HONEY GIRL: BILLIONAIRE (Book 2)

by Jones, Juliette

  Neither of us said anything as we walked the final block. And entered the lobby of his building. And took the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor.

  Claude was there, cleaning. He looked surprised to see us, and he quickly turned off the eighties techno-pop music.

  “Claude,” Alexander said. “Please. Take the rest of the day off.” Well, here was an improvement: ‘please’! So the man was capable of being polite! Maybe he was still making amends after the last big blow-out we’d had, when Alexander had locked me in his fucking bedroom and practically attacked Claude when he’d let me out.

  Claude obeyed and immediately took his leave, shutting the door behind him.

  We stared at each other. Alexander’s fists were still balled and, amazingly, so were mine. It could have almost been comical, if it wasn’t so goddamn infuriating.

  “You can’t tell me what to do all the time,” I began. “You can’t! You don’t own me and you don’t get to decide what I do or who I have a goddamn cup of coffee with! I don’t care who he is or what he saw! It wasn’t even his fault! It was my fault and your fault that all that happened, not his!”

  He glared at me, saying nothing. Which infuriated me even more.

  “And that comment about the job interview was the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, you know that? The meanest thing.”

  “I’m sorry. I told you I was sorry for saying that. But that’s exactly what he’d love, don’t you see it? For you to jump my ship, get a job with him so he can make a move on you. I guarantee that’s what he’s up to. It makes me feel like tracking him down right now and beating him to a fucking bloody pulp.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it? Beating people to a bloody pulp. Are you going to beat me to a pulp, too? Or are you waiting to marry me first?”

  He looked hurt. “Lila. You know I’d never hurt you. You know that, don’t you? I’d never, ever hurt you.”

  “I’m not marrying you,” I said, and the pronouncement caught me a little off-guard, enough to cause a tiny sinking jolt in my stomach, of sadness. “I can’t marry you if you keep trying to control me all the time. It’s not what I want. I can’t stand it and I won’t be able to stand you, if you do that all the time.” I willed my anger to override that aching sadness, because it was true that I would give him up. I would. If I had to. If he couldn’t respect my boundaries. If he kept continually trying to cage me in. “I thought we already talked all this through, Alexander. I thought you understood. But you don’t. You don’t. So I can’t marry you.”

  Alexander fell to his knees. He hugged his arms around my legs and rested his head against my stomach. I almost tried to jerk back from him, to gain some distance, but his hold was too strong.

  And too warm.

  Too maddeningly good.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into the silk of my dress, grabbing handfuls with his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I promised you I wouldn’t do it and I have. Again.” His rage had turned. To utter despair. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t say you won’t marry me. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll make it up to you. Just tell me what to do and I’ll make it up to you.”

  He was sorry. I could feel the depth of his regret in the grip of his hands. He looked up at me and his eyes were anguished. His swarthy, beautiful pirate’s face was so full of remorse I couldn’t help it: I began to soften. He was human. And he was imperfect, I knew that. And I knew that I loved him, imperfections and all.

  “You know what you said to me the other day, Alexander? About trust? You asked me to trust you, and I did. I do. But that’s not enough. You have to trust me, too.”

  “I do. I do trust you.”

  “Not enough to let me have a cup of coffee with Mark Faber.”

  “It’s not that, Lila! It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don’t trust him! I can’t take it! You’re so fucking irresistible. I know he wants you. I know he does. He offered you a fucking job for Christ sakes! How could he not want you? It makes me fucking crazy. I was jealous. And insane. I love you and it kills me a little every time I have to let you go. But I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t say you won’t marry me, honey girl. Please. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

  I knew why it was so hard for him to let go. I knew what drove his protective instincts. His past. Jake’s abuse at the hands of a vile predator; Alexander could never undo it but had sought his entire life to try to prevent it from ever happening again. He felt he had to do it: to be that bulletproof fence. That role was ingrained in Alexander, and it was intensely difficult for him to disengage from this need to protect and to shield those he loved.

