The Billionaire’s Pet (A 'Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires' Romance) Page 5

  Reality didn't trickle back in until my stomach was mostly full and a glop of sauce fell off my fork to land on my bare thigh. I looked down in surprise, still chewing, to see the warm, red sauce sliding across my skin. The site was so incongruous in the formal dining room that I immediately began to feel uncomfortable. I put down my fork and swallowed, the food sticking in my throat.

  "Am I eating dinner naked, with clamps on my nipples?" I asked, watching Jacob for his response. I earned another one of those grins.

  "You are. Do you mind? Because I'm enjoying the view." He took another bite of lasagna. His eyes followed my blush, raking me from my hairline to the tips of my clamped breasts, all the way to the napkin barely covering my legs, now stained with sauce.

  "I don't know that I mind," I said. "But I do feel like I left home this morning and stepped into the twilight zone."

  "You may feel that way for a while," he said. "If you decide you want to stay."

  I raised my eyebrows, deciding the only way to deal with this was to brazen it out. I had the feeling that a few weeks with Jacob, and I would not be blushing quite so much. Lifting my wine glass, I took a sip, finally able to appreciate how good the wine was now that my stomach wasn't grinding in starvation.

  "If I decide I want to stay?" I asked. "I thought I'd already decided."

  "That was this afternoon. You might've changed your mind."

  "I haven't changed my mind," I said. I thought about adding something like maybe I will if you don't let me come, but that felt like it would be breaking the rules. I wasn't willing to subvert my entire personality in the service of Jacob, but I had to remember what this was. I wasn't his girlfriend. I wasn't his lover. I was his pet.

  "Good. When you're done, please clear the table and bring back the white box in the refrigerator with one fork."

  I was finished eating, and the thought of what might happen next drowned what was left of my appetite. I did as he asked, carrying both our plates into the pristine kitchen, taking a minute to rinse and load them into the dishwasher. I wasn't sure if Jacob had a housekeeper, but he didn't seem like a man who did his own dishes.

  If I was going to end up doing them, I did not want to be stuck scraping off dried tomato sauce. The refrigerator held a white bakery box, not large enough for an entire cake or pie but too big to hold just one slice. I took a clean fork from the drawer and brought it and the box back to the dining room.

  Placing the box and the fork in front of Jacob, I returned to my seat. Jacob didn't open the box or touch the fork. Instead, he lifted his glass of wine and took another sip. I did the same, noticing that he'd refilled our glasses while I'd been gone.

  "So you're staying," he said.

  "Yes, I'm staying." Despite my embarrassment, my uncertainty, and the outright confusion at how I was going to handle all of this, I did not want to leave. I wasn't entirely sure if that was my pussy talking, still hanging on in the hopes of an eventual orgasm, or my long-standing fascination with Jacob. Probably both. And let's not forget that his power and money were the only things standing between my mother and a life on the street. Then there was Big John . . . I had a lot of reasons to stay.

  "Do you have any questions?" Jacob slid his seat back from the table, crossing one ankle over his knee in a comfortable half-slouched position. I'd been right again. The plushy upholstered chairs really did invite lounging at the table. If I hadn't been naked, I might have been tempted to imitate his position. Instead, I sat up straight, knees together, acutely aware of my upthrust breasts and the chain dangling between them. Did I have questions? More than a few.

  "Are you . . . is this . . . are you into bondage?" My inexperience was showing. I knew what I wanted to ask, but I didn't have the right language to ask it.

  "Are you asking if I like to tie women up for sex, or if I practice BDSM?"

  "Both, I guess. I'm not sure I understand the difference," I said.

  "Then I'll explain. BDSM refers to a lifestyle, at least the way I think you're asking. And the answer to that is no. I'm not a trained master, and I don't generally engage in dominant/submissive relationships with women. I'm neither a sadist nor a masochist. However, I do enjoy a variety of activities, sexually, including bondage. And in most things, but absolutely when it comes to sex, I like to be in charge."

