The Billionaire's Touch(His Submissive, Part Two)

By: Ava Claire

“You deserve this,” I told myself quietly as I pulled the slinky number over my sweaty skin. I didn’t sound too convincing, so I tried again. “You deserve this.”

I smoothed the front of the last dress, the chiffon tight in the bodice and the hips until it flared out at the hem. The color reminded me of red wine and when I spun, it swished around my knees.

Each dress I’d stepped into over the last hour was more beautiful than the one before and every one fit me like sin. But the excitement of wearing dresses I’d only seen in magazines paled in comparison to how I felt when I displayed them for Jacob’s approval. His deep blue eyes drank me up, inch by inch, and in his long stares, I saw myself. I felt beautiful. Desired. I was his.

We’d shut down Le Magnifique on Fifth street because Jacob Whitmore, the billionaire at the helm of Whitmore and Creighton PR agency, couldn't shop among mere mortals and before we headed to Venice for the film festival, I had to have a new wardrobe.

I'd stolen glances at the price tags so I knew the tally, but I still couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe there were people out there that could spend hundreds of dollars on a bolt of fabric and I definitely couldn't believe that I had an allowance for such things now. All because I’d tripped in my stupid shoes.

I brought my chocolate curls off my neck, biting my lip as I remembered the fear bubbling in my gut as he marched me down the stairwell after our run in. Who knew that the guy I’d lusted after since I decided to study public relations was not only tenacious when it came to business but also when it came to needs of the flesh?

I rocked slowly from side to side to the classical music humming from the overhead speakers, letting the memory of his hands do their work. This dress wasn’t meant for board meetings, after all. It was made to set fire to the dance floor. Jacob would own the moves as we spun and every twirl, dip, and heated gaze would tell me all the ways he would make love to me when we were alone.

Jesus. Make love?

I dropped my hair and gave the wide eyed girl staring back at me a stern look. I had to stop thinking like that. It was clear that ‘love’ had nothing to do with our arrangement. I agreed to be his submissive. To submit to him sexually. And hell, two hours ago I could barely do that.

I heard his deep voice filtering through the door and the area between my thighs immediately came alive. Instead of focusing on the fact that I was being given a prime opportunity to take the fast track as far as my career was concerned, I couldn’t think about anything except the things I wanted him to do to my body when he was near.

I kept kicking myself for dragging my feet in his office earlier when I saw that look in his eyes. That look said he wanted to fuck me until I couldn’t even walk straight. To possess me. Now I was just biding my time until I got another chance to say yes.

Snap out of it, I admonished myself. He’s just a guy. A rich, incredibly attractive guy with a sexual appetite that intrigues you, but in the end, he’s just a guy. But there was no explaining away the number he’d done on me. He had me off kilter. Off balance. And I had a feeling that I had to be on my A game with Jacob Whitmore.

“Miss Montgomery?” The haughty voice of the attendant assisting me, Skye, brought me from the ramblings in my head back to the mirror.

“Yes?” I said, not even bothering to hide my wariness.

“Do you need any help? Zipping something up, clipping something together if it’s the wrong size?”

I rolled my eyes at the last bit before I did a twirl, the dress more beautiful in motion. She wasn’t going to ruin this moment for me--not this dress. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Naturally, she took it as a ‘come on in’ and burst into the dressing room.

"Just making sure everything fits-” The word hung in the air as the door clicked shut behind her and her heavily mascaraed eyes popped from her head. “-Perfectly."

Skye had been making backhanded comments about my figure all day, going on and on about how I filled out every inch. She was the kind of woman that looked at anyone who wasn’t a size 0 like they had a predisposition toward laziness.

She'd also been making googly eyes at Jacob since we’d walked into the door. It made me angrier than I liked to admit, but I took a measure of comfort in the fact that he seemed completely uninterested. Instead of taking the hint, she just bat her eyelashes even harder. It was obvious she wasn’t convinced of the spell he was under.

Well, I thought deliciously as I stood a little taller, until now.

