What He Plans (What He Wants, Book Twenty-Two) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Page 9

  “Then why not go into the arts? Write and illustrate children’s books? Or edit them?” Jared asks, and when I don’t answer, I see a spark in his eye, the hint of victory on his face. “Ah, because you also like money.”

  “I don’t —“

  “You wanted more than what your parents had, what you had growing up. You chose advertising because you want,” he says, his voice practically a growl, and I honestly don’t know if he’s talking about business or lust. “Let me guess. Western Mass? Your mom’s a teacher, your dad does something with his hands?”

  I nod, feeling pulled along on a string. “Kindergarten. And a mechanic,” I reply, then shake my head. “But you’re wrong about the money. I don’t care about that.”

  “Then what do you care about?”

  “Respect. Working hard and achieving something,” I say, then pause before adding, “Being the best.”

  “But you don’t care about the money,” he says, cool yet skeptical.

  “I’m not wooed by wealth,” I reply, finally finding some courage and sass within me. I can’t let him run this table. I cross my legs beneath the table and feel my toe connect with his calf, which is rock hard with carefully sculpted muscle.

  Jared leans forward, his face lit by the glow of the candle in the delicate glass bowl in the middle of the table. “Then tell me, Quinn, how does that lingerie, which I assume cost more than your rent, feel on your body? Do you like it? Are you wooed by it?”

  I sit back in my chair, sure that even if I wanted to get up and run, my legs would not allow it. My entire body feels like it’s filled with hot lava and expensive wine, but I don’t think it’s the alcohol that’s making me woozy.

  The food arrives, cutting off my answer, though I have no idea what it would have been.

  Atop my plate is something that looks like beef, though it’s architecturally arranged with vibrant colors of sauces and vegetables such that I couldn’t even begin to name the dish.

  For himself, Jared has ordered a steak, and when he cuts into it, I see bright red. We eat in relative silence, exchanging only furtive glances across the table as we sip our wine. I’m trying desperately not to think of the lingerie, growing wetter by the minute as I repeat his question.

  Do you like it? Are you wooed by it?

  I keep hoping he’ll say something more, ask me a question, or tell me what the hell is going on here, but he seems to be controlling me with nothing more than silence and a few devious looks. As I finish the last bite of my meal and place my knife and fork on the plate, I see Jared with a Cheshire grin. He’s enjoying this, taunting me.

  The waiter comes to offer dessert menus, but once again Jared waves him off, and then we’re alone again, only without food to distract us from the intense gazes across the table.

  This is a game, and I’m losing. He has the upper hand, and he’s using it to toy with me. I can’t just sit here and let him win. When I can’t take it anymore, when I feel like I’m coming to come from the force of his gaze alone, I finally crack.

  “What am I doing here?” I ask him, the words coming out with a force I didn’t know I had inside me.

  “You are my date,” he says, my stomach flipping on the word ‘my,’ because I get the sense that Jared King is used to possessing things. And tonight he’s possessing me.

  “But why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “Why me? After that email I sent you? I was half-thinking you were inviting me here to fire me in the most elegant ways. But so far it seems you just wanted to dress me up, feed me expensive food and wine, and then re-interview me. I don’t understand what’s going on. What is it that you want?”

  As soon as I ask the question, I know it’s the one he’s been waiting for, and I’ve phrased it in exactly the way he hoped. He smiles, a knowing, Cheshire grin, and I brace myself for what’s coming next.

  “Because of the email, Quinn,” he says, my name rolling out of his mouth, an exquisite torture. “From the moment I read it I knew I wanted to fuck you.”

  Chapter 5

  I knew I wanted to fuck you.

  The words echo in my head while I sit across from him, totally stunned and completely turned on. I want to speak, but I have no idea what to say, or even if I could summon a voice to say them. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Ever.

  My speechlessness pleases him, I can see by the way the muscles in his jaw flex at the hint of smirk. He signals the waiter for the check with a flick of his hand and lays down a black credit card.

