The Billionaire's Hope (A His Submissive Series Novella)

by Ava Claire

  Megan made a scoffing sound as she leaned back in her seat, holding her phone inches from her face. "Not how I saw this day going at all. We were going to unplug and unwind and connect in yoga, then I was gonna-" She stopped talking, dropping her phone and covering her mouth like she'd been caught red handed.

  I arched an eyebrow at her odd behavior. "Did all that breathing and bending go to your head? What's going on?"

  "It's nothing," she said quickly, trying to cover her misstep by focusing all her attention on her phone. "Let's just get back to your place so I can make it up to you."

  I reached over and pulled out the Tupperware container of cookies. "Oh, all is forgiven."

  She slowly dredged her eyes from her phone, her cheeks flushing again, but this time, it was the hue of someone who was keeping a secret. She was hiding something. Poorly.

  "R-really? Because I totally understand if you're pissed that I wasted your time. Especially if that time could be spent doing the things you want to do. With someone you want to do the things you want to do with."

  I reared back, perching my shades on the crown of my head so I could get a thorough look at my friend. "You are acting really bizarre." I crossed my arms and channeled some of the energy she was dishing out at the gym in spades. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing!" She cringed when it came out in a single, guilty squeak. "I mean, it's not a big deal!" I saw her mentally back up and try it again, smacking her forehead. "I know I'm making it seem like a big deal-"

  "Or like you're hiding something," I said suspiciously, tugging on my seatbelt. Wondering where this conversation was headed. "And I thought you had a work thing this afternoon? We're going back to my place?"

  The sides of her mouth curved until they touched the ceiling. "I do. I'm not going to your place. You are."

  I was still missing something. "...okay?"

  Megan let out a groan, like she'd been saddled with the worst charades player. "You're going back to your place because you have a visitor! Though I guess he's not technically a visitor-"

  "What are you-" I did a perfect re-enactment of her dead end sentence from earlier. I blinked, making some sense of this fragmented conversation. I have a visitor. A 'he'. Who wasn't technically a visitor.

  I twisted every feature on my face until it personified just how confused I was. "You're talking about Jacob? Why is Jacob being home suddenly this weird, secretive thing?"

  Megan let out an exhale like she was seconds away from pulling out her hair. "God Leila, I'll just tell you. Just act surprised, okay?” She leaned in, like our driver might hear something and shout it from the rooftops. "I was supposed to get you out of the house for a bit so he could set everything up. An afternoon of romance." Megan winked. "You can thank me later."

  My whole body snapped to life when she said the word 'romance'. Probably because I knew just how long it had been since Jacob and I lost ourselves in each other...and how much I craved his touch.

  My Dom’s touch.

  I managed to keep my lustful thoughts and smirks to myself and thanked Megan for her hand in whatever was waiting for me at home.

  I had a secret of my own: the last thing on my mind was romance. There was another 'r' word that came to mind.

  I wanted to be ravaged.

  Chapter Two

  Megan made me literally pinky promise when she dropped me off, her green eyes rounding with genuine worry. Jacob's list of friends was a short one, the result of keeping people at a distance and focusing on his career, so she didn't want to be removed from the circle of trust if he found out that she'd ruined the surprise.

  I practiced my 'surprised' face in the elevator. When I snatched my hand to my mouth and gasped, I just looked like a mad scientist who'd been caught with some monstrosity writhing on the table.

  I wrenched off my ponytail holder and let my wild locks free, hoping that would help me land on the ‘shocked’ end of the spectrum instead of ‘crazy’. The curls bounced past my shoulders and I gave it another go, imagining him leaping out and shouting "Surprise!". The second attempt wasn't much better than the first. With my palm clasped to my chest, I just looked like someone who was pretending to be surprised.