  "So this is the first time you've had something like this?" I gestured between us, not comfortable using the word 'pet' to refer to myself out loud.

  "It is," he said. "As I said earlier, I'm trying something new."

  "Because you don't want a relationship," I said.

  "Exactly."

  "But—"

  "Abigail," he said. "Don't overanalyze it. I'm going to be sexist for a minute, so bear with me. Women tend to think everyone wants a relationship. That everyone needs to partner up. I'm not interested. I have work. I have friends. I have time for very few outside interests. Relationships are demanding. Frankly, I've never been involved with a woman who was worth the trouble. At least, not outside of bed."

  "Don't you get lonely?"

  "Were you lonely with John?" he asked. That was a direct hit. He was right. I had been lonely with John, desperately lonely.

  "Okay, but what happens if while we're doing this," I gestured between us again. "You meet someone and—"

  "Not going to happen. What we're doing right here? This is stacking up to be my ideal situation. As long as you're good with it, you don't have to worry about any other women."

  "All right," I said. Maybe it was sexist. Did all women think everyone had to pair up? I didn't know. The assumption that people were meant to couple had always felt like a given part of life. And here was Jacob saying that, now that he had me, he had everything. Some part of me, the part that was still innocent, that still hoped, felt like he was giving up. As if, even with all he had, he was settling for a barren existence by denying a need for love. But who was I to tell Jacob Winters how to live? I'd made a mess of my own life. And I certainly hadn't had any luck finding love for myself. Maybe this was the best I could do as well.

  "Any other questions?" he asked.

  "Yes. When can I visit my mother?" I asked.

  "Not yet. As soon as I think it's safe, I'll arrange for you to visit her. How often do you normally go to see her?"

  "At least three times a week," I said. "I'll need to call and let them know I won't be in for a while."

  "I'd rather you didn't," Jacob said. "You're more secure if you have zero contact with the outside world. I already called them today and had your mother's account transferred to my name."

  "They let you do that?"

  "It turns out that Big John hasn't been overly prompt in paying her bills. They were more than happy, with a little extra incentive, to move her account to a more reliable source of income."

  "He wasn't paying for her care?" After all that he'd put me through, the idea that big John wasn't even covering her bills enraged me. Our position had been more precarious than I'd known, a thought that would have terrified me if Jacob hadn't already come to our rescue.

  "He was paying," Jacob said. "Just not on time every month. He was delinquent often enough that they felt secure, legally, in terminating his access to her account. You remain the primary contact person. Don't worry."

  "And you really think it's that dangerous for me to leave the penthouse?" I asked.

  "For now, I do." Jacob paused, taking a sip of his wine, thinking. "How much do you know about what the Jordans are into?"

  "Not a lot," I said, embarrassed that I was so ignorant of my in-laws’ activities. In a wry, self-deprecating tone, I said, "Based on the people I've seen coming through the house and the business, I figured out that they don't run a plumbing supply company."

  To my surprise, a laugh burst from Jacob's mouth, showing a line of straight white teeth. The sound was lighthearted, amused, and it made him look years younger. I couldn't help but smile back.

  "Have you been inside the business?" he asked.
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  "Just the front offices. And only a few times. A long time ago, when we were first married, I wandered into the warehouse by mistake. John was furious, and I never went near it again."

  "What did you see?"

  "Nothing that look like plumbing supplies," I answered. "Not that I know a lot about what plumbing supplies would look like, but I'm pretty sure they don't come in soft, plastic-wrapped bales."

  "No," Jacob said, shaking his head. "They don't."

  "I was very young when we got married. I didn't realize what I was seeing. Not until more recently."

  "And how much of my business do you think intersects with Big John's?"

  A disorienting rush of horror sent my stomach plunging to my toes. Icy fear washed my skin. I'd assumed, since I'd known Jacob through John and not his father, that Jacob's business interests were entirely legitimate. Thinking of his office, this penthouse, and the power I knew he held in the city, that assumption suddenly seemed very, very foolish.

