins.

  But this means so much more.

  Wearing his collar was a conscious choice. One that I have not regretted for a single moment since he closed it around my neck just as solemnly as one would put a ring on another person's finger.

  I am his. And he is mine.

  Nothing says that more than this.

  Thank you for reading!

  Reviews really help out newcomer indie authors like me - I am super grateful for every single one! :)

  Sign up to my mailing list to get a FREE short story, featuring the protagonists of my BDSM Romance 'I am Yours': ‘Anniversary’ and the extended epilog for Master Class, bonus book that follows right after this one!

  An excerpt from ‘Anniversary’:

  "Happy anniversary, my pet," he whispered as our kiss ended, holding my chin up with two of his fingers, so I was looking at him. His dark eyes were as unreadable as ever, shielded with mystery.

  I smiled. "Happy anniversary, master."

  "Are you happy to see me?"

  I nodded. "Yes, sir."

  I knew he would check. I knew he would check if I had obeyed his wish. And he did. His hands wandered along my back, then moved to the front, gently kneading my breasts through the fabric of my dress.

  "Good girl," he whispered, giving me a little peck on the forehead.

  And then one of his hands moved along, wandering down my belly, cleverly reaching underneath my light dress. His fingertips skimmed my inner thighs as he slowly moved upwards. I moaned when he reached my center, caressing my wet clit with two of his fingers. Even after all that had happened between us, I was still amazed at how wet just being around him made me.

  "You're such a good slut for me," he breathed. "Such a perfect, wet girl."

  To get your hands on ‘Anniversary’, click here to sign up. :)

  Visit me at www.linneamay.com to find out more about my other titles and ARC opportunities!

  Also by Linnea May

  Master Class (attached as bonus book – continue reading here)

  For my Master('s)

  His Secret Muse

  His Muse's Fidelity

  I am Yours

  Dark Romance with Stella Noir

  Silent Daughter 1: Taken

  Silent Daughter 2: Bound

  Silent Daughter 3: Owned

  Continue with bonus book Master Class at the next page!

  Master Class

  PROLOGUE

  LANA

  "Did you do what I told you to do?"

  His green eyes hold me in place. I find myself unable to move as he angles his sharp gaze down at me, clenching his jaw for control. I can tell that he is holding back. He has had to restrain himself for so long, watching me in the classroom from afar, sitting across the table while we were engaged in our little banter. Taboo was always written all over our intimate relationship, which made it all the more exciting.

  His strong jaw is dappled with black stubble, framing the hint of a smirk as he studies the reaction on my face. I know I'm blushing, fighting to maintain eye contact with him as I try to find the words he's waiting for. My lips part as I prepare to speak, but no sound comes out.

  "Did you obey?" he asks again.

  Even though he doesn't move, it feels as if he just took a step closer, closing a hand around my throat and choking me. I feel suffocated and elevated at the same time, swirling with emotion and completely at his mercy.

  "Yes," I finally reply with a hoarse voice.

  "What did I tell you to do?"

  Oh, please, God, no! Don't make me say it out loud!

  My face burns with shameful heat, and I have to suppress the strong urge to close my eyes. I can't look at him when I'm feeling like this. Exposed, vulnerable, confused - and so freaking turned on. I'm ashamed of my arousal, and I know how much he enjoys to see that feeling written all over my face in bright red color.

  "Lana, you know we don't have a lot of time," he urges.

  This time he actually takes a step closer to me. We're standing in the middle of his temporary office, surrounded by everything that reminds me of how wrong all of this is. The shelves are mostly empty, and so is the desk next to me. I'm familiar with the dark, wooden surface. A lot more familiar than any student should be.

  In the background I can hear the murmuring of students walking by outside in the hall. So close, yet so far away.

  "You told me to...," I whisper. The weirdly low tone of my voice confuses me. I don't sound like myself. I sound like a distant and faded version of myself. My voice is not only soft, but shaking, as if I was scared.

  I'm not scared. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

  You don't scare me, Mr. Portland.

  But he does.

  I clear my throat.

  "You told me to...," I begin again, still sighing with that flat voice, but determ
ined to finish the sentence this time. "...Put the toy inside of me."

  A dark smile graces his handsome face. "And is that toy inside your delicious cunt right now?"