  The elevator shot to the penthouse and I was genuinely shocked, sure this contraption was out to get me as well, because it was unusually efficient. I had no more time to rehearse, but I had just enough time to realize there was no point in pretending. Acting was not my forte, and the truth was, even if Megan hadn't told me what they had planned, I was surprised. Surprised that two of the people I cared about most knew that I needed this. Needed to feel special. Needed a friendly nudge to remind me that I wasn't alone.

  The doors retracted and my heart lurched to my throat. The warm and naughty place between my thighs did that tingling, throbbing thing that only Jacob inspired.

  I needed to be taken, and from the ambiance that greeted me, Jacob and I were on the same wavelength.

  All signs that it was midday had been snuffed out, the room drenched in darkness. The only guide I had was a single candle on the table directly in front of me. The table was pretty unexciting under normal circumstances, since it was the landing strip for mail and keys. Now, there was only a piece of paper on top of it, and when I lifted it from the surface, I knew it wasn't spam.

  Your instructions:

  -Remove all clothing

  -Follow the candles to the living room

  -Your next instructions will be waiting

  My eyes followed every line as I reread the words, excitement stampeding over me. Raising my heart rate, giving me the best kind of workout. Warming me up for whatever he had planned.

  Apparently, I didn't have to pretend...because my man was full of surprises.

  I cursed under my breath as I fiddled with my pants, bracing myself on the table as I stepped out, one leg at a time. The card was beneath my fingertips. Right where I wanted his skin to be.

  His mouth.

  His cock.

  By the time I pulled off my t-shirt and flung my sports bra onto the pile of clothing, I was sweating and panting. My craving for him and him for me hadn't ceased throughout the pregnancy; if anything, the meter had been on a rocket ship to the moon. But there was a difference between sex and our special play.

  When I submitted to him.

  When he dominated me.

  Our dark, taboo ritual was ours alone. I didn't have a calendar handy, but from the way my nipples were swollen and erect, it had been way too long since we'd scratched those kinky itches.

  Was he waiting in the living room? Solid and aching for me? For my feisty submission?

  Would he spank me? Force me to show him how badly I missed my Dom with my mouth? With the wetness that kissed my erotic flesh, yearning for him?

  I let all those questions fall behind me as my feet glided across the cool, hardwood floor. There was no music, no clues given about what awaited me. The anticipation alone had me biting my lip and stroking my belly. This was our home, so even if he hadn’t lit the way with candlelight, I would have been able to navigate with my eyes closed.

  But they were wide open, searching for him. Craving the look he got when he was in the zone. When his guard was down, stripped away and I could see the erotic hunger flashing in those cerulean waves. I'd venture into the cool blue, knowing that whatever he had planned—pain, pleasure—it would leave me exposed, too. Unable to hide the fact that while I thrived in a position of power outside the bedroom, there was something freeing about submitting. Letting him take the wheel, steering us exactly where we needed to go.

  I paused when I hit the entryway to the living room, my heart jerking to my throat when the silence was filled by the sounds of the city, creeping in from the open door. The balcony awaited, along with the darkened figure of my husband, standing with his back to me.

  I knew his outline, the strong lines of his shoulders. The powerful muscles of his back. The delicious curve of his ass. From this distance, I couldn't tell if he
was clothed. A part of me wanted to dash across the room and find out for myself, but I'd come a long way from the headstrong submissive who willfully skated the edges of obedience. In those early days, part of it was due to some ignorance. I was thrown into the deep end of D/s, forced to sink or swim. With time, it became my way to force his hand, because I wanted him to punish me. Now, I knew that any attempts to make him do anything would only delay the pleasure.

  I wrangled my urge to speak, to go to him, to whisper that I was so wet and excited that I could hardly stand it, and did as he commanded. There was a large pillar candle at the center of the coffee table, a second white card perched against the warm glass.

  I picked it up, smiling to myself when the floor creaked and he tilted his head slightly in my direction. Was he testing me? Wondering if my enthusiasm would inspire me to bend the rules? Roll the dice and hope that when the dust settled, he'd forgive my creative interpretation and reward me with those delicious lips of his all over my body?

