Boxed Set: The His Submissive Series Complete Collection (Part One-Part Twelve)

by Claire, Ava

  “Me?” I said, pinching his arm playfully. “You should talk to Missy. She wasn’t even talking about me and I almost cried.”

  “Well, it’s settled then. Wherever she goes, you go. You give it to her straight. If you think she’s being too much, say so. I’m just so happy you’ve come to me, finally proving that you trust me.” He brushed a wayward curl behind my ear. “Didn’t think I’d see you as some power hungry overachiever.”

  That alone meant as much as being Missy’s second. I knew what everyone thought of me. That I slept my way into my position. That I didn’t have anything of any real value to contribute. And I knew Missy wouldn’t hesitate to say that I begged for a new position, but I didn’t even care about all that right now.

  He looked down at me, his tongue darting over his bottom lip. “You know how sexy it was watching you march in here, expressing yourself? Going to bat for someone, damn the fallout?”

  I smiled as I reached down, gripping the curve of his arousal. “I think I have an idea.”

  Lust heated his gaze before he nodded at the door.

  I walked briskly to it, engaging the lock. “Can we—?”

  He peeled off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves. “We can...and we will.”

  ****

  My back was against his chest. I could feel him breathe me, his heart racing even though his voice was calm. Sultry.

  "You have no idea how sexy it was to see you take charge. Speak out for your client."

  I drew an unsteady breath as I felt his fingers unbuttoning the front of my blouse. There was no urgency in his movements. Always the picture of calm, the Dom in charge. I couldn't say the same for myself. I'd passed calm when I saw that look in his eyes—that look of carnal need. That special spark where I knew we were throwing the employee handbook and decorum out the window. This wasn't an office, with rules and regulations. This was our space. A room made up of all the ways he could have me. Up against the wall. Pressed against the floor to ceiling windows. On the chaise. On the floor.

  All of the above.

  I looked down, not believing there was still several buttons to go. I was dying for him to just rip it from my body. Send the buttons flying and push me back onto the desk. I didn't even care that I'd have to hold it together with a prayer after we were done. I didn't care about anything except his body and my body, colliding until we were both too spent to notice that we weren't the only two people on the planet.

  His eyes blazed downward, stopping at my feet. "And you in those shoes-"

  I let out a hot, nervous giggle at that, remembering the associate telling me they said 'take me now' but the crystal accents tacked on a throaty 'please'. I hadn't been sure about them...me and heels just didn't mix.

  And then I put them on.

  I didn't really believe in the whole item of clothing or even a pair of shoes having the ability to change your life, but when I stood in front of that mirror, something clicked. The way they made my legs go on forever, the way they hugged and accentuated; these shoes were foreplay. And even though I'd cursed having to wear something so dressy since I couldn’t find my more conservative pair this morning, I knew it was serendipity.

  I felt like the most desirable woman alive.

  My shirt hung open in the front, goose bumps spreading across my fevered flesh when he pressed his palm against my abdomen.

  "You're so beautiful, Leila," he murmured. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

  "It's for you," I whispered softly, trembling slightly when he swept my hair to one side, dark curls spilling over one shoulder. I turned around slowly, facing him full-on. I saw myself reflected in his crystal eyes. My wild, unruly hair, the curves of me, my sun kissed skin. I saw what he'd been seeing all along. What he wanted for the rest of his days.

  He pressed a sizzling kiss against my cool flesh, heating it until my temperature rose to meet the warmth in my belly.

  "Don't give me all the credit." he said, still taking me in. "You walked in here like a woman in charge."

  Since that was his role, I almost worried this was some segue into reminding me of his place, of my place, but he just stepped forward, gripping my hair and exposing the nape of my neck. He rained kisses up and down the sensitive skin, his other hand dropping to my skirt. That wasn't nearly as torturous as the shirt. He expertly unhooked the clasp and pulled the zipper down until it slumped at my feet.