  For this reason, I agreed to listen to him. To let him try again. But I had a few conditions. “I want you to allow me total control. Of myself. You can’t dictate the terms of what I do and don’t do. It’s my life. I want you in it, but it’s my life.”

  “I know. I know. I will.” I’d never seen Alexander so agreeable. I knew that he would literally do anything to keep me and there was something about this knowledge that made me feel exactly the same way about him. Which meant forgiving him, even if he might make the same mistake again. I had to trust that he would keep trying.

  Because I did want to marry him. More than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. Of course I did. He was everything I had ever not even thought to dream of, times a billion. I wanted him to fix this.

  I wanted him to fix me.

  And the way his breath was humid and hot against the low skin of my stomach was burning me. With damp desire. With that sweet ache that swelled and bloomed every time he was near me. With that unsatisfied overblown urge to take him into my body. God, how I lusted for this man. It was disabling.

  “I’m going to forgive you, Alexander Wolfe, because I believe you. I know you love me. But I want you to prove to me that you trust me.”

  “I will. I will.”

  “Right now.”

  “How? I will.”

  “Tonight I’m going to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I trust you with everything I have. And you’re going to let me. And then, you’re going to offer Mark Faber his job back, if he wants it. You’re going to let me work in Political Affairs when I choose to, if I choose to. I might not. But it’ll be my choice. Our choice together, even. But not just yours. And if I want to have an innocent goddamn latte with some colleague I run into in the elevator, I will! Okay?”

  Something flashed behind his eyes. The instinct of defiant refusal. This was a choice he was making: to relinquish total control, or to watch me walk away. It was an impossible concession for him to make but he didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

  I loved him for that. I loved that he was willing to try. I wanted to try something, too. He was going to put his past aside, in a way, to allow me what I wanted of him. I wanted to put my past aside, too. To lay old fears to rest. To replace them with new emotions, like comfort. Maybe even happiness. “And now, I want you to promise me that you’ll do whatever I ask of you, tonight.”

  He looked at me warily. “Okay,” he said, not understanding my request. You want to have another coffee with Faber? he seemed to be thinking.

  “Promise.”

  “All right. I promise.”

  I had a plan, and it was one that made my heartbeat quicken. It was mad, maybe, to even try it. But I wanted to break through a barrier of my own. And I trusted that he would take care of me. “Undress me.”

  His eyes flashed again. This time there was no defiant refusal in him. Just pure, glittering lust backlit by a slow burning love. “That, I can do.”

  “Slowly.”

  He stood and untied my black silk dress, leaving me only in my sheer lace bra and my tall boots. He’d already ripped off my panties in the limo.

  I reached for his belt buckle, slowly unfastening it. Then I unthreaded it from the loops of his pants. I held it out to him. And I held my wrists together, looking at his face.

/>   Dawning realization flickered in his eyes. “You want me to --? No. Lila.”

  “You promised. I’m asking you to. Give me a good memory. That’s what I want. With you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. This is how much I trust you. Tie me up.”

  “Lila –”

  “Do it.”

  He paused, his expression dark, intense. He gently wrapped the belt around my wrists.

  “Tight,” I said.

  He obeyed, pulling the loop tighter, fastening it.

  “Fix me,” I whispered to him.

  Alexander was quiet, contemplating the challenge I’d issued him as I walked backwards, towards his huge bed. Determination and a devoted steadiness colored his movements as he followed me. I turned, sliding onto the bed. My hips rose and I was on my knees, my shoulders on the bed. I knew this position drove him wild. He was there behind me, sliding my knees further apart. He buried his face between the curves of my ass, licking me everywhere in hungry, heated strokes. He was so dirty, so entirely raunchy. Animalistic. He feasted on me like a starving man, lewd and lusty, his tongue probing indecently into every hollow in wet, greedy lunges. I moaned from the pleasure and the sound seemed to trigger something in him. A reminder, of the task at hand. He slowed, licking more slowly. Careful, succulent dips. His hands caressed me as he rearranged me, picking me up and carefully settling me on my back. My head rested on plush down pillows. Now, his hands were utterly gentle, his manner calm.

