Anything He Wants 2: All's Fair (Dominated By The Billionaire) Read online

  Jeremiah stood across the bedroom beside a small silver cart with domed dishes. The faint aroma of food wafted to my nose, making my mouth water. He looked up as I approached, his eyes taking in my robe and wet hair. “How did you like your bath?”

  I resisted the sudden urge to gush, shrugging one shoulder. “Not quite what I’m used to.”

  His steady gaze made me want to fidget as though caught in a lie, and it took a great deal of self-control to keep myself still. He turned to push the cart toward the table, and suddenly I could breathe again. Stop letting him get to you like that. My responses to him were silly but I couldn’t help feeling threatened, as if he were subtly stalking me.

  “I have something for you.”

  That got my attention. “Breakfast?” I asked, my eyes falling to the dishes beside him. My tummy rumbled in anticipation.

  “In a moment, perhaps.” He straightened, and looked me dead in the eye. “Take off your robe and come here.”

  Everything inside me went cold. I hugged the robe around me, trying to stave off the inevitable. “Why?”

  He said nothing, and I looked up to see him watching me. There was no emotion in his gaze; as far as he was concerned, I was to disrobe and go to him merely because he said so. Because I’d signed a document saying I would do what he said, something I’d only done because he had given me no other choice. The glittery trappings around me did nothing to disguise what they were: a cage, designed to keep me off balance and at his mercy.

  Finally, finally, I got mad. “Why me? Why all this?” I gestured around the room.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Why not you?”

  He was turning my questions back around at me, and that pissed me off. “I was nothing in your life, hands to type data then be tossed to the streets when I was no longer useful. So why am I here?”

  His lips thinned but he said nothing. Moving across the room to a large marble table, he picked up a crystal carafe and poured himself a glass of the amber liquid it held. “My career consists of me looking for potential,” he said, swirling the liquor around as he regarded me dispassionately. “It’s my job to find businesses that I can buy or sponsor, fix up, then sell for a profit.”

  “So what am I, a project?”

  A tip of his head sideways confirmed my suspicions. “You were ambitious, clever as a college student, used to a certain kind of existence. Life dealt you a hard hand, brought you lower than you thought possible.” He saluted me with the glass before taking a sip. “You would never have turned down a chance to get back on your feet, no matter what the cost.”

  “So give me a job,” I said, the sarcasm dripping off my tongue. “You didn’t need to strip me of my dignity, make me... The elevator, the garage--”

  The thump of the glass on the serving tray shocked me out of my anger. “You rode that elevator every morning,” Jeremiah said in a low voice, staring at the crystal carafe, “giving me those little glances, getting close but not too close.” His eyes met mine, and I sucked in a breath at the fire I saw there. “I knew your scent, knew when that need rolled across you. Those secret little smiles, not knowing what was going through your head...”

  My breath caught as he trailed off, the fingers clenching the top of the glass white with strain. I don’t believe you. “I’m nobody,” I said, my own words driving daggers through my heart.

  His free hand clenched into a fist against a hard thigh as his jaw tightened, then his body relaxed. He strode up to me, and I fell back a step, trying in vain to hold the last of my anger as a shield. Being so close to him was intimidating; my heart thudded in my chest as I looked to the side, unable to be strong any longer.

  A finger came under my chin and lifted my head until I was staring up at him. His face was as implacable as ever, but his voice was mild as he repeated his earlier request. Demand. “Take off your robe.”

  The words reverberated through my body, his proximity doing strange things to my mind, and I found my hands untying the belt to my robe. The soft material slid back off my arms and onto the floor, pooling at my heels. Fully exposed to him for the first time ever, I closed my eyes against his perusal, a tear squeezing out between my eyelashes.

  When he put his arms around me, I stiffened, but his hands stayed on my shoulders as he turned me around. “Look at something,” he said, and when I didn’t immediately open my eyes he repeated, “Look.”

  A large oval mirror stood in front of me, and I cringed at my reflection. “What do you see?” he prompted.

  Flabby tummy and thighs, big hips, boobs that need a bra to look good. “Me.” I’d always been my own worst critic.

  I saw his frown in the mirror, then he tilted his head to study my reflection. “I see a beautiful face,” he started, running a finger down my cheek and along the side of my neck. “Soft skin, the right curves.” He leaned in close to the side of my head and breathed deep. “You smell good enough to eat,” he added, his words almost a growl.

  My breath caught, his words making my belly tighten. One large hand covered my breast, fingers tweaking one nipple, and this time I gasped aloud. His grip on my shoulder tightened as the hand circling my breast dipped lower, skimming across my belly and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and my head fell back onto his shoulder as the hand splayed over my hip, fingers digging deep into my skin. I watched him in the mirror, my heartbeat loud in my ears, as that hand smoothed over my mound, not sliding lower but feeling its shape.

  Abruptly he stepped away and let me go, leaving me confused and off balance. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice a whip, and I froze. My instinctive obedience disturbed me but I stayed standing as Jeremiah picked up the box I'd seen him carrying in the lobby and handed it to me. “I was going to save this for later, but now is a better time.”