  Moments later Jared leans back across the table to me.

  “After I tip this waiter handsomely, you and I are going to get in my car, where I will take you back to my penthouse apartment, lay you out on my bed, and see what $1,200 buys me at Délicat.”

  Oh holy god. I can feel my chest heaving, my breasts rising and falling beneath the deep V of my dress. His eyes flicker south, and I know he sees it too. I let myself imagine what it would be like to let him have his way with me.

  Certainly nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. No cold pizza. No stale beer. No pot smoke or the sound of some rented action movie in the background. I’m fairly certain there would be no disappointment from me.

  He stands and comes around behind me, pulling out my chair. I stand on shaky knees, and he offers me an arm. At well over six feet tall to my five two, he towers over me. His arm slides around my back, his large hand resting firmly on my hip as he guides me away.

  We start to make our way through the restaurant, heads turning as we go. Even at the hottest restaurant in the city filled with the upper crust of Boston society, everyone wants to get a glimpse of Jared King and the woman on his arm.

  Half the people in this restaurant wish they were him, and the other half wish they were with him. Everyone here wants a part of the fantasy I’m living.

  Except that this fantasy could quickly turn into a nightmare if I’m not careful.

  I want to say something.

  I know I should say something. Anything. Shouting I’m a virgin seems like exactly the wrong thing, like it might scare him off. And it scares me how much I don’t want to do that. Jared was right about one thing. I want. I want him. I just don’t know if I’m ready. Ready for a man like him and all he could do to me. Ready for what comes after you let a man like Jared King have his way with you. Ready for what happens if I’m then discarded like all the other women.

  Ready for him to break me in the most wonderful, terrifying way.

  It all starts to build, rushing over me like a great wave, thoughts of what could lie ahead of me. All the different things that could happen and the disasters that could follow. And the biggest one that won’t leave me is the image of me disappointing him. Of not being able to please him. Of not knowing how to kiss him or touch him or move beneath him.

  Or worse than all the others, thoughts of boring him.

  And that — more than heartbreak or workplace disaster — is what stops me dead in my tracks.

  We’re nearly to the door when I make a sharp turn. I feel his hand slide away from my hip, my skin tingling from the loss as I retreat further from him.

  “Excuse me,” I say, and then I rush through the restaurant, dodging a waiter carrying a silver bucket of champagne and another with a tray of lobster, making a beeline for the restroom.

  Inside, I lean over the marble counter, staring at myself in the mirror as I try to catch my breath. There’s a crimson flush creeping up my neck, and I know right away that the only thing holding me up is my grip on the sink.

  “Calm down,” I tell my reflection. “There’s nothing to be scared of. You can say no.” The redness recedes, but only slightly, and my chest is still heaving, though in a slower, deeper rhythm.

  I’ll just tell him no. I’ll tell him I can’t, not tonight. I’ll offer to pay for the lingerie (though I’ll be eating Ramen for the next four months), and I’ll even offer to split dinner with him. I’ll take the T home, I’ll
put on my pajamas, and I’ll hide under my bed until I’m not afraid anymore….which should take only a week or two at most.

  After a few minutes of pumping myself up for what awaits me back in the restaurant, I wash my hands with the coldest water, dabbing a wet towel across my chest. Then I try to stroll with as much confidence as I can muster, back towards the dining room.

  He’s waiting for me right outside the door in the little vestibule between the bathrooms. As soon as I’m out of the door, he places a hand on my hip, not possessive this time, but steadying. Without a word, he guides me gently through the restaurant out the door. The cool spring air sends a shiver through me, but invigorates my lungs and clears my head.

  Jared sees this and pulls me into him, warmth radiating through his body and into mine. He leans in close and whispers in m ear.

  “It’s okay. My driver will take you home,” he says. “I can wait.”

  I look up at him, now closer than I’ve ever been, and see the softness in his eyes for the first time. I see a tiny scar just above his lip, faded and nearly invisible except when this close. I see the way the fingers on his right hand flutter on his muscled thigh, like he’s so full of restrained energy that he can’t manage to be completely still even for a second. I see all these tiny vulnerabilities, and I suddenly realize I’m not scared anymore.

