Because He Loves Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten) Read online

  Because He Loves Me

  (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten)

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Copyright

  Want To Be In The Know?

  HANNAH FORD

  BECAUSE HE LOVES ME

  Because He Loves Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten)

  EPILOGUE

  Jackson (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book One) by Paige North

  1. Jackson

  2. Emily

  3. Jackson

  4. Emily

  5. Jackson

  6. Emily

  7. Jackson

  8. Emily

  9. Jackson

  10. Emily

  11. Jackson

  12. Emily

  13. Jackson

  14. Emily

  15. Jackson

  16. Emily

  17. Jackson

  18. Emily

  19. Jackson

  20. Emily

  Copyright © 2017 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  BECAUSE HE LOVES ME

  HANNAH FORD

  Because He Loves Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Ten)

  *Note: This edition of BECAUSE HE LOVES ME contains a bonus book JACKSON by Paige North. It is the length of a normal BECAUSE HE OWNS ME book.*

  ADRIANA

  The plane slid onto the runway, smooth and slow, and I watched through the window as the New York City skyline came into view and then sharpened into focus.

  The wedding had been beautiful. It was almost better that my sister hadn’t had time to over-plan and freak out about every little detail. She’d been able to just let go and relax, to enjoy the day and not stress about whether the flowers were perfect or the cake was exactly what she wanted.

  She’d been a beautiful, happy bride.

  Callum had been amazing while we were in Michigan, tending to my every need, schmoozing with my family, and somehow making everyone feel welcome even though he was the outsider.

  “You okay?” he asked now, squeezing my hand, a concerned look on his handsome face.

  I forced a smile. “Yes,” I said, squeezing his hand back. “Yes, I’m great.”

  It had been all I could do not to hurl when the plane had taken off from the airport in Michigan, and my stomach was twisting and turning now as well. Which made no sense. Yes, I was a nervous flyer, but I was more worried about things like crashes and hijackers, not getting airsick. Plus, Callum had insisted we take his private jet, so there had been no waiting and anticipation, no long lines at the airport. The flight had been smooth, without any turbulence at all.

  No, there was only one explanation for my twisting stomach. One explanation that had nothing to do with the plane, and everything to do with the fact that I was pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  The word sounded so foreign to me, so grown-up, so….final.

  “Ready?” Callum reached around me and unhooked my seatbelt, and I remembered the last time he’d hooked my seatbelt for me, the first time we’d been on this plane, when he’d taken me to Florida. That seemed so long ago.

  “Adriana?” he asked again, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “I just… I just got nervous at the landing.”

  He nodded and reached for my hand, pulling me toward him. I rested my cheek against his sweater as his arms encircled me and he placed a kiss on my temple.

  “Do you want to talk?” he asked.

  I bit back a smile. “Do I want to talk?”

  “Yes,” he said, and I could hear the amusement laced through his voice. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Talk when one of us seems upset about something?”

  “You want to talk?”

  “No.” He shook his head and buried his face in my neck, breathing on my collarbone. Heat flooded my center, zig-zagging up my spine and exploding through my core. “I want to take you home and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

  I sucked in a breath as his brazen words.

  “Home?” I asked. My things were still at the other apartment, the apartment he’d bought me.

  He hadn’t mentioned anything about us going back to his apartment, his real apartment, the apartment he hadn’t taken me to yet. The place he lived.

  “Yes,” he said. He cupped my chin in his hand and tilted it up until I was forced to look at him. “Back to my apartment. Our apartment.”

  “Okay.” I felt the emotion welling in my chest. I knew this was hard for him, knew that him taking me back to his place was something he’d struggled with forever.

  “Come on,” he said, and led me off the plane.

  There was a car waiting for us on the runway, but no driver.

  Callum explained he wanted it to be just the two of us, and that made me happy. I snuggled down into the passenger seat. Callum’s hand rested on my knee, and I wrapped my fingers through his, loving how strong and big his hand felt as it enveloped mine.

  The sun was shining through the window, making the air inside the car warm, but I didn’t care. I liked it – the warmth was comforting.

  The radio was tuned to the satellite radio, CNBC, or some business channel. The anchors were talking about bonds and when the Fed was going to raise interest rates. I had no idea what they were talking about, but the monotone of their voices soothed me.

  “Are you hungry?” Callum asked. “Should we stop for food?”

  “I kind of just want to get home,” I said, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. My statement was partly true – I was tired and wanting to get home, or at least, back to Callum’s place. (It felt weird calling it home when I’d never even actually been there. And when he said our apartment, did that mean he wanted to live there with me? Or, I mean, for me to live there with him?)

  But the other part of it was that I was afraid he was stalling.