  Suspicious, I took the package and opened it, pulling back the tissue paper. My eyes widened as I ran a finger along a pair of nylon leggings and under the satin straps of a sheer white bustier. Speechless, I looked up at my boss then back down to the contents of the box, not sure how to respond.

  Jeremiah took the box out of my hands gently when I didn’t do anything for several seconds. “Turn around.”

  As I did what he said, he pulled out the skimpy articles then, to my further surprise, began dressing me. First the white bustier, which he laced up behind me; it covered my breasts and belly, with straps that hung down to my thighs. I stepped into the tiny panties then the thigh-high stockings to which he connected the straps from the bustier. There was something incredibly sensual about the whole affair despite how professionally he went about it. I’d never in my life worn lingerie like this, certainly not for a man, and it was an interesting experience. I’m too fair to wear white, a cynical part of me thought, but I kept that observation to myself.

  When he finished, he took me by the shoulders and turned me around until I faced the mirror again. “Now what do you see?” he asked, leaning close to my ear.

  I blinked. Wow, so this is what you get with high dollar lingerie. The white fabric managed to hide what I’d always hated, and accentuate what I never realized I had. My hands ran down my waist, modestly cinched by the strings along my spine, and over my hips to finger the satin straps running down my legs to the stockings. The whole ensemble wasn’t overly restrictive but tight enough to pull parts in and push certain things up – namely my chest, which I’d never considered particularly impressive. Looking good now, I thought, gliding my fingers across the firm tops of each breast.

  Suddenly remembering he’d asked a question, I cleared my throat to answer but didn’t know what to say. I locked eyes with him in the mirror, and he nodded, obviously seeing my answer there. “Glad we see eye to eye,” he murmured, running his hands up my arms and across my shoulders. “Now that we have that squared away...”

  A hand twisted in my hair, and my head was wrenched back. I gave a small cry, my hand covering his in surprise, as I looked back at him. His face had gro
wn cold as granite, green eyes intense, but his voice was smooth as silk. “I don’t like being contradicted. When I tell you to do something, I expect it done immediately or there will be consequences.” The hand in my hair tightened. “On your knees.”

  4

  I knelt quickly to the ground, the added pressure of the hand on my head forcing me to my knees. The garter straps against my back thighs and butt pulled tight, an interesting feeling but still eclipsed by the discomfort of the hand twisted in my hair. My head was tilted back, and I watched as Jeremiah examined me from high above. “You enjoy this, don't you?” he murmured.

  God yes! That traitorous part of my soul was on fire again, reveling in the forced submission even as I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. His hand left my hair, and travelled down my cheek. “You’re so beautiful on your knees, I'm hard just thinking about your mouth around my cock.”

  I shivered at the crude word, watching as his fingers skimmed over the bulge in his pants only inches from my face. Rolling my head sideways, I looked at our reflection in the large oval mirror. We weren't even doing anything - yet - but the way he stood over me, chin high and body straight as I knelt at his feet... My insides were melting, pooling between my legs to make me ready to take him. I craved his touch, and pushed against his hand like a cat, and he rewarded me by stroking his thumb across my forehead.

  “I dreamed of you on your knees, that gorgeous mouth sucking me off.” A finger ran across my forehead again, smoothing back the damp hair. “Would you like to help me come, little cat?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, then grunted in shock as he grabbed my hair again.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes...” I wracked my brain for an appropriate response. “Sir?”

  He made an approving noise, then his hands left me, moving to unfasten his pants and pull himself free. “I won’t promise to be gentle,” he grit out, his voice harsh with need, “as I’ve been thinking too much about this, but I do promise to finish whatever I start.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his hard length, sliding my hand down to the base then back up experimentally. His hips jerked, so I did it again before leaning forward and flicking my tongue over the head. I traced the ridge where it met the shaft before sucking him into my mouth, rolling the head with my tongue. I slid my fist down to the base, flicking the bulbous tip with my tongue and sucking at the soft knob, then removed my top hand and pulled him deeper.

  He laid his hands on my head, not forcing me into anything but as a reminder of his presence. I bobbed my head over him, my hand stroking his shaft as I drew him deeper and deeper. The sounds coming from above me – low grunts and truncated breaths – were gratifying to hear. I can make him lose control, I thought, the idea giving me motivation to double my efforts. When I thought I had a handle on my movements, I released the base of his shaft and pulled him in as far as he could go.

  A choked cry came from above, fingers digging into my skull. The thick head tickled the back of my throat, forcing me to withdraw or risk gagging. Wrapping my hand around the base, I began my efforts again but the hands on either side of my head pulled at me, his hips thrusting him into my hot mouth.

  “Hands behind your back.” The words were a rough order. I paused only a moment before complying, twisting my arms behind me and locking my wrists. I prayed he would be gentle with me.

  I should have known better.

  His first thrust hit the back of my throat, and my eyes watered immediately. "Hands behind your back," he barked again, when I instinctively reached back around, "or I'll give you no choice and tie them."