  I nod, pressing my lips together as if I had to keep myself from speaking.

  "Say it," he demands. Of course.

  I start chewing on my lower lip instead of obeying his command. I've said enough, why doesn't he just let it go?

  Because that's not how it works.

  "How does it feel?" He asks now, stepping closer. He places his hands on my shoulders, holding me in a secure grip as if I was about to run away or faint in front of him. His touch feels so familiar, so right. My core shivers at the memory of his marvelous hands between my legs.

  I want more. I've been begging for more for weeks, which is why I’m in this predicament. I'm not doing this for him, but for me.

  "Tell me Lana, how does it feel?" He repeats his question, leaning forward and so close that our lips almost touch.

  I instinctively stretch and get up on my toes, hoping for a kiss, but he evades me.

  "Answer me," he insists. "How does it feel?"

  "Good," I reply.

  Obviously, that answer is not good enough for him.

  "Tell me," he says, letting go of my left shoulder. His right hand travels down to my core, caressing the fabric of my skirt above my mound. "Can you feel it inside of you?"

  I nod. "Yes, Sir."

  He casts me that dark and up-to-no-good smile I've come to love and fear so much during the past few months we’ve spent together. His hand moves further down my skirt, the one he ordered me to wear today, despite the cold weather.

  "Show me what a good girl you are," he whispers, while his hand moves further, lifting my skirt up and traveling along the inside of my thigh.

  He pinches my flesh through the pantyhose, signaling for me to move my legs apart. I obey and widen my stance enough to grant him access to my center.

  A moan escapes my quivering lips when he presses against my labia, his palm covering my most sensitive area.

  "Can you feel it inside?" He asks, his voice hoarse and husky.

  I nod. "Yes."

  He called it a vibrating egg, but it looks more like a thick, pink thumb, not longer than two inches and about as wide as two fingers. I know he has a remote control for it, but he never gave it to me. When I agreed to do what he wanted me to, he just handed me the little pink toy and told me to place it inside myself for the last class of this semester.

  His hand is still at my entrance, applying pressure on it through two layers of fabric. Even this subtle touch is enough for me to vibrate with lust. I can't wait for this upcoming class to be over.

  "Just imagine what it feels like when I turn it on," he adds.

  I blush at the thought of it and prepare myself for a first taste. I expect him to turn it on right this moment, to show me. But he doesn't.

  Instead, he removes his hand from beneath my skirt and straightens up, his eyes never leaving mine.

  "You will go to class now," he commands. "And you will sit through my last lecture like a good girl, without letting anyone around us know about our little secret. Do you understand?"

  I nod. "Yes, Sir."

  The smile that graces his handsome face is enough of an acknowledgment, but I eagerly welcome his lips when he leans forward to kiss me.

  My last class with Mr. Jackson Portland will prove to be one of a kind - and I intend to end the semester with a bang. Literally.

  CHAPTER ONE

  LANA

  "Where is my calculator?!"

  My voice has that shrill tone again. The tone that resembles my mother's voice all too much. I hate it when I sound like her, but sometimes it is unavoidable. Such as right now. I am late for class, the first class of a new semester, my last semester. I am just a handful of classes, and that dreaded thesis, away from finishing my Master's degree, and my lazy roommate isn't making things any easier.

  Celia has been sharing a room with me for almost a year now. Her bed is just a few feet away from mine, but her stuff is cluttered all over the room, taking up pretty much all of the space except for the tiny area around my bed and my desk. I have fought for those areas to remain free of her mess, but she still manages to make my belongings disappear whenever I need them most.

  Right now, I need my calculator. At least I think I need it. Who knows what this guest lecturer has in store for us, but since he is teaching a class in economics, I should be prepared to do some on the spot math.

  "Wha-is it?" I hear my sleepy roommate grumble, as she peaks out from under her covers.

  "My calculator!" I repeat. "Where is it? I'm late for class!"

  She squints at me with confusion. "What time is it?"

  I roll my eyes and sigh audibly. "Celia, please!"

  "I dunno," she mumbles, adding a hearty yawn. "Why do you need it?"

  "It may have escaped your attention, but the semester has started," I explain as I continue to browse through our small room in search of my calculator. "And I have my economics class this morning, for which I-"

  "Uh!" Celia exclaims. "The one with that hot lecturer, right? Jackson something... Jackson Pollock?"

