His Ransom 4

by Aubrey Dark

  HIS RANSOM

  A DARK BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE PART FOUR

  By

  Aubrey Dark

  This is PART FOUR of the HIS GIFT dark erotic romance series

  If you missed the first trilogy, grab them here-

  His Gift (A Dark Billionaire Romance Part 1)

  His Gift (A Dark Billionaire Romance Part 2)

  His Gift (A Dark Billionaire Romance Part 3)

  Copyright © 2015 Aubrey Dark

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: March 2015

  ISBN: TBD

  Chapter One

  “Your body is a work of art, Lacey.”

  Jake hugged me around the middle as he craned over to kiss my neck. I squinted at the large unfinished painting in front of me, trying not to succumb to his distractions. I dabbed the palette knife into black paint, tilting my head to see the painting better, and also to let his mouth taste the full side of my throat.

  No. Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore him. Flames of heat licked through my nerves at the touch of his lips.

  I couldn’t ignore the way his hands slid up the front of my shirt. I couldn’t ignore his palms pressing hot and wanting against my chest. I sighed as he cupped my breasts, squeezing them lightly. His hands were so warm against my skin. And his lips…

  “I need to finish this,” I said, trying really hard to frown.

  “Why?”

  “The gallery said they wanted something new to put out front.”

  And I wanted something new to give them.

  Apart from the few sales Jake had made at the opening show, there had been no interest from art collectors who looked through the gallery. It was stupid of me to be so disappointed, but I hadn’t made a single sale on my own in the past month. I felt like a failure.

  “You can finish the painting,” Jake said. His fingers flew down to my pants, unzipping my jeans and tugging at the waistline. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

  “I really doubt that,” I said. I turned back to the painting, tugging my jeans up with my free hand and dabbing at the canvas with the palette knife. Should there be more red on the background?

  I didn’t know. This, more than anything else, was what made me mad. I was getting all mixed up, trying to figure out what the gallery owners would be able to sell.

  Before, my paintings had been all about what I wanted to do. I put my pieces up on subway cars and alleyways. I didn’t care about what anyone thought. I painted flowers because I wanted to paint flowers.

  All that had changed. Since Jake rented out the art gallery for me, I felt more and more pressure to do things a certain way. Not my way.

  I frowned as Jake’s hands slid my jeans down over my hips. All this attention was taking my focus away from where it should have been—on the painting.

  “Seriously, Jake,” I said.

  “Jake’s not here,” Jake whispered. His hand slid down over the front of my panties, and despite myself, I gasped in pleasure. The touch of his fingers sent my body into a state of high alert. Every nerve trembled.

  “Then whose hands are these?” I asked, my breath coming faster as he slid his hands over me. The slightest brush of his fingers against my front was enough to send my heart racing.

  “Nobody’s. There’s nobody here. You just keep painting.” He spoke the words softly as he nudged the hem of my panties down with one thumb.

  I reached out, gritting my teeth and swiping a palette knife full of black across the middle. I had no idea what I was doing, and right now I didn’t care. Jake was sending my body into an unbearable state of desire. I didn’t care about the painting anymore. I just wanted to be done.

  A hiss of air through Jake’s teeth had me looking back over my shoulder. He was staring at the line my palette knife had taken.

  “What?” I said, putting my hand on my hip.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. Do you hate it?” I tried to turn around, but my jeans were bunched down around my knees and I lurched backward, off balance. Jake caught me. His strong arms lifted me up to face him.

  “I don’t hate it,” he said. He pushed me back.

  I eyed the painting over my shoulder. From this angle it became even more apparent that the darn thing sucked.

  “It’s horrible.”

  “It’s not horrible,” Jake said. He paused, tilting his head. “But that line is a bit out of place, don’t you think?”

  “Oh.” It was a grunt of defeat.

  “Not that out of place,” Jake said, attempting to backpedal. “It’s fine, really.”

  “I’m a bit out of place,” I grumbled. Jake giving me fake praise was worse than his criticism.

  “What?”

  “Nothing!” I cried.

  “Are you really upset with me now?” Jake asked incredulously.

  “Look, you can’t come in here and start kissing me and messing up my concentration and… and then critiquing my painting while I’m painting the dang thing!”

  “You’re right,” Jake said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

  “I am.”

  “Yes. And you should stop painting for now.”

  “I know. Wait, what?”

  But Jake had already plucked the palette knife from my hand. He tossed it down and shoved me back against the canvas. I squealed, feeling the paint squelch through the fabric of my shirt.

  “Ahh—” My cry was cut off by the crash of his lips onto mine. I moaned and he deepened the kiss, his hands moving down over my body quickly. Every touch sent a new burst of fire through my nervous system. I’d thought that after a month of sleeping with this man, my desire would have started to die down. Instead, I only wanted him more.

  I could feel his need in the way he tore his kisses from my lips, his mouth burning on mine. I needed him, too. As he tore off his shirt, I stepped quickly out of my pants. He unbuckled his belt.

  “God,” I said, gasping for breath. “I can’t—please—”

  I turned, my hair sticking to the wet canvas. It was smudged beyond repair. Jake shoved my shoulder back, pinning me with his broad hand to the painting that was now completely wrecked.