  I decided to surprise him by staying silent, holding my breath as I read the second card. His handwriting this time was a little less controlled, angry slashes that told me he was just as in need as I was.

  Get comfortable on the couch.

  When you're ready, say so.

  I almost just skipped to the second line, the words so close to falling out of my mouth that I had to press my lips together and remember that I was still on my feet. Not truly ready. Not yet in the subspace where my vocabulary existed of yes sir, no sir, red, yellow, green, and the cacophony of moans that his touch elicited.

  I maneuvered around the table and settled onto the couch, not watching him because I'd do something like plunge my fingers inside myself or rush over to him and blame the infraction on being out of practice.

  I let the suede massage all of my tight muscles, deep breathing in a way that would have made that yoga instructor give me a standing ovation. I knew I'd need it, because he pivoted toward me and I couldn't resist taking a peek. I quickly realized that somewhere along the way, he'd stripped off his clothing, too. And even in the dim light, with his cock in shadow, I was reminded that the rest of him was just as sinful. The muscular squares of his abdomen. That defiant cut of his jaw. The eyes that burned like a flame. A flame that was fanned when a smile crept across my face and I kicked my legs around and fell into the cushions. On my back, eyes on the ceiling, heart pounding in my chest.

  "I'm ready."

  The words came out in a whisper and I almost repeated myself, just in case, but the hardwood floor answered me, his foot falls making a beeline to the couch.

  To me.

  He stopped at my feet, his gaze smoldering as he reached down and stroked my flexed, trembling toes.

  Making me wonder if I'd just told a lie.

  There was no getting ready for Jacob Whitmore. No amount of preparation for the way he rocked my world.

  He'd barely even touched me and I was shaking like I was waiting for another strike of his hand against my bottom. I was trembling, like I was moments from climax with his lips wrapped around my knot of pleasure. I’d obeyed, but I felt like my legs were spread, eyes boring into me as he plunged himself inside with one goal: to make me scream with pleasure.

  Every thought that whipped through my mind must have been all over my face because one side of his mouth lifted, his dimple making me quiver.

  "Are you sure you're ready, little sub?"

  I gulped, and blurted my consent while I was still able to form coherent sentences.

  "I'm sure.”

  ~

  Jacob's need for verification, the husky 'are you sure you're ready' that shot right between my thighs, should have told me to tread very carefully.

  It was my warning.

  I knew how these things worked since this was far from my first rodeo. It was my chance to take a minute and reflect on his statement. On the fire that flashed in his eyes. The tremble that rippled through his fingertips and coursed through me.

  It had been so long since we'd been together this way. With him commanding me with more than a look that told me he was seeking that other L word: lust. That we were headed into dangerous territory where my wit and playful remarks wouldn't be rewarded with a smirk as he pulled me in for a kiss (or to shut me up). When we were in this space, where he was my Dom and I was his submissive, my usual hijinks would be rewarded with spanking.

  With his hand.

  Or other instruments.

  Speaking of instruments...

  In the near dark, it was hard to see much else besides the lines of his body and the steady rise and fall of my chest as I watched him, hoping for some clue about what came next. I didn't have to spend much time gathering evidence and theories because he turned to the coffee table. I made out the familiar outline of our toy box. A leather steamer trunk with metal accents that glittered as he opened it with an ominous creak.

  "The cuffs are-"

  "None of your concern," he finished, his eyes smoldering in the dark before they released me and went back to the task at hand. The edge in his voice should have ruffled the stubborn pieces of myself that kept me from being an honor roll submissive. It was more than just being headstrong and wanting to have the last word. The more I delved into the world of D and s, my research revealed that some submissives were 'brats', topping from the bottom instead of following their Dom’s lead. That wasn't me. The flavor of my rebellion was due to my excitement, making me forget the rules.