  Lust heated his gaze as he held out his hand, helping me step out of the circle of fabric. I gripped him, moving to take off the heels, but he stopped me, his voice a whip that snapped my gaze back to his.

  "No. I want those to stay on. The heels—and nothing else."

  Every part of me tingled, the lure of what was to come making my heart skip a beat. My fingers rattled so nervously that I was surprised I maintained my grip on anything long enough to unhook my bra.

  His eyes were locked on my chest and when I saw them flicker, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, I let my eyes drop to his crotch. The perfectly tailored cut of his pants teased under the most unassuming circumstances and now...nothing was left to the imagination. I almost stepped forward, reaching, wanting to free it since it was obviously fighting and pushing against the seams.

  He cleared his throat and I stopped short.

  "Don't mistake my desire for something else."

  He was reprimanding me. And it was making me very, very wet.

  I blinked at him coyly, fluttering my eyelashes as I released my hold on the lacy number, bra fluttering to the floor. My panties followed suit as I shimmied them over my hips, then bent at the waist to pull them off the rest of the way.

  His eyes took me in like I was some fantasy come to life before his very eyes. The first time I'd come to this office and he asked me to strip, I froze. Every insecurity in me rendered me unable to comprehend how he could find me attractive. I couldn't fathom how a guy, beautiful, devastatingly handsome, would want to watch me strip and touch myself.

  But standing there, naked, and in freaking stilettos, I felt beautiful. I didn't ask myself if this was a dream or if I deserved him. He wanted me. Needed me. And I needed him. We belonged together.

  He strode back to me, pulling his tie loose. He clutched my chin, tilting my lips up to meet him. Nerve endings fired, moist desire gathered between my thighs and thoughts zipped through my head at the speed of light. I was spinning, dizzy from his lips. His taste. This man could turn a kiss into sex. Skin to skin, tongue probing, pulling me against him until everything else was white noise. The only thing that came through in wild technicolor was this kiss.

  When he pulled back, letting me catch my breath, I felt the sides of my mouth tip upward as I watched him. His eyes were still closed and he brought his fingers to his lips, like he could still feel me there. Branded on him.

  I pursed my lips when he came forward, closing my eyes and expecting him to kiss me again, but they popped open when I felt his lips on my thigh. I looked down in surprise, seeing the dark waves on the crown of his head.

  Jacob was on his knees.

  He's about to...

  I leaned back onto the edge of the desk, not even caring that it wasn't the most comfortable of things to be leaning against. The flutter of pain was nothing compared to the rush of blood roaring in my ears when I felt him press his lips against my intimate flesh.

  Soft caresses rippled across me as he lingered up and down each fold. His lips brushed my trembling skin, humming. It was like he was savoring my scent. Savoring my taste.

  He ran his hands over my calves, around the knot of my knees, smoothing over my thigh until he gripped the bottom of my behind and pulled me forward. For a second, I felt the disorienting shock of having nothing to steady me. Nothing but air. I was going to fall on my butt and there was nothing sexy about that.

  But his hands were underneath my bare cheeks, holding me just the way he wanted. Closer. Flush to his mouth.

  His tongue replaced his lips, sliding just inside and sending
a shiver up my spine. God his tongue felt delicious on my warm skin. It was an instrument and he used it to make music along the walls inside of me.

  Every part of me cried out in unison. I wanted him deeper, wanted to spread myself wider to give him that bundle of hot need that pulsed and was yet untouched. Each stroke of his tongue moved closer but he darted out of reach until I was writhing, practically groaning for him to taste it.

  He pulled back, lips against my lower lips and I swear I heard something that sounded like a chuckle. He was making me work for it...but I couldn’t muster anything other than moans when his mouth dove back inside. Even the eye roll was a fail, eyes fluttering madly when he finally took his tongue to the swollen knot and went to work. He circled it, flicked it—but I wasn't prepared for when he took it between his lips and sucked.