  Very carefully, he raised my arms, securing my wrists to the bed. My stomach did a small flip. “Do I need a safe word?” I said, breathless.

  He sat down next to me and grazed his fingers across my hair. “’No.’ ‘Stop.’ ‘Get off me, Alexander.’ Any of those will do. Unless you want to get kinky and play the ‘no’ means ‘harder’ game, in which case you can cry ‘Wolfe’. ”

  I smiled nervously. “Ha. Funny.”

  He laughed at his own joke, a low chuckle that turned me on even more, then his smile faded as he focused. “You trust me?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I promise I’ll be very, very careful with you. And I promise I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life trying to be the man you want me to be. I’ll fuck up on a regular basis, no doubt. You’re right: I’m an overbearing egomaniacal asshole. But I’ll keep trying.”

  “I’m sorry I called you that.”

  “I deserved it.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Careful,” he purred, playful. “You’re at my mercy, remember.”

  “Yes,” I said, a light sweat dewing my skin. “I’m at your mercy.”

  Alexander stepped behind the wall that partitioned the main bedroom from the massive walk-in closet. And he returned with two ties and something else: a long, thin piece of leather with a triangular tip. He sat down next to me once again, holding up what he was holding. “I’m going to tie your feet. Then I’m going to touch you with this.”

  “What is it?” My voice sounded just a little too high, a little too husked.

  “A whip.”

  I could feel my eyes widen. “I said fix me, not annihilate me.”

  His crooked smile reassured me. “This will fix you. I won’t do anything you won’t ask me to do, all right? I promise.”

  My heart was racing. “All right.” I sounded uncertain, even if I was starting to feel … crazy. His hands were on my thighs. Gently, gently kneading the soft flesh, easing my legs apart. His warm palm slid back, to the round curves of my ass, gently roving. His fingers skimmed the most intimate hollows of my body, caressing but not lingering, leaving feathery, heated echoes of his touch. His hands smoothed down to my knee. To my calf. To my ankle, which he secured to the bed with a silk tie. He did the same to the other ankle.

  I was completely bound.

  I could feel the residual panic, the deep-down fear. But I concentrated on Alexander’s face. His wild black hair. His perfect lips. He was so different … this was so different. Nothing like the clouded memories.

  “Close your eyes.”

  It was a command I could obey. And it caused a long-buried flashback to rise. Keep your eyes open. It’s always the way he had wanted it: the predator, the beast who had so thoroughly and permanently scarred me.

  I let my eyes close and I let myself feel. Heal me, Alexander. His hands and his mouth, worshipping my body. Kissing me. My hands. My mouth. My breasts. Not hard and quick, not cold. Not like the long-ago terror. This touch was so very tender and so filled with adoration I could only give in to it. I could only savor every sweet, succulent caress that was all about my pleasure and my salvation. He kissed my stomach, teasing with light licks. He moved lower, kissing my intimate petals, parting me with his tongue. He moved slowly, deliberately, licking me in long laves, opening me to his sensual invasion, taking his time. Until the fear was displaced by a rising tide of longing. I was wet. My sensitive flesh was softening under his loving exploration. His tongue delved between my folds, pressing against my clit, sucking gently on the swelling nub, exposing it. I was bound and open, entirely vulnerable.

  At his mercy.

  I felt myself strain against the ties and a sudden wash of panic cooled my damp skin.

  I opened my eyes. To see him. To make sure.

  “You’re okay, sweetheart. It’s me. I love you.” He kissed me again, dipping his tongue into me, in and out, licking me. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, reassured by his black hair and broad shoulders. I wished I could grab his hair in handfuls. Alexander.

  “Relax for me. I’m going to make you come now. I’m going to touch you with this soft whip, very, very gently. It won’t hurt. I won’t hurt you. It will feel good. Relax for me, honey. Trust me.”