  Want flickered through me when I saw the flash of a silver buckle.

  The belt.

  Maybe a spanking was in my future.

  I bit my lip, delight coursing through me like the blood that coursed through my veins. Perhaps I was a teeny bit of a brat because I was tempted to let out a weary, impatient sigh that would be impossible to ignore...or go unanswered.

  But I was wrong yet again. The belt was just a tease and from the low, almost inaudible chuckle that rippled through the silence, Jacob was enjoying this little game.

  Keeping me guessing.

  If I wasn't so enraptured I might have stuck out my tongue when he straightened, something indistinguishable in his right hand. Maybe I'd get lucky and he'd order me to make good use of my tongue. To sweep it up and down his hardened length. I didn't need to see it to know that he was ready. Swollen with need. Erect, like the nipples that painfully ached for his brutal touch.

  When was the last time he'd been brutal? It had been so long since I’d even thought about using a safe word. I knew he dialed it back, toned it down for me and the baby, but it didn't make my need for a bite of pain go away.

  Even now, I was trembling. Not out of fear. I was shaking because in a twisted, delicious way, I wanted him to hurt me...then kiss it better.

  I smirked defiantly in the dark. Maybe I was a brat after all.

  My smile flatlined when I realized that he clearly had another agenda. And who was I fooling? Even if I thought I could force his hand, at the end of the day, I was a slave to this feeling. I'd do whatever he said because I knew there would be treasure waiting at the end of this kinky rainbow. Delights I never could have imagined, never could have experienced in a vanilla relationship.

  He straightened, the shadows turning his skin into a kaleidoscope of naked, beautiful flesh. Teasing me, because I wanted all of him, all over me, but even my eyes only got a taste. Only got to see what he allowed me to see.

  I craned my neck, impatience swirling in me as fiercely as desire. I couldn’t help it, with him so close, close enough that I could feel the desire radiating from him like the sun stretching its rays to kiss my skin. But the darkness played with me, forcing me to obey whether I wanted to or not.

  And my body loved every minute of it.

  From the pulse that quickened, making me pant and remind myself to take deep breaths, to the tingling, invisible fingers that stroked my breasts. Rounding my nipples until they were as rock hard as his abs, rippling in his created twilight.

 
; And then there was my core, the center of pleasure between my thighs that was aching, screaming for him. Muscles clenching, tightening like he was already buried in me, instead of standing painfully close, denying me the bliss that we both so desperately craved.

  “Tell me what you want me to do.” My words came out in a single breath.

  Hot.

  Setting fire to the silence.

  Despite my attempts to skip forward a step or two, Jacob was in charge. His silence was my answer. My reminder that my wiles were amateur at best. Distractions that kept us both away from the thrill of the roles we played.

  “Tell me what you want me to do.” He repeated my question, every syllable drifting across me like his fingertips. “Do I need to tell you what to do, Lay? Have you forgotten how things work?”

  “No sir,” I answered softly, settling on the couch and staring at the molding on the ceiling. Obeying, despite the temptation to steal another look. At him. At whatever was hidden in the dark.

  I did know how things worked. I knew what to do—and it was as simple as closing my eyes. As simple as surrender.

  “We’ll see.”

  Two words and I became liquid. Putty in his hands because I knew that was the firing shot.

  We were beginning.

  My foot exploded with sensations, like I was being brought back to life. Jolted from going through the motions, from pretending that I wasn’t longing for the ache that came along with our taboo play.

  The sensation felt like nails digging into my skin, a bite of pain that should have made me forget the rules. Cry out. Lift my head and discover what he was holding. What he had planned.

  He even paused, like he was expecting my show of submission to be just that.

  I stayed put.

  My mind ran through the possibilities. Maybe he used the belt after all. The buckle could have an erotic function that had nothing to do with holding up pants. The pinch could have been chalked up to a clothes pin, but the firmness was closer to Jacob’s touch.

  Then I knew.