  "Relax," Jacob said. "I'm not the next in line to serve you up to a gang of bikers. I'm not a criminal. I don't do business with criminals. John was trying to take the Jordans legitimate. His efforts were failing when he died, but our work together was in commercial real estate, not running drugs or guns or any of the rest of the shit your father-in-law's got going on."

  "Okay." I could barely get my breath.

  "I only asked because I wanted a clearer idea of who you thought you were getting into bed with. But the look on your face tells me everything I need to know."

  "If you're not involved with that side of their business, how do you know so much?" I dared to ask.

  "Information is essential, Abigail. I make a point of knowing everything there is to know about the players in my city. Especially if I'm working with them. The money John invested with my projects was technically clean, but I had to make sure I understood where it originally came from. I know more about what Big John has going right now than he'd like. And I've heard rumors that he has a tasty new treat to offer his partners as an incentive."

  "You mean he's been telling people . . .?" My stomach turned.

  "That's what I heard," Jacob said. "There's interest in John's widow, and he's going to be very unhappy when he can't find you. I don't know how hard or long he's going to look for you. He might be willing to cut his losses, or his ego might make this difficult. Some of it depends on what promises he's made involving you, and to whom he's made those promises. I don't want to keep you from your mother. I think I understand how important she is to you. But I won't risk your safety."

  "How long do you think I have to wait?"

  "I don't know. As soon as I think it's safe, I'll arrange for you to resume your regular visits."

  I couldn't argue with that. As much as I wanted to see my mother, whether she knew I was there or not, it would be a disaster in every way possible if I fell into Big John's hands. I was just going to have to be patient.

  "Now," Jacob said. "Let's have dessert."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ABIGAIL

  * * *

  Jacob's words sent hungry shivers through my body. For once, I wasn't interested in dessert. Not if by dessert, he meant food. But something in the tone of his voice, predatory and intense, suggested he wasn't talking about whatever was in the white box.

  "Come here." Jacob held out his hand for me. I stood, as if in a daze, and rounded the corner of the dining room table, my hand reaching for his. When he had me in his grip, he arranged me in front of him, my sore ass pressing to the edge of the table, my body bracketed between his knees. Giving my hip a light slap, he said,

  "Up."

  Without thinking, I hopped up onto the table. Either I was getting used to being naked, or I just didn't care anymore. My inhibitions were distracted by the hard bar of Jacob's cock tenting his suit pants. Naked was good. Naked meant that as soon as he got those pants off, I would be that much closer to having that cock inside me. He pulled his chair closer to the table, using his elbows to spread my knees. My center of gravity shifted, and I fell back, propping myself up on my palms. Maybe I was dessert. I felt like it, as if I were serving myself up to him, my breasts swelling, nipples hard and so red, and my pussy still wet, soaked, and very needy.

  After a long moment staring at me displayed before him, Jacob turned and opened the white bakery box. Inside, I saw a small cake only large enough for two, maybe three, servings. I couldn't see the inside, but the frosting was a deep chocolate decorated with tufts of whipped cream. My mouth watered. I was a sucker for chocolate. Jacob picked up the fork and scooped the bite of cake right off the side, not bothering to slice it.

  Lifting the fork, he brought it to the edge of my lip and scraped the tine against my skin as if requesting entry. I opened. The chocolate and sweet cream hit my tongue in an explosion of decadent flavor. Before I got used to it, the fork was gone. Jacob went back and dug out another bite, this time all frosting, no cake. Pressing my thighs further open, he swiped the loaded fork down the center of my pussy and dove in for his desert.

  At the first flick of his tongue, I almost choked on the cake still melting in my mouth. Nothing we had done today was normal for me. But this . . . this was one of those things I'd read about but never experienced. It was heaven. Not that I would know, but I didn't think Jacob was using any special technique. At least, to start, he was just licking off the frosting. That was enough. His tongue had barely touched me before I was back on the edge of orgasm, teetering, dying to crash down on the other side, to drown in the pleasure that had been tormenting my body since I first dropped to my knees in his office.