She cleared her throat and did a slow circuit around me. She was probably looking for some love handle or thread pulled too tight. "The dress is positively lovely on you, Miss Montgomery!"

I smiled at the compliment that wasn’t really one, choosing to ignore the utter shock she'd bundled it in. "It's definitely my favorite."

"And rightfully so," she said with a nod. She stepped up behind me, her eyes burning into mine. "How long did you say you've been working for Mr. Whitmore?"

"I didn't," I replied cryptically.

“Oh.” She glanced away, nothing cryptic in the way her face scrunched in concern. “I see.”

I turned to face her, getting the feeling that she had something on her chest. "Not that it’s really any of your business, but I was promoted a few hours ago."

"And you're already getting the VIP treatment?" The smile on her lips didn't get near her olive eyes. "You must be something special."

It was obvious that she meant another word that started with an 's'. Before I could open my mouth to respond, she dropped her volume to a low, confidential level. "If you want a piece of advice, enjoy the perks while they last."

My nostrils flared as I crossed my arms against my chest, suddenly feeling bare and exposed in spite of my pricey frock. "I don't remember asking for anything from you."

She held her hands up, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to help, sweetie. I thought you'd want to know that Mr. Whitmore's assistants don't have a very long shelf life and to stuff your swag bag while you can."

Now, I'm a simple girl who generally has a 'make love, not war' view as far as violence goes. I've only been in one fight my whole life and it lasted all of ten seconds when I bitch slapped Mindy Kennedy for ripping the head off my Barbie in the second grade. But this woman had me imagining all the ways I could wipe the smug satisfaction right off her face.

"Get. Out." The words came from behind clenched teeth which I thought should have been a dead giveaway that she was approaching the danger zone. Infuriatingly enough, she just stood there, like she didn’t understand English.

"Is there a problem, Miss Montgomery?"

"I said, GET OUT!"

With an hmph, she finally got the message and turned to exit--but not before Jacob threw open the dressing room door. I was clothed, but my arms still wrapped around the front of my body instinctively. Sleek and composed, only his eyes moved, narrowing in displeasure.

"What the hell is going on in here?" He looked back and forth between us like a parent scolding naughty children.

Neither of us said a word.

“I said, what is going on in here?”

What could I say without sounding juvenile? That I’d fallen for her ploy to get a rise out of me? That I was screaming like someone with no class because she hurt my feelings? I felt the anger seeping from me like air from a balloon and hung my head.

When Skye stepped forward, I expected her to throw me under the bus, but instead, she tried to smooth everything over. "Just a small misunderstanding, Mr. Whitmore." She gave me a smile that said, ‘play along’. "Maybe we should give Miss Montgomery some time to-"

"That'll be all," he snapped, dismissing her without another look. He turned to the side and allowed her to leave before shutting the door and turning his ire back on me.

"What was this misunderstanding about, Leila?"

"N-Nothing," I mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.

He snapped his fingers. "When I talk to you I expect you to look at me. I will have your respect."

I raised my chin, shooting daggers his way. "Respect? Like you snapping at me like a dog just now? Or how about your revolving door policy?"

His jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"Skye told me how you change your personal assistants like underwear. I better enjoy all of this before you throw me out like trash, right?"

His cerulean eyes flashed with something that looked a lot like hurt before they hardened to sea glass. He blazed forward and I gasped as he backed me against the wall, essentially pinning me in place.

I wanted to say something smart, but my brain couldn’t work with him so close to me. The heat of indignation melted and arousal quickly took its place.

His tone was harsh but I felt his lust thump from behind its Armani prison. "I don't appreciate being talked to as if I were the one in your employ."

Staring at him, feeling these powerful, damnable feelings made me want to drop to my knees and submit wholly to him, but the bullheaded part of me wouldn’t let me back down.

"W-Well, I don't appreciate being treated like being in your employ is tantamount to prostitution.”

The side of his mouth crept upward. "Prostitution? I never called you a prostitute, Leila."

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