  It took every ounce of willpower I possessed, but I forced my hands back into position, interlocking my fingers and hanging on for dear life. He repeated his thrust, this time not as deep, allowing me room to breathe. He continued like this, pushing himself in and out of my mouth, and I slowly began to get used to the movement. Indeed, pretty soon I grew accustomed to the tempo enough to improvise. I pressed my tongue against the base of his member; his plunging grew shallow, allowing me more space to maneuver and play. The small sounds coming from above – bitten off groans and sharp intakes of breath – were sexy as hell, and a good indicator that I was doing something right. When I flicked his tip with my tongue, forming a tight seal and sucking him deep, the gasp I heard above me made the corners of my mouth turn up.

  His fingers dug into my skull, directing my head as his hips thrust him deep in my mouth. Any time I felt like gagging, or had difficulty breathing, he slowed down the pace, and I thanked him as best I could. My eyes flicked sideways to watch us in the mirror, and the raw need I saw on his face - I’m doing that - was a powerful aphrodisiac. The throbbing between my legs increased, my tiny panties no match for the slickness running down my inner thighs. I need him inside me soon or this is going to be too much.

  Apparently he thought the same, because he pulled out and stepped back. My saliva glistened on the taut skin in front of my face. "Stand up."

  Not sure whether he meant I could move my hands, I maneuvered myself upright until I was standing, arms still locked behind my back. There may have been approval on his face, but he grabbed the back of my neck, his grip firm but not tight, and marched me to a round marble table with a thick wood base. "Lay across and grab on to the sides until I say you can let go."

  The table looked solid enough but the stone had to be cold and I wasn't wearing much. From somewhere deep inside my soul a small voice cried out, You can still say no, it’s not too late.

  And then what?

  He had told me, back in the parking garage, that he never took a woman against her will. “Just say no and I will leave you alone forever,” he had told me, and I believed him. I could say no and walk out that door. He might fly me back to the States, or he might not. It didn’t matter; I could go to the US Embassy, I could make my way back somehow. I knew how to survive – the last two years had taught me that much at least. I glanced at the door. All I had to do was say no.

  I looked in the mirror, meeting Jeremiah’s eyes. There was an answer there I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge until now. My body knew what it wanted and I saw that same knowledge in Jeremiah’s eyes. Who was I fooling? The girl reflected back at me in the white lingerie, backed by a beautiful man and the luxurious surroundings, dared me to say no...and I made my decision.

  Body suffused with desire, I leaned down and grabbed the far edges of the table firmly, relieved when it didn't move an inch. Jeremiah's hand left my neck, trailing down my back and across my bottom, giving one cheek a firm squeeze.

  "Spread your legs."

  I did as he said, and his hand trailed lower, following the line of the thong between my buttocks. I shivered as his fingers caressed the thin panties and me beneath them, and tilted up my hips for more contact.

  "Are you on birth control?"

  The unexpected question pulled me out of the haze of lust for a moment and I nodded. Irregular periods, more than any kind of sex life, were why I still got the shots; I'd never really needed them for any other reason.

  In reward for my answer, his fingers slid beneath the band of the small panties, pressing against my damp skin, and I moaned. He circled my entrance with deft fingers, then up toward the hard bud that throbbed with every beat of my heart. My breaths came in pants, but he didn’t go further, his hand merely exploring. "Would you like me to make you come, little cat?"

  I nodded vigorously, his fingers making my breath catch. A chuckle came from behind me, and lips pressed against the small of my back, just below the bustier. "You'll have to work for it; are you willing to do that?"

  Before I could make any response, his thumb slid back through my folds and pressed firmly against my rear opening. I surged forward in shock but the table prevented any escape from the foreign invasion. I trembled as his hand caressed both my entrances – the alien sensation a puzzle my body couldn't quite figure out.

  "Many women enjoy backdoor play," Jeremiah murmured behind me, his fingers co
ntinuing their surface explorations. "Some actually prefer it, as the forbidden gets them off." He leaned in close, his body molding to mine. "Some men also prefer this entrance, the tight fit and taboo as much of a turn on as the sex itself." His lips were behind my ear as he added, "Guess which kind of man I am?"

  I moaned helplessly, trapped between the cold marble table and his hot body. His fingers kept working on the hard nub between my folds, causing my hips to jerk, and breathy pants to escape my lips. The two sensations at once made it difficult to differentiate which was the turn-on; his thumb would rub over both, and I’d crave more. Confusion was difficult to sustain, as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me. So, when Jeremiah’s thumb pushed inside, stretching the tight muscles in a way I never would have remotely considered sexy, I moaned and tilted my hips back against his hand.

  His laugh was deep and sexy, washing over me and making my skin tingle. Those fingers redoubled their pace, finding places inside me that left my body shaking and bucking against him, my moans loud and unabashed. “You are so fucking hot,” he whispered in my ear, rolling his hips against my backside. Still naked from the waist down, he slid his hard member between my thighs alongside his hand before repeating the motion. The inside of my legs were moist with my own juices and the roll of his hips against my backside was sexy as hell; my grip on the edge of the table tightened until my knuckles were white. My cries were long wails, the sensations and growing urgency making my body tense in anticipation.