His Property (Book Two) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Hannah Ford

  My tits mashed against the mirror and he began to fuck me, really fuck me, even harder and faster, pounding my pussy with his huge dick.

  I caught his eye in the mirror, and saw the same look that had been in his eyes last night, when he’d taken me, that look of pure masculinity mixed with something primal and scary.

  And yet my body was responding to his, my pussy taking him in, my heart beating rapidly in my chest, my clit throbbing with desire.

  He grabbed my chin and pulled it toward him, kissing me passionately on the mouth, his tongue pushing past my lips, and it felt so fucking good, having his mouth on mine, that I came, my pussy convulsing around his rock hard cock.

  A second after my orgasm started, he came too, and I could feel him shooting off inside of me, shot after shot, filling me with his come. I moaned and tried to pull away, to remind him that I wasn’t on the pill, that he shouldn’t be coming inside of me, but he held my chin tight, kept kissing me, not allowing me to move, and we were both moaning into each other’s mouths as our orgasms crested and peaked.

  When he was finished, he smacked my ass hard again, so hard my flesh jiggled.

  Then he pulled out of me and removed the belt from my wrists, slipped it back through his belt loops and began to button his pants.

  My knees were weak and my legs felt wobbly. I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek back against the cool glass of the mirror as my head spun with the knowledge of what had just happened.

  From deep in his pockets, Liam’s phone began to ring. “Rutherford,” he barked into the phone. “Yeah, just a second.”

  He put the phone on mute and glanced at me. “Get dressed, Emery,” he said. “And then pick out something suitable to wear to brunch.”

  He returned to his call and left the dressing room.

  I took in a deep, shuddering breath and then let it out. My heart was thundering in my chest. My pussy ached for his touch, ached to have him back inside of me.

  “Hello?” a voice called from just outside the entrance to the dressing room. “How’s it going in here?”

  Crap. The sales clerk. I hurriedly pulled my dress back over my head, getting it on just as the clerk walked in, a huge smile plastered on her face.

  “Oh,” she said, seemingly startled when she saw the rack of clothes that I hadn’t touched. “Is everything okay? Would you like to try something else?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I just haven’t had a chance to try anything yet.”

  She was holding a shiny white bag with a handle made of white ribbon. La Perla was stamped on the side in black. “I ran to get you some undergarments.” She handed me the bag and I glanced inside.

  Inside were three silky bras with matching pairs of panties nestled on a bed of tissue paper. I reached in and checked the tags. They were my size.

  “How did you know my size?” I asked, shocked at her accuracy.

  She shrugged. “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

  “From seeing so many people try on clothes?”

  She nodded.

  “How long have you worked at Prada?”

  “Oh, I don’t work at Prada,” she said. “I work for Mr. Rutherford.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “Are you his assistant?” Liam hadn’t mentioned an assistant, nor had he bothered to introduce me to this woman.

  “I’m a liaison,” she said. She placed another bag down on the chair that Liam had just been sitting in. “I have some makeup here for you. I chose colors based on your coloring, but we can tweak it as needed.” She glanced up at me. “Do you know how to apply it?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  She smiled. “Well, it will do until we get your hair and makeup team in place. I will send you a list of people we work with.”

  “My hair and makeup team?”

  “Yes. Mr. Rutherford requires it.”

  “Requires it of whom?” I asked, an uneasy feeling blooming in my stomach.

  “His dates.” She said it like it was nothing, like standing here discussing how Liam was going to dress me up in whatever he wanted and act like I was some kind of life-sized doll was normal.

  The only way she could think it was normal was if she’d been through it over and over again. And then I got it. What was it she’d called herself? A liaison? She was a liaison for Liam’s women. He needed a person to deal with the women he dated, that’s how many there were and how much he didn’t care.

  The uneasiness in my stomach intensified into a dull ache.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Liam’s liaison said, seeing the look on my face. She was going through the bag of makeup, unwrapping everything for me. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Francine.”

  “Emery,” I said.

  “That’s a beautiful name,” she said, indulging me with a smile.

  “How many women do you do this for?” I blurted, surprising myself. It was none of my business.

  “Oh, I’ve done it for a few,” she said vaguely. Her blue eyes shone brightly from her porcelain face, but I saw a flick of trepidation spark over her delicate features. She was used to this, I realized. Women getting jealous over Liam.

  But I wasn’t jealous.

  How could I be jealous over a man who’d kidnapped me? He was insane. Any normal woman would be running screaming into the night, not letting him say the dirty things he’d been saying to me. One hundred thousand dollars or not, my father’s life or not, I should be going to the police.

  And then I realized something.

  I was alone, with another person, and Liam was nowhere to be found.

  I could tell her.

  I could tell Francine what Liam had done, I could tell her to call the police, to let them know what was going on.

  Yes, she worked for Liam, but certainly she wouldn’t want to be a part of anything illegal.

  Tell her, I told myself. Go on, Emery, tell her.