  He’d been wonderful in Michigan. Taking care of me, being kind to my family, making sure my every need was attended to. But now we were back in the city. Now it was time to see if he meant to follow through on all the promises he’d made me.

  He nodded.

  He swung his car through the streets, and I realized I had no idea where he lived.

  The thought gave me a weird feeling in my stomach.

  I didn’t know where the father of my child lived.

  Of course, I hadn’t told him I was pregnant, either.

  As if Callum could sense how I was feeling, he squeezed my hand.

  We were winding through the Upper East Side now, which surprised me. The neighborhoods here were filled with trees on each side of the street, the buildings mostly beautiful three-story brownstones. I’d figured Callum would have had a place in midtown, in one of those shiny sleek building near his office.

  A moment later, he pulled into a parking spot on the street.

  It was quiet as he looked at me.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded confident, sure.

  Tell him, a voice inside of me whispered. Tell him you’re pregnant.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not now. Not right when we were about to take
this big step, of him letting me into his life in a way that he never had before.

  If I pushed him….

  I consoled myself with the fact that I wasn’t sure if I really was pregnant, that I hadn’t had a chance to take another test, that it wouldn’t be confirmed until I saw a doctor anyway.

  That’s why I wasn’t telling him, I told myself.

  Not because I was afraid of what would happen.

  Callum was out of the car and opening the door for me now, taking my hand as he helped me up onto the curb.

  I waited while he got our bags out of the trunk, then followed him up the stairs to the door of his brownstone.

  There was a foyer inside, with a long winding staircase that led up to Callum’s apartment. There was desk, with a distinguished looking man sitting behind it. Callum gave him a curt nod as we passed.

  “How many people live in this building? “ I asked as Callum led me up the stairs.

  “Just me.”

  “You have your own personal doorman?”

  “Yes.” We were at the door now, and Callum slid his key in the lock, and we walked inside.

  The apartment took my breath away.

  It was nothing like his office, nothing like the first apartment he’d made me stay in, the place where Rose had come and overdosed.

  No, this place was completely different. There was a tasteful kitchen with a butcher block and slate counters, the cupboards refinished in a beautiful cedar. The floors were wide gray wood planks, the furniture oversized and comfortable looking.

  The whole apartment looked very expensive with its clean, modern lines, and there were no pictures on the walls or throw pillows on the couch, but it wasn’t uninviting.

  Callum dropped his keys on a table next to the door and watched for my reaction.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s beautiful,” I said, running my hands over the back of the couch.

  “I’m glad you like it, since you’re going to be living here.”

  “Callum, you don’t… I mean, we don’t have to… I don’t have to live here. I’m fine going back to the other apartment, or even back to Nessa’s.”

  Nessa. The thought of her made me reach down and check my phone immediately. I’d been in constant contact with her since I was in Michigan. She’d gone back to her mom’s house in Jersey, and was there recovering from the whole Isaac situation.

  I typed out another quick text to her now, asking how she was doing.

  “Nonsense,” Callum said, covering the distance to us. “I want you here. With me. Always.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him with every inch of my being. But it was difficult to know exactly why he’d suddenly changed his mind.

  He pulled me closer to him.

  “Do you believe that I want you here?” he whispered in my ear. His hands tightened around my waist as he said it.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “But?” he prompted.

  “But nothing.” I closed my eyes and buried my head in his chest, inhaling his scent.

  His fingers moved up my back.

  “This isn’t going to work if you don’t believe me,” he breathed, his forehead against mine.

  “I do believe you.”

  “Then what is it?” He moved his hand to cup my chin, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip, and when I opened my mouth to talk, he slipped the pad of his finger the tiniest bit inside my mouth.

  “Why didn’t you bring me here before?” I whispered.

  His blue eyes were icy hot on mine, but I couldn’t look at him. I closed my eyes. I was too nervous, too scared, too…I just wanted this so badly.

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  “No, I know that. But I mean, why weren’t you ready?”

  “Because it is hard for me to have a woman here, in my apartment.”

  “Keep going.”

  “It’s too intimate.” His voice was getting rough now, husky, and his hands were moving back down my body. He pulled me tighter against him, tilting my hips against his, holding me so that my torso was pinned against his.

  He was wearing jeans and I was wearing a dress with a flippy skirt. He’d dressed me this morning, leaving my clothes out for me on the bed in our hotel room.

  I could feel his dick hardening against me.

  “Why, though?” I whispered, opening my eyes. “Why is it too intimate?

  “Adriana…” His voice was laced with want and longing underneath the surface, his need to dominate me and punish me for asking him these questions locked in a battle with the love he had for me, the love I could see reflected in his eyes.

