The Billionaire's Promise (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Eight) by Ava Claire Page B
Authors: Ava Claire
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ever wanted. All I ever needed. But this dread, this overwhelming sickness was still wrapped around my heart. This was more than just his mother. This was old shit. Mountains of drama that I thought was in our rearview mirror.
Rachel Laraby.
I pulled away, tilting my eyes up to meet his warily. "She's back, isn't she?"
His brows dipped into a frown . "Rachel--you think she's behind this?"
"Who else would send her a public service announcement, warning her that you were about to marry a gold digging skank?" I scowled. "That's classic Rachel."
He sliced the air with his arm, like he was banishing her from the room. "I don't want to talk about her. If she was trying to sabotage us again, her efforts were futile." He pushed brown corkscrews behind my ear, his hands framing my face. "It's me and you, Leila. Always."
I nuzzled his hand, closing my eyes tight. Praying for this feeling to go away. To let go of things I had no control over. I couldn’t make his mother like me. I couldn’t make Rachel disappear. But I had Jacob.
He was enough—he’d always been enough. But I couldn’t dull the anger flushing through my veins even though i t was so clear that she wanted to get under my skin and make me doubt. Every second I spent thinking about her was a point in her favor--and right now, Rachel was winning.
They say laughter is the best medicine...I was betting on something else entirely.
I covered his hands with my own, silencing my worries. I focused on the man standing in front of me. "Kiss me."
He leaned down, brushing his lips over mi ne. "With pleasure."
When our lips collided, I breathed in his taste, warm with hints of citrus and mint. I gave into the flashes of desire uncoiling in my belly, clutching how right it felt to surrender to his mouth. I let his tongue roam and tease, melting into him as he caressed my lips with his own, clasping me to him like he needed this. Needed to forget the last fifteen minutes; to forget that she was back.
My eyes popped open and I pulled away. I wanted him, but I couldn't get images of Rachel's smirk out of my head.
The only way I'd get any peace would be if I talked to her. Not like before when I was worried about her mental health, trying to ease her into the fact that she'd never have Jacob again. I could care less if she couldn’t handle the truth--I was going to throw her face first into the fact that I was not going to let her ruin us.
His eyes skimmed my face, souring when he figured out why I'd pulled on the stony faced look of someone going to war. "Confronting Rachel is a bad idea, Leila. You know this is exactly what she wants, right? To get our attention? To get in our head?"
I moved past him, forgetting about breakfast and marching upstairs to put on some armor of my own. "Mission accomplished."
****
I stood beside Jacob, squeezing his hand tight as the elevator dinged, the arrow illuminating and alerting us that Satan was in the building.
Since it was Saturday afternoon, Natasha had the day off and was busy sharpening her nails to talons or making someone else’s life hell. I was glad that she was far from an over-achiever because I was 99.9% sure if given the option for a front row seat to this conversation she would have shown up, popcorn in hand. Dealing with Rachel would be tiring enough. The elevator doors hadn’t even slid open and I already felt like I’d gone through a battle, clutching Jacob’s hand for strength.
“It’ll be fine,” he assured me, releasing my hand and tightening the knot on his tie. “She’s going to admit she was behind this, cease her incessant meddling and then she’s going to get the hell out of my building.”
He seemed so confident, so sure. And on some rational level, I knew he was right. Rachel wasn’t the Boogeyman. She didn’t have any supernatural abilities or power that we didn’t give her.
In all honesty, I was starting to regret calling her to the Whitmore building at all. Jacob was right when
Rachel Laraby.
I pulled away, tilting my eyes up to meet his warily. "She's back, isn't she?"
His brows dipped into a frown . "Rachel--you think she's behind this?"
"Who else would send her a public service announcement, warning her that you were about to marry a gold digging skank?" I scowled. "That's classic Rachel."
He sliced the air with his arm, like he was banishing her from the room. "I don't want to talk about her. If she was trying to sabotage us again, her efforts were futile." He pushed brown corkscrews behind my ear, his hands framing my face. "It's me and you, Leila. Always."
I nuzzled his hand, closing my eyes tight. Praying for this feeling to go away. To let go of things I had no control over. I couldn’t make his mother like me. I couldn’t make Rachel disappear. But I had Jacob.
He was enough—he’d always been enough. But I couldn’t dull the anger flushing through my veins even though i t was so clear that she wanted to get under my skin and make me doubt. Every second I spent thinking about her was a point in her favor--and right now, Rachel was winning.
They say laughter is the best medicine...I was betting on something else entirely.
I covered his hands with my own, silencing my worries. I focused on the man standing in front of me. "Kiss me."
He leaned down, brushing his lips over mi ne. "With pleasure."
When our lips collided, I breathed in his taste, warm with hints of citrus and mint. I gave into the flashes of desire uncoiling in my belly, clutching how right it felt to surrender to his mouth. I let his tongue roam and tease, melting into him as he caressed my lips with his own, clasping me to him like he needed this. Needed to forget the last fifteen minutes; to forget that she was back.
My eyes popped open and I pulled away. I wanted him, but I couldn't get images of Rachel's smirk out of my head.
The only way I'd get any peace would be if I talked to her. Not like before when I was worried about her mental health, trying to ease her into the fact that she'd never have Jacob again. I could care less if she couldn’t handle the truth--I was going to throw her face first into the fact that I was not going to let her ruin us.
His eyes skimmed my face, souring when he figured out why I'd pulled on the stony faced look of someone going to war. "Confronting Rachel is a bad idea, Leila. You know this is exactly what she wants, right? To get our attention? To get in our head?"
I moved past him, forgetting about breakfast and marching upstairs to put on some armor of my own. "Mission accomplished."
****
I stood beside Jacob, squeezing his hand tight as the elevator dinged, the arrow illuminating and alerting us that Satan was in the building.
Since it was Saturday afternoon, Natasha had the day off and was busy sharpening her nails to talons or making someone else’s life hell. I was glad that she was far from an over-achiever because I was 99.9% sure if given the option for a front row seat to this conversation she would have shown up, popcorn in hand. Dealing with Rachel would be tiring enough. The elevator doors hadn’t even slid open and I already felt like I’d gone through a battle, clutching Jacob’s hand for strength.
“It’ll be fine,” he assured me, releasing my hand and tightening the knot on his tie. “She’s going to admit she was behind this, cease her incessant meddling and then she’s going to get the hell out of my building.”
He seemed so confident, so sure. And on some rational level, I knew he was right. Rachel wasn’t the Boogeyman. She didn’t have any supernatural abilities or power that we didn’t give her.
In all honesty, I was starting to regret calling her to the Whitmore building at all. Jacob was right when
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