The Billionaire's Past (His Submissive, Part Ten)

by Ava Claire

  “Don’t do that,” he said brusquely, throwing his own napkin over his plate. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not trying to patronize you, Jacob.” I leaned forward, reaching for his hand. “You’re stressed out because of work, right? That’s why you’re talking crazy?”

  “No, crazy is what Mia Kent is.” He snatched his hand away, face storming with fury. Not anger, not annoyance. No--this was something he’d been holding onto. Something that had been eating at him.

  I fell back in my chair, not sure what to do with that statement. It was more than inappropriate. It was downright cruel.

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. His words took me back to the hospital. I could still see Mia’s eyes. Wide. Piercing. But her hands shook beneath her restraints. She was terrified.

  I’d never attempted suicide, but I knew what it was like to be tired of your life. Going to school day after day and dealing with girls that picked me apart--my weight, my hair, hell, my very existence. Feeling like my mother didn’t understand. Couldn’t really because her idea of making me feel better was reciting the old ‘stick and stones’ mantra. I wouldn't wish that loneliness on anybody. And it wasn’t something to joke about or trivialize by calling Mia crazy.

  He dropped his gaze to the tablecloth then closed his eyes like he couldn’t believe he’d gone there either.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was a start. When he looked at me, I saw the words plain as day and the remorse was real. I gave him a small nod, but I wasn't gonna just let it go.

  “Why would you even say that, Jacob? That’s not like you.” It was the Jacob Whitmore people expected. Coldly handsome. Flippant. Obnoxious. He’s freaking gorgeous so somehow, it works. But that wasn’t the real Jacob. Sure, the domineering, air going out when he came in the room thing was incredibly sexy, but I knew that he was kind. And generous. So this was something else.

  He picked up his glass and threw it back.

  “It’s just been a long day," he said after polishing off the rest of the wine. "I know what I said was out of line and I apologize.”

  He picked up his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. When he discarded it, I saw the familiar hunger in his gaze. “Let’s go to bed.”

  There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to have loud, kinky, after-argument sex with him, but there was a bigger part that knew something else was going on here.

  I didn’t budge. “What’s going on, Jacob?”

  One side of his mouth curved deliciously upward. “I’m gonna take you to bed, love. Tie you to it maybe.”

  That wasn’t even fair. A need of my own was building and I blurted out my concern before it won. “We need to talk about what you said. Something is going on with you.”

  The smile evaporated. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

  I shook my head slowly. “We’re partners, remember? We have to talk about things. The hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff. Not just the things that come easy.”

  He gave me a guarded look. Even though I felt like I knew him so well, there were still moments when I felt like he was good at hiding his emotions.

  Too good.

  He could tell me I was imagining things. That it was all in my head. And I had no proof otherwise. What would I do if he started hammering home the ‘so tired’ excuse? I couldn’t make him tell me.

  But I had hope. That we’d been through enough that he knew he could tell me anything, no matter how horrible or difficult and we’d work through it together.

  He pulled his tie loose and ran a hand through his dark hair before letting out a sigh. “I hate that I’m letting it affect me. I wish I could just turn it off.”

  “Turn what off?”

  “My mother.”

  Oh god. If Alicia Whitmore was involved, I knew it was horrible. I reached for his hand again and this time, he didn't pull away.

  “You know most of the story. How my father was barely around. And when he was, he was always distracted.

  My mother tried a variety of things." He counted them out on his fingers. “Redecorating the house. Hiring a master chef to cook his favorite meals. Taking cooking lessons. Changing her hair. Changing her clothes. Shooing me out of the house for....” Jacob trailed off with a shudder.

  Yeahhh...no matter how old you get the idea of your parents getting it on is still a little weird.