  “Oh, ohh—”

  His lips pressed onto my neck again. His teeth nibbled the hard line of my collarbone all the way down to the hollow in the middle of my shoulders. I gave up trying to save the painting. It was lost. My hands threaded through his hair, pulling him close. I could feel his hardness through his pants. God, I was so wet.

  How could a man do this? He turned me on and teased me to the edge of insanity with his lips. As he kissed me, he pushed and pulled, leading me past desire and into a crazed passion. My lips trembled against his.

  Then his hand was shoving his pants down, exposing his hard cock. I barely had time to take a breath before he was on me, forcing between my thighs. I cried out as he thrust upward, smearing paint vertically with my whole body as the brush. His cock pushed through my entrance roughly.

  “Ahhh!” I cried, feeling his thickness inside me. He was hard as steel, and his thrusts lifted me up. I stood on tiptoe, rocking back down with his already-quickening rhythm. I placed my hands against his broad shoulders, trying to balance.

  “Jesus, Lacey, you’re so damn tight,” Jake said. His hand slid over my ass, gripping the curves there. He gave a quick spank and I squealed.

  “I love it when you do that,” I gasped.

  Jake’s eyes twinkled green from under his tousled hair. I could see the beginning darkness of sweat at his hairline as he began to move inside me.

  “I love it more,” he said. He spanked me again, and I clenched. The sharp thrill of pain gave way to an even more intense pleasure as he kneaded my ass with his strong fingers.

  Another spa
nk.

  “You tighten up every time I do that,” he said, smiling. His eyes were wide pools of pleasure as he thrust upward again, this time slowly, easing his length into me. I moaned. He spanked me again.

  “Maybe it’s just you getting bigger,” I said breathlessly. He grinned.

  “God, you’re perfect,” he said. He pressed a kiss onto the top of my head as he thrust into me, rolling his hips. I gasped as his muscles brushed the top of my swollen flesh, sending me almost over the edge. I drew a ragged breath as he rocked back.

  Perfect. I had never heard myself described that way before. My body was all curves and swells, nothing you would find in a magazine model. And yet when Jake looked at me, touched me, I felt that he was telling the truth—that I was perfect for him.

  “Lacey,” he moaned. He placed one hand against the canvas and rolled into me again. I heard the hitching of his breath that told me he was close to orgasm. My leg came up around his thigh and he gripped it with his free hand. He pushed in even deeper. I clenched, feeling the growing ache of pressure inside of me. We would both be there soon.

  “Take me,” I whispered. I took his bottom lip between mine and sucked hard. He groaned.

  He rocked into me, bracing himself against the canvas. His body slid over mine, his hands holding me up even as my legs went liquid. The pressure in me was too high, too high. He drew back from a kiss and put his forehead to mine, staring me in the eyes.

  “Now,” he said, his voice a growl. “Come for me.”

  I inhaled a gasp at his words, and as he plunged deep into me I screamed. I was over the edge, flinging myself headlong into ecstasy. Explosions of pleasure burst through my nerves as he thrust again and again. I held onto his arms for dear life as the climax shuddered through me.

  Jake pulled my leg around him and thrust quickly once, then twice. I heard him take a breath and then felt his hot seed as he stilled, his orgasm right on the heels of mine. He was hard, steel-hard, jerking inside of me as his whole body rippled with pleasure.

  “Oh, Lacey—” he moaned. He reached around, cupping my head and tilting it up for another kiss.

  I kissed him back helplessly, my body too weak to do anything but collapse willingly into his arms. We both slid down the canvas to the ground in a tangle of paint-splattered arms and legs, him kissing me all the while.

  My heart returned to normal after a couple of minutes, and I felt a chill in the air as he lifted his arm from across my body.

  He kissed me softly and then arched his head back, looking at the painting. I looked with him. The black line had been almost completely smudged over. Heck, most of the painting had been completely smudged over.

  There were two handprints—one Jake’s, where he had braced himself. One mine, where I had clawed down during my orgasm. And my hair had dragged down a huge smear of red from the top.

  “It’s ruined, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, tilting his head again, this time the other way. “I think I like it with the smears like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he said, looking down at me with a grin. “And I think we should definitely have a celebration orgasm for you.”

  “A celebration what?”

  His hands began to move, stirring the heat inside me, and I wriggled under his grasp. I could feel myself getting ready for more.

  “To celebrate another finished painting.”

  His mouth came down on me again, and I let myself fall into his embrace.

  Chapter Two

  It was Jake’s going away dinner, and I was trying to keep myself from getting too nervous. He was inviting a few of his closest friends. And I had invited Steph. After all, she was half-responsible for the mixup that had landed me in Jake’s apartment in the first place. Her brother Andy was coming too, and Rachel, a close friend of ours who was visiting from the New Jersey ranch she lived on.

  I thought both of them would drool over Jake and his super-hot, successful friends. And I admit I was excited to show him off. Me, dating a sexy billionaire? Heck yeah!