  I opened my mouth, but before I could get out the words, Liam reappeared in the entrance to the dressing room.

  “You’re not ready,” he said with disapproval.

  “We were talking,” I said defiantly.

  Liam glanced at his watch. “Did you find anything you like?”

  “This would be perfect for you,” Francine said quickly, obviously in an effort to appease her boss, pulling a red wrap dress off the rack.

  “Help her to get dressed, Francine, and then wrap up the rest of her things,” Liam instructed.

  “Please,” I said.

  Liam glanced up sharply from his phone. “What?”

  “Please,” I said. “You should say please to her. You don’t have to be so demanding all the time, Liam.”

  Liam glared at me, and then turned on his heel and walked out of the dressing room.

  “Oh, dear,” Francine said as she busied herself taking the dress off the hanger. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not?” I said. “Someone has to tell him.”

  She pursed her red lips and shook her head. She gave me an‘Oh, honey’ look, like I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. “Trust me, people have tried.”

  “And?” I pressed.

  She sighed. “And they found out the consequences just weren’t worth it.”

  Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the Prada store. Francine had been right – the red dress was perfect for me, clinging to my curves in all the right places. Simple black pumps encased my feet, and I’d done my make up while Francine wrestled my hair into a smooth curtain using a round brush and a hair dryer she seemed to have procured out of nowhere.

  “Shit,” Liam said softly when he saw me. He was standing outside leaning against his car, his phone in one hand, a bored expression on his handsome face. But he did a double take when he saw me. “You look breathtaking.” He grabbed me around the waist and pushed me up against the side of his car. His hands tightened around me as he pressed his body into mine.

  I could feel the cool metal of the car through the material of m
y dress, and his hands snaked down, roaming over my ass as he kissed me.

  My hands encircled his neck as his tongue moved against mine, the collar of his dress shirt crisp against my hands.

  His hands slid up under the back of my dress until he felt the silk La Perla thong that Francine had gotten for me.

  “Sexy,” he breathed, his eyes lighting with desire as his hands slid further up.

  “Uh huh,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “Not here.”

  “I say where,” he said. “I say where, when, and especially how.”

  His mouth trailed hot kisses down the hollow of my throat, and I summoned my resolve and pushed him away, ducked out from under his grasp. He grinned, like he was going to enjoy chasing me, and took a step toward me.

  “No.” I put my hand up. “I want to safe word or whatever.”

  He grinned in amusement. “You want to ‘safe word or whatever’?”

  “Yes.” I straightened my dress and squared my shoulders. “I want to safe word. No more sex until we set the parameters.”

  “I set the parameters.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You said we would talk about it. And there are things I won’t agree to.”

  “Fine.” He sighed and walked by me over to my side of the car, holding his hands up as he passed, then opened the passenger side door and motioned me in. I slid into the car, and as I did, his eyes lingered on my body, sliding up over my legs.

  “Let’s make this quick,” he said. “If I don’t have you soon, I won’t be held responsible for what happens when I finally do.”

  We drove uptown in silence, and when we reached the Rutherford Enterprises main headquarters, Liam took out a key card and slipped it through a reader, until a barrier lifted and we were allowed into a garage.

  This one didn’t snake underground like the one at his apartment. This one twisted around and around, high into the sky, until finally we reached the very top level. It was an opening parking deck that looked out across Manhattan. Figured that even his stupid parking garage was impressive.

  He parked the car and stepped out, and I followed suit.

  He took my hand. “Rule Number One,” he said as we walked toward the revolving door that led into the building. “When we are out together, I will open all doors for you. You are not to move until I have opened the door for you. Understand?”

  My first instinct was to be argumentative, to tell him I could open my own damn doors – he was just so bossy! But then I realized that would be ridiculous. It was nice to have doors opened for me, and besides, if this was going to be a negotiation, then I should concede points I didn’t have a problem with in order to save my real negotiations for later.

  “Agreed,” I said as he opened a set of double doors for me.

  Now we were in a long sky tunnel that connected the parking garage to the main building. Liam was still holding my hand as he opened another set of double doors with his free hand. We were in a carpeted lobby of sorts now, which was strange, since we were on the top floor. Weren’t lobbies usually on the main floor?

  A receptionist wearing a headset sat at a curved wooden reception desk. The sound of ringing phones pulsed through the air, but the sound soft and muted, almost relaxing.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rutherford,” she said smoothly, giving him a smile and revealing perfect white teeth. Was everyone who worked for Liam beautiful?

  Liam nodded at her curtly, then pushed through another set of doors, these ones made of oak.

  Now we were in a huge room, almost like a conference room or auditorium. On the far side of the room, spanning the entire width, was a raised stage with a podium and microphone stand set on it, and behind the stage there was a wall made of glass. There weren’t any windows -- no marks in the glass to delineate sections. It was just one unbroken pane, letting in rays of sunlight and expansive views of the Manhattan skyscrapers. It was so breathtaking it almost made me dizzy.