  Pulsing squeezes sent a cacophony of sensations over me. Beautiful, intoxicating waves took me out of reality and thrust me into what had to be some mad dream. Jacob Whitmore couldn't be on his knees, with his face buried in my crotch. Those couldn't be my legs on his shoulders, shoes sparkling as I crossed my ankles and drew him close. And the growl of approval that rumbled from him and right through me...

  But it wasn't a dream. It was his hands spreading me open and his tongue tasting me from the inside, my back arched and mouth wide open.

  Dominant, submissive—none of it mattered because I'd lost all control. I felt the need building and I let go. Closed my eyes and fell, arms wide open into bliss. Jacob caught me, pulling me into him as he took all of me.

  Jacob. My Jacob...and we were just getting started.

  And then I heard the phone.

  I braced myself on the desk, glaring at the thing with disdain. I almost reached over and tore it off the hook and chunked it across the room, but it had already cut through the electric haze of us and rational, not-getting-mind-blowing-oral-sex Leila knew better.

  I looked down at Jacob, his eyes, his smirk, still hungry for more. He pulled me back forward, his gaze locked between my legs like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Ignore it.”

  I was distracted, but it finally stopped ringing and there was another sound I was preoccupied with. His belt being unbuckled. His zipper pulling downward.

  And then the phone started ringing again. By the time it stopped, we looked at each other, knowing that whatever mood we’d been in was killed, dead, and mounted on the wall.

  I shimmied back into my underwear, feeding my arms into my bra then fastening it. I stepped into my skirt and watched Jacob wipe his mouth with his handkerchief.

  A flurry of knocks at the door brought me from the buzz, and even though my shirt was buttoned, skirt up, I found myself covering my body apprehensively.

  Jacob fixed his tie with angry jerks, clearly not happy that someone was not only blowing up his phone, but now somebody was beating down his door too.

  He gave me a small nod, making sure I was decent before he pulled it open.

  Natasha and Claudia were side by side, both talking at the same time. Jacob's voice rose above theirs, silencing everything but his obvious annoyance.

  "What is going on here?"

  "Well, I tried to call you," Natasha began, looking at me pointedly.

  "Mr. Whitmore," Missy interrupted wisely, picking up on the anger Jacob was about to unleash on her friend. "There's been a development in the Mia Kent case."

  Something about the way she said 'development' made me nervous and when she seemed to look everywhere but at me, I knew something was wrong.

  I took a step toward her. "What happened?"

  "We're still getting details, but according to the news, her friend found her in her apartment thirty minutes ago."

  I brought my hand to my mouth. Oh God...

  "They found pills..."

  Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, cutting to the chase. "They’ve rushed her to the hospital. They’re saying that Mia Kent overdosed."

  Part Ten

  The Billionaire’s Past

  We held our breath, side by side, our issues forgotten as we watched Jacob for some sort of clue that Mia was alright.

  Naturally, he gave nothing away.

  "I'm assuming if the girl was dead it would be all over the place," Natasha murmured with a shrug.

  For someone that walked around like they knew everything, Natasha clearly didn't know squat about being human.

  She mouthed a ‘what?’ to Missy and rolled her marble blue eyes at me as I let out a scoff of disgust and turned back to Jacob. I didn’t have the time or patience to get into it with her again. Not when it was getting harder and harder to breathe, waiting for information about Mia.

  Overdose.

  That word brought back a chilling memory. Freshman year—everyone buzzing with their first taste of adulthood. Life without parents. The dizzying power of responsibility. Staying up as late as you want. No one forcing homework and sports down your throat. No wonder so many people packed on the Freshman 15 or in my case, 30, when you could have pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  Still, I’d be lying if I said sometimes I didn’t wake up and forget. Ache for home. Expect to hear the low drone of Mom watching some terrible soap opera or the mechanical buzz of Dad at work in the shed. But my first college roommate was ten times worse. She'd cry herself to sleep, always on the phone with her parents, texting the boyfriend that she left back home.