  He knew. So far, he seemed to know exactly what my body wanted. Lifting his head, he said,

  "Don't come."

  "What?" The word was a scream, desperate and offended.

  "Not until I tell you that you can."

  He had barely enough time to smile, that mischievous glint in his eye, before he went back to work. How was I supposed to wait? What was he even talking about, don't come? Was he insane? And when had I gone from a woman who'd only ever come on her own to one who couldn't imagine holding back another second?

  How was I supposed to hold back? Didn't guys think about baseball? I didn't know anything about baseball. And while I sensed he wanted me to let the pleasure build without spilling over, I had no idea how to find that kind of discipline. He laughed at me, holding back my pubic hair with one hand to bare the glistening lips of my pussy and my hard red clit. I couldn't keep up.

  He alternated between soft, slow licks, teasing my eager flesh, before focusing his attention on my clit and sucking hard. The first time he did that, I almost lost the battle. I twisted under him, every movement sending the chain between my nipples shifting to one side or the other, pulling on the clamps, the painful, tugging pressure driving jolts of pleasure straight from my breasts to the spot between my legs, where Jacob had focused all of his attention. In the distance, I heard a voice, thin, high, pleading.

  "Please. Please. Please. Jacob, please."

  Finally, he stopped, pushing back just enough to stand. I heard the rustle of fabric, the crinkle of cellophane. Then he was right there, between my legs, his hands reaching for my sore ass. I was so aroused, so needy, that I didn't even flinch when his fingers closed over my red skin. He yanked me closer, and the press of his cock to my weeping pussy was the answer to every prayer running through my fevered brain.

  "Yes. Please. Yes."

  When he pressed into me, the stretching pain only pushed me higher. Like the nipple clamps and the spanking, it brought an edge I'd never known I wanted. My head dropped back, eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. It took more than one thrust to fill me completely. I was too tight, and he was too thick. I could tell, despite his own tension, that he was trying to hold back. I wiggled closer, trying to take as much of him as I could get. Finally, he was seated to the hilt.

  When he pulled back and thrust in the first time, I thought I was going to ex
plode. There was no way I could stop myself from coming. I knew I had to, knew it was important to him, but my entire body had been on the edge for too long, and every stroke of his thick cock pushed me that much further.

  "Jacob. Jacob, I can't. Jacob, please," I babbled, logic and sense long gone. I teetered, feeling the orgasm cresting everywhere. My pussy, my breasts, and on the skin of my stomach, where the chain slid back and forth, teasing my sensitized flesh. His eyes burned into me, and I knew he felt it too. I heard myself begging, words of entreaty spilling through my lips as I writhed beneath him. He gripped my hips, pinning me to the table, holding me perfectly still. I was a vessel, there only to receive his pounding cock, and it was the best thing I'd ever felt.

  "Now. Come now," he said, his voice a rasp. At his words, the pressure inside me detonated in a white-hot wave that swept me from my head to my toes. I heard myself screaming, felt my hands clawing at him as I arched and stiffened and twisted. He fucked me through it, driving me higher, dragging it out until I thought I'd drown. I have no idea how long the orgasm lasted, but when I came back to myself, I knew two things. One, I would be willing to do a lot of things for that kind of pleasure. And two, Jacob was still hard inside me.

  What kind of discipline did it take for Jacob to have held off his orgasm through my own? I didn't know the answer, but the question itself was a little scary. Opening my eyes, I met Jacob's. His silver gaze was hot, intent and pleased. A slow, dreamy smile spread across my face. His hands slid off my hips and began to stroke my skin. Not with the intent to arouse—at least, he wasn't going for any of the obvious targets.

  As his fingers trailed from my shoulders, down my arms, across my stomach, and up between my breasts, it felt less like he was trying to get me hot and more as if he were soothing me. I stretched, arching my limbs into his touch. He stopped fucking me, and instead remained completely still between my legs, filling me without moving. It didn't take long before the relaxing strokes of his fingers had me wanting more.