The Billionaire Possession Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  I let him dangle as long as I can, and then…then I get more aggressive.

  He’s so big that it’s almost a struggle to fit him into my mouth, but I don’t hesitate for a second, working it in inch by inch. I don’t stop, not even when he bottoms out against the back of my throat. Not even when I swallow, eyes watering, to accommodate all of him. I keep the pressure up, inviting him to have me this way. I know he won’t be able to resist. We’ve both been playing with each other, but with my lips wrapped around him, he’ll give a little—at least on this.

  With a low groan, he explodes into my mouth. I take every drop. I would do nothing less.

  When he’s spent, I stand up, reaching for a tissue on his desk. I pat the corners of my mouth with it, then plant a gentle kiss on his cheek—like the one he gave me in the alcove at the awards ceremony. “I only have one question.” I whisper it into his ear. “Should I come back tomorrow?”

  20

  Jasper

  Isabella grips the other end of my desk, her hands tight on the edge. She is a living version of one of the first fantasies ever to flash into my mind about her, and the real thing? The real thing is a thousand times better than I ever could have imagined.

  She’s bent over at the waist, ass tilted up by the curve of her back and given a little extra by the fact that she’s wearing high heels. Her muscles tense as she struggles to stay in position, her body trembling. I have one hand on the small of her back. The other is between her legs. I have ten minutes before my next meeting, and I’m going to use as many as possible to tease her.

  “God, Jasper...” She forces the words through gritted teeth. Her hair was in a flawless bun when she walked through the door five minutes ago, but now there are tendrils escaping, falling around her face in gentle wisps. By the husky tone of her voice, we’re past the part of today’s battle of wills. She’s not interested in being submissive anymore. She’s interested in getting off.

  And the power is in my hands.

  Literally.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “How long are you going to do this to me?”

  “As long as I want.”

  She groans, biting down on one of her knuckles. Then she remembers herself and moves her hand back into position, wrapped around the edge of the desk.

  “I should spank you for that.”

  “Do it.”

  I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. Every time I up the ante, Isabella calls my bluff. That first day in my office—was it only a couple of weeks ago?—I thought it was more irritating than amusing. At what point did I stop fighting it? I can’t remember, and in this moment, I don’t care. All I know is that Isabella has come by every day since Monday, unless I make other plans, and it’s not strictly according to the arrangement. Yet...

  “Are you telling me...” I stroke along the length of her slit again with my fingers, collecting her juices on my fingertips. “That you wouldn’t mind if the rest of my office heard me spanking your bare ass?” She bucks her hips an inch backward, as far as she can go without letting go of the desk, but I don’t put my hand back between her legs. Instead, I rub my open palm over the absolutely flawless curve of her ass.

  Isabella takes in a breath that could be a gasp, going still. Is she actually mortified at the thought that Christine—and possibly Mike Ford—might hear my hand connecting with the swell of her bottom, or does it turn her on?

  I raise my hand, letting it hover in the air for a long moment, Isabella’s breath going shallow and fast.

  “You—you wouldn’t.” Her voice is a whisper. I don’t know what, exactly, shakes her in these moments—I can never tell when it’s going to happen—but the thrill of putting her in that place in her mind, where she’s wondering what I might do, makes my cock jump against the fabric of my pants.

  I lean down to growl into her ear. “Wouldn’t I?” I pull my hand away again, and she tenses, her green eyes burning into mine.

  While my hand is still somewhere in the air behind her, I press my lips against her neck below her ear. Goosebumps rise near her hairline. She twists her face up, away from the surface of the desk. The movement—the invitation, the question—makes my heart ache in a way that takes me by surprise.

  I don’t even think about it. I don’t turn her down.

  I kiss her, softly at first, then harder as the heat between us ratchets up.

  When I pull away, her eyes are still on mine, still an inferno of need and desire. But there’s something else in her expression, too. Something softer. Something wondering.

  I put my hand back down on the small of her back.

  “You only have a few minutes left,” she whispers.

  No words come to mind.

  All I can do is slide my hand down, tracing my fingers lightly over the cleft of her ass, making my way to her molten core. I push three fingers gently inside her, still looking into her eyes, still watching the fire burn.

  I curl my fingers and her lips part an inch. The breath she draws in is nearly silent, but her eyes go wide. While she’s still tensed around my fingers I pull them out, searching for her clit.

  I find the swollen button and press my fingertips against it. “Spread wider.”

  She does, giving my hand the room I need to move. Her eyelids flutter closed, and then she opens them again. The word please forms on her lips. It’s a soundless plea, but it’s the loudest thing to ever echo through my heart.

  I increase the pressure on her clit, rubbing harder, picking up the pace. Isabella’s knuckles are white on the edge of the desk and the trembling in her legs has taken over her entire body. “Oh...” It’s a sweet sound escaping her lips, once, then twice.

  She loses control right at the bitter end, her hips bucking in spasms that she can’t seem to stop, and then she explodes over my hand, another wave of juices coating my fingers. Isabella covers her mouth with her hand, her cries muffled by her palm, but she never takes her eyes from mine. No instructions needed.

  She’s still panting when I sweep a tissue between her legs and tug her panties back down, then pull her skirt down into place. For once, she doesn’t hesitate to take my hand, straightening up a bit unsteadily, her cheeks pink.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Mr. Pace?” Christine’s voice is tentative, with an edge that I can’t help but read as accusatory. I laugh, keeping my voice low. Whatever she’s accusing me of in her imagination, she’s probably right.

  Isabella reaches up and puts her hair back into place, squaring her shoulders. Then she casts a look around. Her purse is on the floor near my foot, and I scoop it up and hand it to her.

  She takes it in silence, her eyes searching on mine. I wait for the quip, for the last word she’s sure to get in before she leaves, but instead she rises up on her tiptoes, kisses my cheek, and heads quickly for the door.

  Christine has her hand raised to knock again and Mike Ford is looking in over her shoulder when Isabella pulls the door open. I can’t see her face, but judging by Christine’s expression, she’s given them a look that says ask me if you dare.

  Isabella disappears through the door and Mike comes in, already talking, but none of his words land at all.

  What the hell was that?

  21

  Isabella

  My mind is a whirlwind while the elevator takes me up to Jasper’s penthouse. The movement of the car is so smooth, so silent, that the only indication I’m even moving is the falling sensation in the pit of my gut.

  That feeling might be something else entirely.

  I’m not sure.

  It’s been two days since that strange moment in his office, and my chest still feels tight and warm when I think about it. Why did everything go so quiet? Why did I feel like we’d suddenly made it to another level, beyond all the bantering, beyond all the screwing around with each other?

  That’s what we’re doing, right? We’re both playing a game. Although the stakes are higher for me...at least for the moment.<
br />
  I’m going to find a way to get my hands on my mother’s building, and sooner rather than later. She’s started calling me every couple of hours, usually under the guise of asking about something else. The conversation always turns to the building, her apartment, the fact that she hadn’t planned on leaving and doesn’t want to. She also doesn’t want the rest of the tenants to leave. “I’ve known some of these people ten years, Isa,” she told me during the fifth phone call, her voice shaking. “I’m not ready to start over.”

  It makes my heart ache, hearing her so upset. To some people, it might be an apartment, but the little place in Hamilton Heights was the first time she’d felt secure in years. I know, because I spent the first night there with her. For the first time since I was a teenager, she slept through the night, late into the morning, and didn’t wake up once to pace in the living room or listen near the window for any sign of trouble.

  It dawned on me in the middle of the night last night that Jasper never promised me the building. He never did, and that little detail was something I should have insisted on negotiating.

  But I didn’t, because...

  Because I wanted to get back at him for the way he underestimated me. For the arrogant way he treated me.

  And because I wanted him.

  I still want him.

  The elevator glides to a stop, and my mind is still a mess. He didn’t make plans for yesterday, and I spent the evening out with some girlfriends. Evie came along, too, and she wouldn’t stop staring at me like I was some kind of freak show.

  “What’s going on with you?” She’d had to shout the question into my ear over the music of the club we went to. I needed more alcohol before I hit the dance floor, and Evie stayed with me to have one more fruity cocktail.

  “With me? Nothing. Running a successful business, trying to get three new stores up and running, dealing with Mom...”

  “Bullshit.” She’d pursed her lips. “What’s really going on?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’re acting super suspicious, Isa.”

  I’d raised my eyebrows. “About what?”

  “I’ve known you since you were, like, two.”

  “And?”

  “And I was there when you started working in this business at some age that could have gotten Mom busted for breaking child labor laws—”

  I rolled my eyes. “I was fourteen. And it didn’t take off for at least a year or two after that.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “You changed the subject.”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  My heart had beat harder. “There’s no guy. I’m still recovering from Jason.”

  “I don’t believe you, especially because you’re lying.” My phone had buzzed, and Evie gave me a pointed look. “Who’s the message from?”

  Jasper. “None of your business.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, very convincing. I’m sold. Isa doesn’t have a new boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “So he does exist.”

  I willed the blush to stay the hell out of my cheeks. “If you must know, I am in contact with Jasper Pace.”

  Evie delicately put her cocktail down, then slapped both hands against the table. “I knew it.” Her triumphant cry didn’t even make it past the boundaries of our table, but it made my face hot. “I said you had a thing for him when all this started.”

  I injected all the exasperation I could muster into my voice. “I told you I met with him. We’re in negotiations about the building.”

  “What kind of negotiations?” Evie waggled her eyebrows. “Does he ask you for favors in his office?”

  “Who even are you?” I’d tipped the rest of the cocktail into my mouth. “Let’s go dance.”

  “Your sister who loves you,” she sang as she followed me out to meet up with the other girls. “It’s too bad you love Jasper Pace more.”