  I tried to involve her in things, inviting her to the cafeteria, offering to walk with her to class, but she turned me down. I knew she had to be lonely. She was miserable when she couldn't reach them and only smiled when she spoke to them.

  And then something changed.

  She started opening up to me. Telling me about her past and what she wanted for her future. She even started coming down to the dining hall instead of eating in the room alone.

  All her progress halted when her boyfriend broke up with her. She stopped going to class altogether. She stopped using words, communicating through grunts and eye rolls. She didn’t even leave her bed, curled up in her comforter like the world outside was just too painful.

  It was horrible of me, but I kind of thought she was just being ridiculous. That she needed to grow up instead of dealing with a rough breakup in the worst possible way. I had no idea there was something much darker going on.

  About a week later, I came back from my morning classes and realized she hadn’t moved in hours. Usually she'd shift to a different side of the bed or her body would curl in a different version of the fetal position. When I saw that all of the pill bottles in the bathroom were empty, I freaked out.

  I could still remember dashing to my desk to call 911. The way the girls lined the halls, whispering as the medics wheeled my roommate out on a stretcher, trying to resuscitate her. Apparently if I hadn’t called when I did, she would have died.

  She moved back home and I never heard from her again.

  Did I miss something this time too? So caught up in being vindicated that Missy’s approach was too brutal that I missed how far gone Mia really was? Should I have gone after her instead of trying to figure out a way to convince Jacob that I deserved to be heard on her case? Because now there was only silence, a deafening, hollow quiet—and a worry that I could have done more.

  That I could have saved her.

  Jacob lowered his phone, his face unreadable as he ran a hand through his dark locks, waves swishing back in place. We were all antsy, waiting with bated breath. When his eyes settled on me, the knots that ground in my belly slackened.

  “She’s still alive,” I said softly, relief crashing into me.

  Missy moved forward, her dark ponytail slashing the air. She needed to hear it for herself. "Mia Kent's alive?"

  "Yes," Jacob confirmed with a crisp nod. "She's at Mercy General. They pumped her stomach and she's under suicide watch."

  "We have to-" I looked to my left and saw Missy and I had both taken a step forward. We both had spoken the
same words and had the same urgency in our voices.

  I was pretty sure I'd lost a good chunk of respect for Missy after she tore down a girl that was a walking cry for help during and after the meeting, but the remorse that blanched her features pooled together the scraps that were left.

  I turned back to Jacob. "We should go talk to her. Let her know that she's not alone. And the press..." Locusts were more accurate. Snapshots of Mia's washed out, unconscious face were proof that the friend who called 911 made another call first.

  "Of course." Jacob moved to where I stood, forgetting that we weren't the only two people in the room. I relaxed in his arms, breathing in the warmth. The safety. I knew what he was gonna say before he even said it.

  "I've already arranged a car. If you want me to accompany you, I'm there."

  I pulled back a little, hands against his chest as I looked up into his eyes. I knew he had a million other things to do, that he was going above and beyond. He was willing to draw those flashing lights on us, to sit beside me in the waiting room until we were allowed to see her. All because he loved me.

  As much as I could use him by my side, I needed to do this. Missy and I had to make this right.

  I brought a hand up, fingertips brushing the striking line of his jaw. “That’s alright. We’ve got this.”

  I gave Missy a curt nod and we moved to the door. My eyebrow shot upward when I heard the tap of Natasha’s heels behind us. Five seconds ago she was talking so flippantly about the overdose, shrugging it off no less. Now she cared? Now she had a heart?

  My glare nailed her in place and her cheeks reddened before she threw a glare back at me. “Mr. Whitmore was sending me home early anyway.”

  “Then go home,” Jacob said sternly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “I’m sure they’re more than able to handle the situation without your assistance.”

  She pursed her lips defiantly, but eked out a, "Yes sir" and brushed past us, feathers visibly ruffled. I was expecting some nonverbal show of solidarity from Missy, but she seemed just as relieved to be free of her as I was.