  Well, maybe dating. We hadn’t really talked about our relationship. And Jake had never introduced me to anyone as his girlfriend. I was curious to see if he would say that word tonight. I mean, I’d been staying with him at his apartment for nearly a month. And yet…

  The dining room table was all laid out with the silver and china I’d found in the bottom cabinets. Jake was no help with any of the preparations. When I’d found the silverware and asked if we could use it for tonight, he’d only shrugged with a look that told me he didn’t even know he owned silverware.

  Jake had insisted on having a chef there to prepare the main dinner. “I don’t want to spend my last dinner with you slaving away in the kitchen,” he’d said. I gave in, but I wanted to show him that I could cook if I needed to.

  So I was making the appetizers, and Steph was bringing dessert. As I finished up the first bruschetta plates, Jake came in. He held up his cell phone.

  “Guess who just called?”

  “Who?” I asked. I half-hoped it would be his business partners calling off his trip.

  Jake was leaving tomorrow night for a week to Paris. Some business deal that needed his help with negotiating a contract. It was a magazine conglomerate, and I could just imagine all of the supermodels and sexy businesswomen who’d be working at the place Jake would be going to.

  I didn’t want to seem clingy, but I hated the idea of sleeping here in this lavish penthouse apartment without Jake there to warm the place up.

  I had to get over these silly emotions. We’d only been together a few weeks, and it would be good to prove to him that I was capable of living independently. I thought of how my parents prided themselves on being independent on their farm.

  Jake smiled. His beaming grin wiped all of my anxious feelings away.

  “It was a client,” he said.

  “A client? For your contract negotiations?” I frowned.

  “No, silly,” he said, putting an arm around my hip and kissing the top of my head. “For one of your paintings.”

  “Oh. Oh!” I said, realization dawning. “Which painting? What did they offer? Did you say yes?”

  “Easy now,” he said, laughing and lifting his hand in mock surrender.

  “No! I’m excited!”

  “It’s someone who came by the gallery last week. He said he really liked your style. He wanted to stop by again and meet with the artist to pick out a painting. He’ll be by tomorrow.”

  “”Meet—wait, meet with me?”

  “You’re the artist,” Jake said. He picked up his glass of wine and clinked it against mine that was sitting on the counter, untouched. “Congratulations.”

  “I haven’t—I haven’t sold anything yet,” I mumbled. My fingers gripped the kitchen counter. The bruschetta was forgotten.

  After a week had passed, Jake had to assure me that the world of art moved slowly. Then two weeks passed, and I became convinced that my art wasn’t worth the canvases it was painted on. Day after day went by, and I was less and less sure that I would ever sell anything. This was an exciting event—a bidder! And he wanted to see me!

  “What do I say when he comes to the gallery? What do I tell him?”

  “Just answer his questions, I suppose,” Jake said. “Most art collectors want to say that they met with the original artist. Soothe his ego. Make him think he’s important.”

  “He is important!” I said. “He’s my first real client!”

  “Don’t tell him that,” Jake said, laughing softly. “And don’t flirt with him too much. Those old men always have an eye out. If you swish that gorgeous ass too much, you might get pinched.”

  I laughed and leaned into Jake’s chest. My mood was already lightening. This was great news! I picked up my wine glass and lifted it, clinking it more solidly against his.

  “Cheers!” I said. “To a potential sale, and me becoming a real artist!”

&nb
sp; “You’re already a real artist,” Jake said.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. I bit my lip. “I don’t want to be a charity case forever.”

  Jake frowned, his emerald eyes darkening.

  “You’re not a charity case,” he said.

  “You know what I mean. You’re letting me stay here, use your studio. You’re renting out a gallery for me, for heaven’s sake!”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t want to be a waste of your time,” I said.

  “It’s not. You’re not. How can you say that?” Jake tilted his head, his dark hair falling across his brow. I reached up and brushed it behind his ear absently.

  “I look at all of the money you spend…” I said, my words drifting off into the air.

  “Look, Lacey. For one, the money doesn’t matter to—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said. “A million dollars wouldn’t matter to you. But it matters to me.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, letting the subject drop. He reached out to the plate in front of me. “I think you need some quality control with these appetizers.”

  I swatted his hand away.

  “Not until our guests arrive!”

  “Please?”

  He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. I laughed.

  “Fine, just one.”

  I held up a piece of bruschetta and he took it from my fingers with one bite. His lips brushed my fingertips and I felt a quiver of desire rush through me. He noticed.

  “Mmm, delicious. How about another quick treat before the chef arrives?” Jake asked. Without waiting for my answer, he slid down, down, his hands wrapped around my legs.

  “Ahh! Jake!” I cried, leaning back against the counter. Then his tongue was inside me, and all my resistance melted away. I only hoped the chef didn’t arrive early.

  In the kitchen, the chef was busy working on the meal. He’d ushered me out, clucking all the way about not letting me do any more work than I already had.

  Steph and Rachel showed up five minutes after six. Andy was right behind them, a tray of cupcakes in his arms. One of Jake’s servants led them into the living room, where I was keeping myself busy by rearranging the bruschetta appetizer on the plates.