  “No,” I say, surprising even myself, but knowing it’s right.

  “No?” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “No. I can’t wait. Not another time,” I say, my need growing desperate as his grip on my waist tightens. “Now. Please.”

  I see something inside him buckle when I say ‘please.’ The limo pulls up the curb and Jared opens the door for me. I watch him watch my legs as I slide in, a feeling of heat starting to move through me. He shuts the door firmly, like he does everything else, then comes around the other side and takes his place on the seat beside me.

  “Home,” he says, the word an order, then hits a button to raise the privacy screen between us and the driver. Suddenly, speeding through the South End towards the Harbor, we are completely alone.

  “Come here,” he says, reaching a firm hand to the back of my neck. Without waiting for me to comply, he pulls me towards him, my hair tangled in his fist, and then his lips on mine, hard and wanting. I let out a sigh into them. His tongue parts my lips and invites mine in, his other hand snaking around the small of my back, and my body explodes into a summer storm of heat and lust. I have never been kissed like this. I never imagined I could be kissed like this, like I’m being devoured and yet it’s still not enough. I let out a tiny moan into his mouth, and his grip on me tightens, a growl escaping his lips.

  We kiss like we’re melting into each other, his tongue gently leading, guiding mine, and I am all too happy to follow. And then his big, strong hands begin to roam. First down to my ass, caressing my thigh where the hem of my dress has ridden up, then up to the deep V of my dress. The back of his fingers caresses the space between my breasts, teasing, and then they move inward. He cups my breast, the weight of it nothing in his firm palm, his thumb moving lightly around and over my nipple, which is hard at his touch. I shiver each time it passes, a flood of wetness welling between my legs with each touch. And then his hands move back to my waist, then down to my thighs, this time moving inward until his fingers are creeping up my inner thighs. He brushes so lightly, just barely a whisper against the fabric of my panties, which are damp with my desire. I shiver and swallow a scream.

  He moves his lips to my ear, his tongue playing against the soft skin for a moment, and then whispers, “I made you wet.” A statement, not a question, with a hint of victory. He’s pleased, and that pleases me even more.

  This time the moan that escapes me is not small. He covers my lips with his and the sounds I make fill his mouth as his fingers swirl and tease, the thinnest barrier of lace between him and my orgasm. I’ve never felt anything like it. This is a man who seems to know my body better than I do, and I’m more than happy to give myself over to him. It’s so good I’m not actually sure how I’ll survive sex with him.

  Emboldened by my lust, I place my hands firmly on his chest, feeling the cut of his pecs beneath his shirt and tie. My fingers flex, my nails digging into him. He hisses in a breath.

  “Fuck, Quinn,” he says, his voice ragged. I instantly like what I can do to him, that I can make him sound like that. I move my hands lower to his belt, then lower still until I can feel him in my hand, rigid inside his pants. I gasp as I attempt to wrap my fingers around him, the size of him shocking and filling me with desire. I’ve never spent much time thinking about cocks, imagining myself as more of a size-doesn’t-matter kind of girl. But feeling what must be somewhere around nine inches in my hand, I know that I’m excited by his enormity.

  And a little scared of it, too.

  But I still want more.

  I slide off the seat and sink to my knees on the floor of the car, reaching for his waist, the platinum H of an Hermes belt standing between me and my first real cock. And that’s the moment where the craziness of what I’m doing hits me, and I hesitate, ever so slightly. I have no idea what to do with a nine-inch cock, and I’m nervous. I try to hide it, but because his eyes are trained on me, his gaze never wavering, he sees it.

  “Wait,” he says, and I look up questioningly. Am I doing something wrong? But as if sensing my worry, he smiles down at me, a wicked glint in his eye. “You first.”