  People scurried around on stage, a few of them in jeans and plaid shirts, some of them in business wear, setting up for the event.

  Liam shut the door behind us, and the sound echoed through the event room. The people on stage looked up sharply, saw him standing there, and immediately went back to work. He must have trained them not to react when they saw him.

  He led me to a round table in the back corner of the room.

  It was set with a black tablecloth and white china, and in the middle were centerpieces made of silver and pink roses.

  Liam pulled my chair out for me, and I sat down.

  “So what’s the event for?” I asked.

  “It’s a VIP event for employees of our top retail locations.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “What it sounds, Emery, is fucking mundane.”

  O-kaaaay then.

  Liam took the seat next to me, then pulled my cell phone out from inside his suit coat pocket.

  He set it down in the middle of the table.

  “You will text your friend.”

  “No.” I shook my head. I wasn’t going to text Maddie and tell her I was okay until Liam and I had set the parameters, until I was sure that I really was okay.

  “It’s not negotiable.” There was a pitcher of orange juice sitting in the middle of the table, and he poured some into the fluted glass sitting at my place. He reached into a shiny chrome basket that was covered with a black cloth napkin, pulled out a muffin and set it down in front of me.

  “Eat,” he said. “And drink your juice.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Emery,” he sighed. “You are really beginning to try my patience.”

  “Wow,” I said, reaching for the pitcher of water that was sitting next to the orange juice and pouring some into my water glass. “If all it takes to try your patience is some orange juice, then I think we’re definitely going to have a problem.”

  “Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble,” he said, putting his hand on my leg, his grip tightening.

  I took a sip of my water. It was ice cold, but did nothing to temper the warmth that was coursing through my body from his touch.

  I stayed quiet, suddenly nervous that I’d pushed him too far. This was a man who’d shoved me into the back of an SUV, after all, who was basically holding me captive. And yet something inside of me wanted to push him. It was like playing with fire – you knew it was bad, and yet something was tempting me to do it.

  You want him to make you submit.

  “Rule Number Two,” he said, removing his hand from my leg and pouring his own glass of orange juice. “You will eat what I tell you to.”

  “No,” I said.

  “It’s not negotiable, Emery.” He took a sip of his juice as his own cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at the screen, and then sent the call to voicemail.

  “Everything can’t be ‘not negotiable,’ Liam,” I said. “I don’t eat carbs. They’re not good for me.”

  “What, you’re a doctor now?”

  “I’m pre-med,” I said, thrusting my chin in the air like there was no way he could dispute me now, even though I’d had, like, one lesson in nutrition throughout all the science classes my schedule was loaded with. “Then you know that everything in moderation is fine.”

  “Not for me.” The way he was looking at me was making me nervous, and I reached down and turned the fabric of my dress around in my hands, picking at the material. He was just so… intense. I’d ever had this kind of attention focused on me, and it was unnerving.

  “Why not for you?”

  I rolled my eyes, not wanting to say the words out loud. There was a reason nothing in that closet fit me.

  But his eyes darkened as he picked up my muffin, cut it in half, and buttered it. “That is ridiculous,” he said, “Your body is beautiful. You are healthy and gorgeous and you can have a fucking muffin if you want it.”

  He set it down on my plate. It was banana nut and it smelled freakin’ amazing. I picked it
up and took a bite.

  He glanced down at my free hand, which was still turning the material of my dress. “Why are you nervous, Emery?”

  “Why do you ask me questions when you know the answer?”

  “I don’t know the answer.”

  “Oh, really?” I reached for more butter and smeared it on my muffin, figuring if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. “Because the answer should be pretty obvious.”

  “Are you saying I make you nervous?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Why?” He leaned in close to me and took my hand, forcing it to keep still. He wiped a stray crumb off my bottom lip with his thumb. His touched burned through me like a wild fire -- just the tiniest little touch from him and I felt like I was going to explode.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Are you afraid of what I’m going to do to you?” he whispered in my ear. His hand was still holding mine, preventing me from moving away from him. “Or afraid you’re going to like it?”

  He leaned in further and acted like he was going to kiss me. My body tightened, aching and anticipating his lips on mine. But instead, at the last moment, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and disappointed.

  “Rule Number Three,” I said, tipping my chin up and looking him in the eye. “I want my phone back.”

  Liam laughed, like the thought of me getting my phone back was way more preposterous than anything else that had happened up to this point. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?”

  “First, because we haven’t even agreed on Rule Two yet.”

  “About the stupid carbs?” I gestured to the muffin in front of me. “I’m eating it, aren’t I?”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “Then Rule Three is that you must stay by my side at all times. No trying to get away from me.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible, Emery,” he said, as his phone began vibrating again. He glanced at it, decided whatever it was wasn’t interesting, and sent it to voicemail.

  “I need to go to school.”

  “A week off of school won’t kill you.”

  “Yes, it will. Pre-med is extremely competitive, and if I fall behind, it’ll put med school in jeopardy.”