  I closed my eyes again, letting myself feel only him, willing myself to be aware only of the here and now. All sensation focused on my center: that wet, hot pulsing place where his mouth tenderly feasted. He sucked my clit again, drawing, pulling, parting the folds of my pussy with his fingers to expose the nub fully. He drew again and there it was: the beginnings of a curling, blissful rise. I gave in to it, letting the momentum build, letting the pleasure overtake the fear, banishing it. His fingers delved into my saturated core, playing the moisture, swirling and dipping. The swell spread, to my belly, to the tips of my breasts. My climax was there, just out of reach. It was then that Alexander withdrew but before I could protest I felt the gentle pat of the soft leather whip. There. Right in the middle of the bliss. It was shocking, almost. Not painful: the opposite of painful. Needy. The pleasure bloomed warmly from the light contact, not yet taking hold.

  Alexander waited, gauging my reaction, assessing my response. I gasped as the concentric circles of pleasure seemed to ripple through my body, promising a release that was so exquisite and so devastating I grew impatient for it. “Again,” I pleaded.

  “You want more, honey?” His voice was low, almost teasing. He wanted me to beg for it.

  “More. More.”

  He made me wait and I writhed gently. The anticipation was excruciating. I liked the feel of the ties against my skin. I liked that I was vulnerable like this, for him, fully exposed. I wanted him to take advantage of my vulnerability, to use me and possess me. I needed it: I needed this release so badly I thought I would die.

  Alexander tapped again with the leather whip.

  Oh, god. The sweet swell blossomed in a heated, rapturous rush, centering in my clit, where the echo of contact lingered, spilling outward in a gently-coursing glow to touch the tips of my fingers and toes. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t hard enough, or fast enough. It was too teasing. Too gentle. “Please, Alexander. Please. More. Again.”

  “Shhh,” he soothed. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart. I’ll give you everything.”

  Again, he waited, taking his sweet, langorous time, goddamn him. He kissed my nipple, barely suckling. But I needed more. The swell was mellowing, not waning but rippling there, gaini
ng a sublime, just-out-of-reach momentum. “Please, Alexander. Please.”

  There it was. The light, beautiful tap. I moaned and my body sang with the low wave it introduced, the pure, enchanting reward, alighting my body with promise, with wonder. I was beginning to come. I was on the precipice. I strained with it, trying to reach it. But I couldn’t quite get there. My body arched, to get closer to him and this beautiful agony.

  “Are you ready, honey girl?”

  “Yes. Yes. I’m ready. Please. Do it now.” My response was breathy and raspily eager.

  But he sounded relaxed, lazy. Like he was enjoying my agony too much to hurry. “You want more, Lila? You want me to make you come?”

  He was torturing me. It was pure torture, this wait, this game. I let out another gasping sob of anticipation. I knew that when I found the ultimate peak of this rise, it was going to be so high and so good it would blow my goddamn mind. “Alexander. Now. Oh, please, I need it now.”

  “Relax, sweet girl,” he crooned. “Relax.”

  I tried. I relaxed my body, reveling in the feel of my soaked, swollen, total exposure. He was going to give it to me. Any minute. My mouth was watering, my fists clenched with hope and fervor.

  This time, Alexander tapped the leather whip against me not once, but in a light, gradually increasing rhythm. The pleasure was blindingly intense. It began low and the gentle taps fed the ecstasy into my body in a spooling beat that took over all my senses, flooding me with an orgasm so extreme I cried out, bucking and gyrating as much as my constraints would allow just to cope with it, to deal with the excruciating gravity of the clenching, undulating bliss that washed through my core and radiated through my body in rolling tidal waves of beauty.

  “God …” I was moaning as the climax began to ease, but he wouldn’t let up.

  Alexander’s fingers entered me, thrusting gently in time with the tap of his leather whip and he made me come again, the second climax just as brutally pleasurable as the first.