  He lifts me back up onto the seat in one effortless motion that betrays the muscles hidden beneath his suit. Then he takes my place on the floor. He plants gentle kisses on my knees, nuzzling them apart, opening me to him. His hands move upward, gently guiding the hem of my dress up around my hips. For the first time he sees the gift he’s bought me, the silver thread weaving through the black lace but hiding nothing, and he lets out an animal growl. He kisses up my inner thigh, first the left, then the right, connecting the trail with the tip of his tongue. I immediately search for something to grab onto to keep myself from achieving liftoff. I can’t believe my legs are spread in front of the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and all I want is for him to touch me oh my god stop teasing and just do it already!

  As if he can read my mind, he gazes up at me with a wicked grin, a devious spark in his eyes. He reaches up and grabs a fistful of panties in each of his strong hands right at my hip. Then he pulls. The fabric gives with almost no effort, and then there’s nothing between his lips and me but the cool night air. I moan as he blows a little burst of air right at my pussy. He leans down until his lips are nearly touching my body and whispers, “Say please.”

  I let out a long moan that I’m sure the privacy screen of the limo doesn’t conceal, but I don’t care. I want him his lips on me now.

  “Please,” I whimper, my inner thighs throbbing and slick with my desire. “Please.”

  His lips hit me the same intensity he brought to that first kiss, like he wants to devour me, and I scream out. My hands go to his hair, thick and wavy and perfect for grabbing onto. I pull him to me, wanting him closer even though there’s no daylight between us. His tongue dives into my folds, making long strokes up and resting for a beat on my clit before starting again. One of his hands snakes up my thigh, and he slips one finger inside me, then two. I brace for pain, but there’s only pleasure, and I’m shocked to realize I’m grinding into his hand. I want him deeper, harder, and more.

  His tongue is now working fast on my clit, circling and flicking.

  He stops for a moment and breathes into me. “God, your pussy tastes fucking amazing.” And then he redoubles his efforts, and the heat that washes over me is beyond intense.

  I can’t believe I can feel this good, still nearly fully dressed in the back of a car. Every part of me feels alive, from my head down to my toes. I feel sweat prickling as the heat builds, higher and higher with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his hand. How can this only be the beginning? How can there be more?

  And that thou
ght coupled with his growl into my pussy sends me right over the edge. My orgasm hits me in waves, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pull him towards me and moan like a woman possessed. I come harder than I thought possible, and when he sucks me into his mouth one last time, I swear to god I come again.

  As the car begins to slow, he sits back on his heels and gazes up at me. His fingers lazily brush across my soaking wet, swollen clit, making me shudder with each movement. He reaches for the ripped panties lying in a puddle on the seat next to me.

  “I’m afraid these are beyond repair,” he says. “Good thing you won’t be needing them.”

  More. There’s more.

  The car slows to a stop in front of a large brick building that was once a harbor factory. “I’m at the top,” he says, cocking his head towards the window.

  “Color me surprised,” I reply, my voice still breathless from the orgasm.

  “I do plan to surprise you, Quinn,” he says, that devious grin back on his face. The cold, distant, demanding Jared King from earlier is gone, and in his place is a man who wants nothing more than to possess and please me. “I plan to do quite a lot to surprise you.”

  He sits back up on the seat next to me and begins to brush his hair back into place with his fingers, and after a few seconds, he looks more than perfect again.

  Grinning, he gives me a quick wink.

  Though I feel wrung out from the orgasm, I also feel an energy coursing through me. I know exactly what’s going to happen when we get upstairs, and I want it. I want him. I want him to do whatever he wants to me, and if it’s even half as good as what just happened, I may not survive the night. I want to surrender myself to him for as long as he’ll have me. I want him to show me what I’ve been missing all this time.

  I stuff the remains of the panties in my purse and adjust the neckline of my dress to avoid a wardrobe malfunction between the car and his bed. But before he can get out of the car, I feel him stiffen beside me. I watch his face harden back into that mask of stoicism and frustration from earlier today at the office. In an instant, he’s gone. I want to reach out and grab his arm, shake him and ask: