Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (110 page)

I scrunched up my brow. “What do you want
me to say?” I asked.

“Tell me the truth. Tell me how you
feel.”

“Asher, I’m really horny,” I said.
Shy, confused, I added, “I don’t mean to be and I’m sorry if…”

He smiled. “Shh. No, that’s
good.”

I wanted to say more, was just about to, but his hand
reached down and grabbed my breast. He squeezed it in his hand and I
moaned aloud, excited. His fingers grabbed the curves of my breast, then
inwards to my nipple. Pressing my nipple between his index finger and
thumb, he tweaked it lightly, then twisted it around. Not hard at first,
just a little, then harder, harder, until I rocked forward, almost rose from my
knees, and…

“Stay on your knees,” he said, his tone
calm.

“I…” I gasped.

“Shh,” he said. “Jessika, stay on
your knees. Don’t get up.”

I buckled down and remained kneeling. He twisted
my nipple harder now, but slowly, gently. So sensitive and soft, just a
little nub of flesh. Pleasant at first touch, but ever-so-slowly becoming
streaked with pain. I couldn’t think, had no idea what he was doing, but
I stayed kneeling because I didn’t want him to stop.

Or, it wasn’t that I didn’t want him to stop, per se,
but I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I didn’t want him to regret this,
to regret kissing me, touching me. I saw him before, saw the look in his
eyes, heard the disappointment in his voice. When we slept together,
somewhat on accident after he took pictures of me, he seemed distraught.
Unsure what to do, not sure why he’d done it, and I didn’t want him to feel
that way again.

So, if this was what I needed to do, if this was how I
could keep Asher from feeling guilty, I would do it. His fingers squeezed
slightly, twisting my nipple further, but I remained steadfast on the
floor. My knees quivered and I imagined something else entirely.
Asher’s mouth around my breast, tongue caressing my nipple, soft, luxurious.

Everything stopped and I realized his hand wasn’t on
my breast anymore. I looked up at him, smiling. He smiled back.

“Very good,” he said.

“Thanks, but…” A thought came to me.
“Is this some kind of bondage thing, Asher? I really don’t
understand that stuff, to be honest.”

“I don’t think it is,” he said.
“I don’t know. Do you want me to tie you up?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to tie me
up?” I asked, coy.

We had no rope. He used his belt.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he said. “Tight
together.”

I did as he asked.

“Stand.”

I stood.

He circled his belt around my body, trapping my arms
behind my back. Tightening the belt until I couldn’t move my arms, he
twisted it around so that the buckle was behind me, then he latched the belt
buckle and admired his work.

“Can you move your arms?” he asked.

I tried to move them, to wriggle them free. I
thought I could if I had enough time, but as it was I was rather firmly stuck. “Not
really. Not much,” I said. “Now what?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

I paused, regretting what I needed to say.
“Asher… we probably shouldn’t do this. Beatrice, and…”

“We had an argument,” he said.
“I… I know that’s not a good reason for anything, but she’s so
difficult. You were there tonight. She listens to me, but… she
doesn’t. There is never a compromise with Beatrice. It’s always a
battle and she never gives in. I… I just want…”

“What do you want?” I asked.
“What do you feel?”

He grinned. “A turnabout, hm? I don’t
think I can say. You won’t like it.”

“Try me,” I said, defiant. I lifted my
chin and stared at him.

…

Asher knew Jessika would regret this. He thought
he might regret it, too. Try me, she’d said, and, oh, he couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t that he was controlling, or dominant.
Or, he was, he supposed. People said he had a certain air about him, a
kind of possessive, obsessive quality. He owned himself and knew how to
put that forward to others, but sometimes he felt helpless, too.
Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t do anything and it was all a farce.
Silly, really, since he was rich and powerful, except that wasn’t
everything. In fact, if he had to meter it out, he’d say power and riches
were only a small part of who he was as a person; the smallest part.

Asher was a dreamer. He was a thinker and a doer
and a wanter. Not needlessly, though. He wanted to share with
others, and in turn share in their feelings. He liked when people were
happy. Beatrice called those people his pet projects, but he didn’t think
that was it. Jeremy was one such “pet project,” but Jeremy was
eternally grateful, too. He liked Jeremy and he never thought lesser of
him, even if he’d first met the man working in a dead end job as a busboy.

He never wanted to control Jeremy. In fact, if
Jeremy wanted, he could leave at any moment and Asher would never begrudge him
that. He’d give his friend enough money to settle into a nice life of his
own, and ask him over for dinner every so often.

Jeremy never left, though. He appreciated
everything Asher did for him, and in turn Asher understood and appreciated him,
too. Even though Asher asked him, sometimes ordered him, to drive him
somewhere or pick something up, Jeremy did it willingly. It was Asher’s
request, but also Jeremy’s offer.

Jessika was much the same, except so very different,
too. He wanted to explore her, discover her, control her. But,
then, not control her, too. He wanted her to be willing. She could
leave at any moment.

Except, right now, she wasn’t leaving. Sitting
on the couch, with Jessika draped over his lap, stomach pressed against his
thigh, Jessika wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wanted her to stay,
even though he did, but because she wanted to.

…

I wasn’t quite sure what I’d agreed to, or why I was
doing this, but a part of it excited me. Asher picked me up like a
ragdoll and draped me over his lap as easy as that. Arms still strapped
tight behind my back, his belt keeping them stuck in place, he leaned back and
admired my ass.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not
sure if I’m sure, but I’m willing to try.”

He laughed. “Alright.”

“I… I trust you,” I said.

Asher remained quiet. Contemplative. He
rubbed his hand across my ass, caressing my bare flesh. The g-string that
came along with the babydoll didn’t do much to hide my rear assets. It
did even less when he plucked at the strings and pulled them down to my knees.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he
said. “Like… like a safe word. Alright?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Pick a word. Any word at all. If you
say that word, I’ll stop, but if you don’t, then I won’t. So you can
flail and scream and say no, no, no all you want, but if you don’t say the word
then I won’t stop.”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But, just in
case.”

I didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. I had
no idea what we were doing. It turned me on so much, though.

“Leather,” I said, saying the first word
that came to mind. His leather belt wrapped tight around my body and my
arms.

“Alright. Ready?” he asked.

Before I answered, he slapped my ass with the palm of
his hand. I squeaked, silenced, and my body jolted beneath his rough
handling.

It didn’t hurt, but that didn’t stop the surprising
abruptness. He lifted his hand and spanked me again, harder this time,
louder. I wriggled, squirming in his lap as he spanked me harder and
harder.

He stopped for a moment and rubbed my ass, squeezing
my butt in his palm. “You have a nice butt,” he said.
“I just want to…”

He slapped it hard. A resounding smack echoed
through the air. I bucked my hips up high, relishing in his touch.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, sounding
concerned.

I grinned to myself and refused to answer him.

He spanked me. “Does it hurt,
Jessika?”

I whimpered, but said nothing.

He slapped my ass again and asked me the same
question, but didn’t even wait for an answer before he spanked me once
more. It didn’t hurt so much as it tingled, pleasant and rough. I
could tell he was being careful, unsure, but trying to be dominant.
Controlling me, dominating me, so close and intimate and…

“You’re red,” he said. “I’m
stopping.”

I panicked, yelped. “No, it’s
alright. You can keep going.”

“Shh,” he said. “I can, but I
don’t want to.”

Unable to move much, still draped across his lap, I
decided to try something else. I wiggled my hips up and down.
Trying to look tempting, yes, but not just that. My crotch ground against
Asher’s thigh, my clit a fiery beacon of pleasure. I used him to get
myself off, to bring myself up.

He watched me writhing in his lap. I looked over
my shoulder at him, grinning. “Asher, can you… please?”

In one smooth motion he lifted me up and off of him,
then deposited me on my stomach on the floor. He unbuckled the belt
around my upper body and arms and let me free. I flopped on the floor,
unsure what exactly to do, but not liking it at all.

“What?” I asked. “I just,
I…”

“Go to the guest bedroom upstairs,” he
said. “On the side table you’ll see a screen. It’s a bedside
TV. Turn it on and switch to channel nine. Then wait.”

“What?”

He left without saying a word. He walked up the
stairs to the first floor, leaving me half naked in a disheveled babydoll on
his guest home’s library floor. I stared after him, completely and
utterly shocked.

“I guess I’m not sexy enough,” I said.
“Good enough to spank and make out with, but not to finger or fuck.
Got it.”

Pissed off and annoyed, I trounced up the stairs after
him. He wasn’t there when I reached the top, so I stomped up the stairs
to the second floor. The master bedroom door was closed, so I slammed my
fist on it.

No reply.

I tried to turn the knob and open the door, but Asher
must have locked it. I slammed on the door again, but nothing.

What a jerk. What an asshole. I’d indulged
him, let him spank me. It certainly hadn’t felt amazing when he twisted
my nipple, either. Actually, thinking back to it, I could still feel the
dull ache of his fingers digging into my sensitive flesh. And… I kind
of wanted him to do it again. I wanted to feel it, streaks of pain bound
with mounds of pleasure, coursing through my body.

If he wasn’t going to get me off, I’d do it
myself. I ran to the guest room and pounced on the bed. Lifting my
babydoll up and revealing my stomach, I shoved my hand between my legs and
teased at my slick folds. Belated, and not even really knowing why, I
noticed the small LCD TV screen on the bedside table and switched it on.
While I masturbated, I flipped past the nightly news and turned to channel
nine.

What I saw on the screen shocked me. My hand
paused and I stared, open-mouthed, at the small TV. On the screen, laying
on the bed in the master bedroom with his pants around his ankles and the
bottom of his shirt gripped hard in his right hand, was Asher. He held
his throbbing cock in his other hand, jerking it up and down slowly.

I could hear something coming from the speakers on the
TV, but the volume was too low. Frantic, enthralled, I mashed the volume
button until Asher’s words became clear.

“Jessika,” he said, more of a grunt than
regular speech. “I want to throw you on the bed and spread your
legs. I want to squeeze your thighs in my hands and slam my cock into
you. I want to…”

I lost it. What was a tease before became a full
on frontal assault to my femininity. I rubbed my clit hard between two
fingers while I watched Asher stroking himself. Head turned to the side,
I imagined myself there with him, in the position he told me, in the way he
wanted to take me. I spread my legs and put my free hand beneath my
breasts, jostling them up and down with my forearm and pretending Asher was
slamming into me so hard that I was rocking back and forth on the bed.

“Fuck me, Asher,” I said, a lusty
moan. I fingered myself faster, pushing one, then two fingers inside
me. Not enough, not the same, but if I kept watching Asher and imagining
him with me, I could almost convince myself that he was here right now.
Braver, my arousal thrashing past my inhibitions, I moaned louder.
“Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

“I can hear you,” he said, his voice
strained. “I can see you, too. You’re so beautiful. I
want to fuck you. I want to make love to you.”

I squinted through my pleasure-blurred vision and saw
him on the bed in the master bedroom, his head turned to the right just like
mine. On his bedside table, somewhat inconspicuous, was a small LCD TV
like the one I was looking at. He was watching me while I watched
him? My mind blanked, panicked, went into overdrive.