  “None of it worked,” he sighed. “And then when I was eight, maybe nine, I came home from school and I remember feeling this burst of excitement because my father's Jag was in the driveway. It was weird because he was never home until I was practically in bed. It was--" His lips tilted into a sad smile. "--exciting. I walked in the house and my father was in the living room. Somber. Quiet. His eyes were trained on the coffee table. It was littered with bottles and a rainbow of pills. Every damn size you can think of. I asked where Mom was and he said she was tired and not to be disturbed. When it happened two months or so later, he told me she was sick. That she tried to hurt herself."

  I felt a knot form in my throat that wouldn't get away. After what he'd almost done with the shotgun...

  "I was eleven when she started routinely harming herself,” Jacob’s voice was hollow and cold. “Interestingly enough, these urges happened right before long business trips or after she and Dad had some heavy argument."

  I gripped his hand tight. It was impossible, but I wished I could take away his pain. How she could do that; use suicide as some ploy for attention, it just...I couldn’t even fathom it.

  He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “But that’s in the past. I never should have taken it out on you or Mia. And if she wants to be our client, I support it fully. I support you.”

  I wanted to hug him, to be close, to let him know I’d never let anyone hurt him ever again, but he made a beeline for the staircase.

  “I’m gonna grab a shower. I’ll see you upstairs.”

  Sec 4

  I leaned against the frame of the door, looking into our dimly lit bedroom, watching Jacob. Blue eyes were on the screen of his iPad, bright beneath a mop of still damp hair. My eyes lowered to his chest, bare and glistening from the shower. I wanted to move closer, to smell the musk of the soap on his skin. But there was no way I could be that close to a near naked Jacob and keep my hands to myself. And considering he’d all but dashed upstairs alone and was reading intently with an invisible ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging above his head, I didn’t think now was the time for seduction or submission.

  And the glimpse of his past was enough to make my libido all but shut down. I knew that Alicia Whitmore wasn’t what she seemed the moment I laid my eyes on her. Her glossy, manicured exterior was hiding secrets of something dark. The kind grin she wore as she nonchalantly talked about writing me a cheek to go away. Talking about her love of Jacob in the same breath she used to disparage him. Disregarding what he wanted. What he needed. And now I knew she used the threat of suicide to control her husband and son.

  I looked at Jacob, my strong man who fought so hard to contain his emotions, who was once different; happier--until the woman who brought him into the world snuffed it out. Hardened him.

  My mother was no saint. She was flighty, impulsive and if you looked up ‘overprotective’ in the dictionary I was pretty sure you’d see her snapshot beside the definition. But hearing about the things Alicia did to Jacob made me want to hug my mom tight and never let her go. It made me want to go back to the Leila who used to complain and say horrible things in the heat of anger and shake some sense into her.

  I was lucky to have a mom like her. A mom that told me she loved me so much it made me groan. A mom whose extent of manipulation was things like playing matchmaker and hiding my flats so I had to wear stilettos to the interview that changed my life.

  Jacob looked up, his eyes curious as he took me in. “Everything alright?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip as I padded across the room toward him. "I should be asking you that after what you told
me."

  His forehead wrinkled in confusion for a moment before he caught my drift and let out a laugh that avoided his eyes. “Ah. That.” He flipped his cover over his tablet and shrugged. “I’m good.”

  I was prepared to let it go, climb in bed beside him and push away anything Alicia Whitmore related. But the smile on his face looked physically painful, like he was trying so hard to put on a brave face for me when everything was falling apart.

  I eased onto the bed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Jacob, you can’t just tell me something like that and...” I felt the emotion I’d tried to bottle up, stash away to keep from poking at an old wound rush to the surface. He was sitting there unblinking, nearly erasing every trace of the moment of vulnerability. Openness. Well, I was wide open--and I was about to cry. “And...”

  “And what?” he said finally, studying me. “You want me to start sobbing about how devastating it was to actually wonder if she’d actually go through with it? That the maid would be a few minutes too late? A few seconds? I’d pick the wrong day to go over to a friend’s? Or maybe I’d be on the other side of the world, too far to save my mother from herself?” He grit his teeth in disgust. “This was why I didn’t want to say anything.”