  Her words had sent my heart soaring, then plummeting. I am not in love with Jasper Pace. That thing between us in his office on Thursday—that was a strange moment between two people who have been playing an intense little game for long enough to have gotten familiar. That’s all that was.

  Aside from all of it, I’m going to melt down completely if we don’t move on to bigger and better things.

  Like real, honest-to-God sex.

  I’m losing sleep over it. Not that I want to tell Jasper that. But all of my nerves are molten, and I need this. It’s all getting to be too much. Something has to give, and I choose sex. Sex is what has to happen, and it has to happen today.

  The doors open, and there he is, standing in the lobby of his penthouse, hands in his pockets. Jasper’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and backlit by the light streaming in through his living room windows, he looks...

  He looks royal. He looks commanding. He looks sexy as hell.

  I step inside, and something snaps. I can’t wait anymore. I can’t. I can’t.

  The decision isn’t a conscious one. My purse falls from my grip onto the floor, and my knees hit the carpet a moment later. I don’t wait for him to address me. I don’t wait for him to set the tone. The plea tears from my throat before I can stop it.

  “Jasper...please. Please. I can’t wait any longer.”

  22

  Jasper

  This is the second glimpse I’ve had of Isabella at her most genuine, at her most raw, and if I wasn’t painfully hard already, there’s no denying it now.

  Saturday, minutes before noon, and she’s on her knees in my entryway. She doesn’t look quite like her usual self, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s because she’s wearing a sundress.

  A sundress.

  Every other time I’ve seen her, she’s worn a smart skirt suit or sheath dress and blazer or, for the awards ceremony, a gown that took my breath away. I’ve never seen her so casual. That despite the fact that the sundress isn’t something cheap from one of the boutiques in the Bronx. It’s exactly the kind of sundress that I’d expect her to be wearing—not couture, not ostentatious, but quality, the fabric hanging delicately over her legs.

  I’m at her side in an instant, lifting her chin in my hand so that she looks up at me. There’s a real desperation in her green eyes. It’s so sharp, so tangible, that I’m surprised there isn’t also a sheen of tears.

  She raises one hand to mine, sweeping her fingers along my knuckles and then wrapping them around my wrist. “Please.”

  Her eyes, so bright in the midday light filtering through my windows, along with the way she’s breathing, her breasts rising and falling underneath the neckline of her dress, twist my heart in my chest.

  I want to give her anything she asks for. I want to give her everything.

  As soon as the thought comes to my mind, there’s a part of me that recoils from it. An alarm blares in the back of my mind. I can’t get in this deep with her. I can’t get in this deep with anyone. My dad knows what the hell he’s talking about. I can’t throw myself in front of the same train.

  I scramble for a compromise, a way to delay, but there’s nothing. I know what she’s asking for. I could force her to say the words, but I don’t. I can see what she wants in her eyes.

  The worst thing? I want it too.

  I’ve been spooling this out for as long as I can, and it’s been a single week. I met Isabella for the first time two weeks ago. It feels like a year. It feels like ten. She’s clearly at the breaking point, and I was there with her up until a moment ago. Now I’m skidding to a stop at the edge of the cliff.

  Why? What could be so bad about this?

  Everything.

  Nothing.

  I have to do something.

  “Get up.” It’s a command, and she responds, scrambling to her feet. I offer her my hand. She takes it.

  Then we’re moving quickly through the penthouse, Isabella half a step behind me. I take her to the right, this time—the hallway tha
t leads to the den, the guest suite....the master suite. My bedroom.

  The master suite is at the end of the hall, taking up one full side of the building, and I push the door open in time to keep from running into it. Isabella breathes in deep as we cross the threshold, and I throw the door shut behind me. There’s nobody else in the penthouse aside from the chef, and he’s on the opposite side.

  My bed is on one end of the room. A fireplace in the center, sunken low so that it doesn’t block the view, anchors a small sitting area. A pared-down version of my office is on the opposite side, next to the hallway that leads to the bathroom. I scan each of the options in turn, images of Isabella in each scene flashing into my mind and back out again.

  “Bend over the chair.”

  Isabella doesn’t hesitate for an instant. She moves toward the chair in the sitting area. It’s another wingback, with sturdy arms, and she positions herself in front of it, hands on the arms. She bends so gracefully that I want to take a picture. It’s only then that I move toward her.

  “No. This won’t do.” She turns her head, eyes on mine, forehead wrinkled. “Stand up.”

  She stands, and I go for her zipper. The dress falls to the floor a moment later.

  Underneath, Isabella is only wearing a bra.

  “Shoes.”

  She steps out of her shoes, never taking her eyes off mine.

  “Jesus.” Isabella’s naked body is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Miles of creamy skin, all of it flawless. Breasts pert and firm. I step close, cupping one of them in my hand and rubbing around one of her nipples, already hard, with the pad of my thumb. She moans, softly, like how good it feels should stay a secret.

  It’s too much.

  “Chair.”

  She turns away from me and bends, feet planted on the floor, legs spread. The folds between her legs are already glistening. “Please...” One final whisper.