  “Why, Callum? Please, just tell me why it’s so hard for you. I want to understand.”

  His hands tightened around my waist his fingers pushing into the flesh of my sides so hard I gasped. But I held steady, didn’t move despite the pain, until finally, his grip relaxed slowly.

  “I never thought I was worthy of something normal,” he said. “This whole apartment is normal. This is the kind place you do normal things.

  “Why aren’t you worthy of something normal?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything, and I waited a moment, letting him find the words. “Because of what’s inside of me,” he said. “The need to cause you pain. The need to punish you. The need to dominate you.”

  “That doesn’t make you unworthy of love, Callum.” He hadn’t said love. He’d said he was unworthy of something normal. But I knew what he meant. “Who told you that?” I asked softly. “Who told you that you weren’t worthy of being loved?”

  “Everyone,” he said, and now his voice was hard as steel. “Everyone who ever mattered to me.”

  “Anyone who would say that is a disgusting person.” My hands tightened into fists by my side, imagining the kind of monsters who would have told him that, the kind of people who would have made him feel that he was worthy of nothing.

  “You should run from me,” he said. “You should run far away from me. I’m fucked up.”

  “So am I,” I said, running my hands over his chest.

  “You are beautiful and perfect.”

  “No. I’m fucked up because I like this.”

  He lowered his head. “I made you like it.”

  “No,” I said, and I tipped his chin up, falling deep into his blue eyes, this beautiful man, this man who I loved, who I couldn’t quit, who had made me feel things I’d never thought could even exist, much less that could be meant for me. “You made me love you.”

  I kneeled down on the ground and lowered my head, not looking at him, just like he’d made me do the first night I’d met him in that club.

  I could feel him staring down at me, could feel the intensity of his gaze making my skin prick.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please, sir.”

  He had been soft and sweet with me in Michigan, making love to me. And yet I knew this darkness still lived inside of him and demons -- ones that I probably would never understand -- still tormented him.

  I wanted to be his release.

  I needed to be his release.

  It made me feel loved, made me feel close to him, made me feel like this was real.

  “Adriana,” he said, his voice laced with hot desire.

  My core tightened in arousal and anxious anticipation.

  I kept my eyes down on the ground, waiting.

  “Hands behind your back.” His voice was hard and cold now, not like he’d been with me while we’d been away, and my panties immediately got wet. I’d love dhow sweet he’d been with me in Michigan, but I loved this too, loved the way he treated me, the names he called me.

  I didn’t care if it was fucked up.

  I couldn’t make myself believe that anything that stemmed from this deep love I had for him could be bad or wrong.

  I placed my hands behind my back.

  “I don’t have anything here,” he murmured. “Not in this apartment.”

  I knew immediately
what he meant. He didn’t have anything here to use on me -- whips, spreaders, whatever he would need.

  “I’ll have to use my hand,” he murmured, and I felt myself get wetter. He reached down and cupped my chin, pushing his finger into my mouth. “Maybe my belt.”

  He pulled his finger from my mouth and began circling me slowly, a hunter stalking his prey. When he was behind me, he gripped the bottom of my dress, pulling it up so that my ass was exposed to him.

  I was wearing a thong underneath, black and lacy. He’d had the panties delivered to our hotel room in Michigan for me, along with the dress. The whole outfit was completely inappropriate for traveling, but he didn’t care. He’d been with me the whole time, to protect me from any men who might look at me, and he’d wanted to see my body on display for him.

  Now his palm cupped the globes of my ass, rubbing my skin softly. His touch sent fireworks through me, and my hands tightened where they were clenched behind me, my fingers tensing into each other as I waited for what was about to happen.

  He removed his hand from my ass and resumed circling me, like I was his property and he was deciding just what it was he was going to do to me.

  He was wearing heavy brown boots, the kind of boots that looked expensive and masculine at the same time, and his footfalls echoed against the polished wood of the floor.

  When he stopped walking, he was behind me again, and tremors of anticipation skated up my spine. His fingers circled the back of my neck, and he pushed me down to the floor, until my cheek was pressed against the hard wood.

  He held me there, squeezing until he wasn’t choking me exactly, but it was hard for me to take a breath.

  I struggled against the urge to unclasp my hands and place them on the wood, to use them to push myself up.

  But I knew to do that would displease him, and then the punishment would be worse.

  He’d never pushed me down like this before, had never held me down to the floor.

  I forced myself to try to relax.

  “Fuck, you look sexy like that,” he muttered. He pushed my skirt up further until it bunched around my waist. His motions were rough and quick, completely in contrast to how he’d been with me in Michigan, when he’d undressed me slowly like I was a present to be unwrapped.