  The tears evaporated as I cocked my head to the side. “You don’t mean that.”

  He massaged his temple and let out a tired sigh. “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t want secrets between us.” He gave me a reluctant smile. “I just don’t want it to be a production. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she affects me. So I act like I don't feel anything at all.”

  I relaxed, feeling the smile pull at my mouth. “You don’t have to be Big Bad Jacob. Not with me.”

  He licked his lips and I followed the hot trail he made, tongue sweeping left before it flicked right. "What's wrong with big, bad, Jacob?"

  His eyes glittered dangerously. It was the smallest of movements, but it was like someone doused us with pheromones. Some eau de Whitmore that made my heart speed up in my chest and the tingle of warmth build in the pit of my belly. Nothing could scratch that itch but him.

  I swallowed hard as he drug his fingertips along my arm, sending an electric jolt to my system that fried the serious conversation I was trying to have with him.

  The smile that played on those lips weren't messing around now, drawing my eyes back to them. Filling my head with all the things he could do. The places he could touch and lick.

  "Jacob..." His fingers were drawing up, rounding my shoulders, skating my neck. Cupping my chin.

  "Say it again."

  You're not okay, are you? The reason eating at me when I climbed the stairs, screaming when he snapped, tickled the haze that had taken up residence in my head. But that wasn’t what he was talking about. Jacob was using the dominant voice. That dark, authoritative, dangerous thing that used to scare the crap out of me but now it made me melt.

  He wanted me to say his name.

  I looked into his eyes. I was lost to him.

  "Jacob."

  The smile broadened as he pulled me toward him and wrapped his lips around mine. He was warm, his touch imploring. Sensual. His tongue didn't command, not yet. He swept it over mine, flicks as he kissed me, deep moans of satisfaction echoing through me as he cradled my face.

  I remained still, savoring, loving the way I could feel his passion and desire rippling through his kiss. Washing over me. Possessing me. Everything was heightened. The way my fingertips trembled as I moved closer, tossing aside the sheets. My arms drew up; taking in the way his muscles flexed as I locked them around his neck and pulled him in. He let out a chuckle at my actions. Me thrusting my breasts into his chest like I had any control over any of this. Like I could up the ante. The fact that my body belonged to him, snapping to life when he gave me a single look was proof that he was in control. I was Jacob’s. His alone.

  His lips swept over mine, slow, teasing as he pulled back. Not far enough that I would protest, but far enough that my lips quivered and missed his touch.

  “You have no idea how sexy that is,” he said huskily, blue eyes darkening with heat. His fingertips spread along the line of my neck, fanning out before they tightened. Not tight enough to hurt or cut the air from my lungs. Breathing was irrelevant anyway. I stopped breathing as soon as he started stripping me down with his eyes.

  He still had that effect on me. Even after all this time.

  His fingertips branded me, making an invisible impression as he brought his lips down to kiss the trail he made with his hand.

  “Seeing you like this. Wild--” He drug his teeth along the sensitive strip of flesh. “--All mine.”

  My skin was on fire and when he started tracing lines, swirling his tongue, I threw my head back with abandon, dark curls dancing down my back.

  “Oh Jacob.” I moaned, a long, lusty thing that poured out of my mouth. He reclaimed my lips, like he needed to taste me again. Taste my need. His hands locked in my hair, taking a handful, tugging as his tongue no longer hinted at what he wanted. It dove between my lips, slicking over mine before it dueled, daring me to go faster and demand more.

  So I did. I rose up on my knees, raking my hands through his hair, my hair spilling down as I buried my tongue in his mouth. My body ached because I was straddling him, wanting other things to be buried. To spread wide. To give him all of me.

  I could feel his curve of approval, snug, fighting against the slip of cotton that did nothing to hide his bulge. I rolled my hips and he let out a groan that said I wasn’t playing fair.

  Punishment was swift and delicious.