  I roll my eyes at her ignorance.

  "Jackson Pollock was an expressionist painter, you imbecile," I lecture her. "Jackson Portland. That's the guy's name."

  Celia frowns at me and sticks out her tongue.

  "Whatever," she says. "What do you need a calculator for? He is not teaching applied econometrics, is he?"

  "Not, but-"

  "If I was you, I'd rather worry about getting a seat in the front row," she interrupts. "That man is so hot! Man, I wish I was taking his class."

  I raise my eyebrows at her. "His class is on a Monday morning at ten. You wouldn't even be awake yet if I hadn't yelled at you just now."

  "Whatever," she repeats, turning her face away from me and curling up in her sheets once again.

  "You really don't know where my calculator is?" I ask, one last time.

  "No!" she yells back, muffled by her sheets. "Go!"

  I sigh and risk one last scan through our little room before I decide that there is no point in searching any longer. I have to leave now if I want to be on time for class. The economics department is on the other side of the campus, a walk that will take me at least fifteen minutes, maybe twelve if I hurry.

  It may be silly and childish, but I still blame Celia for the disappearance of my calculator and my little way of revenge is the same as always: I slam the door as loudly as possible to disturb her excessive sleep. It is my passive aggressive way of showing her how I feel about her lazy and irresponsible way of life. How someone like her ever got accepted for a graduate program at this university is beyond me. She must be a lot smarter than it seems at first glance, to make up for her unbelievable laziness. As far as I know, she has never failed a class, even though I hardly ever see her studying. I am almost jealous. Almost.

  Today, the walk to the economics building takes me about thirteen minutes. Decent, but not super rushed. I am still there ahead of most other students, because I always take my emergency ten minutes into account when planning my way to class. There has never been an occurrence that called for these extra ten minutes, but I always prefer to be on the safe side.

  Usually, I am one of the very first few students to show up for class, but today the auditorium is surprisingly full, even though the class won't start for another fifteen minutes. I look around in surprise for a few moments, before I make my way down to the front. Middle of the third row, slightly to the right, that is where I usually sit. It is the perfect spot to see the board and the lecturer at front, very close, but not too close to be overlooked by the teacher, as the first two rows often are. Also, it has shown to be an area where hardly anyone wants to sit, as most students prefer to hide in the back or in the middle rows of the auditorium. The very few people who like to sit here, appear to share my view of education. There is no whisperi
ng, handing notes, people falling asleep or staring at their smart phones during the lecture. No talking, no distraction and no irritation by other people's lack of interest.

  But today, everything is different.

  The first few rows seem to be suspiciously sought after and I have to sit further out to the right than I am comfortable with. As I take my seat and get my notebook and pens out, the auditorium quickly fills up around me. I keep looking back over my shoulder and browse the hall to check whether I am misinterpreting things, but no, it really is a lot more crowded than a class like this should be.

  Did I make a mistake? Maybe I am sitting in the wrong hall.

  I turn around to my left. The seat right next to me is empty, but the one next to it is occupied by a blond girl, who is holding a little makeup mirror up to her face while she is reapplying some deep red lipstick.

  "Excuse me," I say, leaning over to her. "This is Econ 357, an Introduction to Entrepreneurship, right?"

  The girl pauses for a moment before she turns around, casting me a look as if I was a clueless freshman.

  "Uhm, yeah," she retorts, not even trying to hide her annoyance. "Jackson Portland, the hot self-made gazillionaire. Don't tell me you don't know he is teaching this class?"

  "Sure, sure I do," I say. "I was just surprised. It's never been this crowded in any of my Econ classes."

  Especially on a Monday morning, I want to add, but I keep that part to myself.

  The girl raises her eyebrows and scans me briefly before she asks: "Have you been living under a rock?"

  I frown at her. "No. I know very well who Mr. Jackson Portland is."

  "Then why are you so surprised?" she asks. "Why are you here if not because of him?"

  "I am here, because I need this class to graduate," I explain, trying to sound just as condescending as she does. "Not to drool all over this college dropout who thinks a little too much of himself."

  The girl rolls her eyes at me.

 

‹ Prev