  He spun me around, bucking me down onto the mattress. I looked at all the tight lines and squares of his chest and abdomen, eyes racing down to the dark curls that angled toward his erection. He speared through his boxer briefs, promising that he wanted and needed this as badly as me. I brought my hands to the band of his underwear, hooking my thumb inside and started pulling it downward. He stopped me, gripping my wrists and vaulted them up and over my head.

  He leaned down, eyes flashing with all the things he wanted to do to me.

  “Not yet.”

  I let out a muffled whine that fluttered behind my lips, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

  His eyes twinkled with mischief as he clucked his tongue. “Cute, but ineffective.”

  He released my hands, knowing that I’d keep them where he left them. Even when he started trailing his hands down, fingers sliding over my collarbone before they drew between the valley of my cleavage. He cut toward my breast, stopping before he returned to the center, stroking the seam. Close to my curve...back. Alternating sides...back. When I hitched a breath, I saw him looking at my lips.

  He was listening for those little gasps.

  I stuck my tongue out at him and one side of his mouth tipped upward. He kept his eyes on my lips and I let out as sigh as he cupped my breast in his palm. The sigh changed into a loud gasp when he pinched my nipple. Nothing compared to that slice of pain that vibrated through the delicious pleasure. The wetness that grew, my juices coating my lower lips. Making me writhe.

  But his hands weren’t done. Jacob smoothed down my abdomen before his hand rested solidly over my sex.

  “You’re so wet, baby,” he murmured, looking down at me, the smirk nowhere and in its place, nothing but fire. An animal desire flooded me as he split the lips of me and thrust his finger inside. The abrupt invasion sent shockwaves sizzling through me and I vaulted my body upward to meet the next stroke, savoring the way my body clenched around his finger. I closed my eyes as he added another, my body adjusting to him.

  “Your eyes, Leila.”

  I popped them open and he stared down at me, lips parted, trembling as I hitched a breath when he went deeper. It was more than just his hand. His eyes rocked in and out.

  He drew his hand out and drove his pelvis into me, showing me that I wasn’t the only one losing it. Showing me what came next. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to touch
him.

  He arched a dark eyebrow, giving me a look like he could see inside my head. “What do you want, Leila?”

  “You,” I whispered.

  His eyes glowed. “Show me.”

  I yanked my arms down and wasted no time pulling off his boxer briefs, eyes taking in the veiny, thick bulge of him as it snapped free. I took him in my hand, sweeping my thumb over the slit in the head, licking my lips when I felt the desire seep from him. I gazed up at my lover, my fiancé, and slowly slid my hand up and down his length.

  His eyes closed and I saw the lust ripple across his face.

  I tightened my hold and his eyes popped open and he growled. Literally growled.

  And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.

  He threw my legs wider, moving in the space between them. Muscular arms flexed on both sides of me as he leaned forward and I could feel him pulsing at my entrance.

  He watched me intently as I squirmed beneath him. Feeling how close he was to being inside. How close I was to being whole.

  He moved one hand to his groin, holding it steady. Right there. So close that I was practically begging.

  His eyes pinned me in place. “Tell me you want me.”

  My mouth was dry from all the moaning and it came out as a croak. “I want you.”’

  “Louder.”

  “I want you!”

  He entered me and I clasped him, those three words everything, filling me as completely as every new stroke. He looked down at me as he went deeper, the wildness racing across his features, settling on his lips.

  I didn't wait for him to say the word to release me. How could I with him so deep, his gaze penetrating me in time with his body?

  My core rocked, spasming, cooing as I gripped him and didn't let go. The warmth spread out over me, pricking my cheeks and I opened my mouth to explain, but he shook his head as he moved inside of me, the pace of his thrusts crashing. Eradicating my apology. Showing me just how hot he found it when I came, wrapped around him.

  "This is all that matters, Leila." He leaned over me, lips brushing my ear. "Nothing else matters to me."