Everything That He Desires (#1) (An Alpha Billionaire BDSM Romance)

EVERYTHING THAT HE DESIRES

(Everything #1)

Layla Love

Copyright © 2015 L. Love

This book is a work of fiction and its cover is for illustrative purposes only.  It is intended for mature audiences over the age of 18 only.  All rights reserved.  No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher.

___

“That must be a good book.”

The voice was deep, masculine and unfamiliar.  It was cocky, confident and more than a bit amused.  It was a sexy voice, no question about it.  It was seductive, even, the perfect voice for steamy, filthy phone sex.

Callie looked up from the romance novel she had been reading and let out a scream.  She dropped the book, losing her page in the process, and nearly fell off the stool she was perched upon.  She caught her balance at the last moment and stood there unsteadily, her glasses sliding down her nose.

The stranger was unfazed.  He didn’t look the least bit apologetic for scaring the young librarian half to death.  Actually, he was smirking a bit, as though he found the whole thing funny.  He had some nerve!

“How did you get in here?” Callie demanded, her heart still pounding in her chest.

“I opened the door and walked inside,” he replied matter-of-factly, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, but I mean...we’re
closed
!” Callie sputtered, feeling flustered and strangely defensive.  “Didn’t you see the sign on the door?  We closed nearly two hours ago.”

“I saw it,” the stranger replied, as though the closing time was nothing more than a suggestion.  “The door was unlocked,” he shrugged.  “And you’re still here,” he added, regarding her with piercing green eyes that seemed to bore into her very being.

“Well I’m just leaving,” Callie replied, gathering up her things.  “If you want to check a book out
quickly
I can wait, but if you’re here to do research or anything you’re going to have to come back tomorrow.  We open at 9 o’clock.”

“I’m not here to do research.”

“Okay well...”  Callie looked at the man expectantly.  “Do you need help finding a book?”

“No.”

She took a cautious step back, even though there was a counter between them. 

The man was well-dressed in expensive looking jeans and a nice blazer, so he probably wasn’t a bum.  He was actually painfully handsome with dark hair and just the right amount of scruff on his chin.  He was the sort who would normally never even notice her.

In fact, as far as Callie was concerned, he was pretty much a sex god.

But that didn’t guarantee he wasn’t some psycho who meant her harm.  She was less than impressed about being alone with him in the library after hours.  It served her right for losing track of time yet again.

Callie glanced at the phone warily out of the corner of her eye.  Would she even have time to grab it and call the police if need be?  She wasn’t sure, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.  Taking a deep breath, Callie braced herself and asked the million dollar question.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

Well
that
was an answer Callie hadn’t been expecting!  She blinked and stared at the man vacantly.  “Excuse me?”

“You’re Callista Johnson.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Callie,” she corrected him automatically.  Then his statement sunk in.  “Wait, how do you know who I am?”  She had never seen the man before in her life.  Of that she was certain.  If she’d laid eyes on him before, she would definitely remember.

“My name is Hunter Black,” he replied.  “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

“Why would I have heard of you?” she replied, puzzled.  Then she furrowed her brow.  The name did sound vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t immediately place it.  Callie tilted her head to the side.  “Wait, you’re the author?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Hunter Black the crime novelist?” she asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

Oh.  So
that
explained why he was there.  A famous author walking into a library wasn’t the weirdest thing ever.  It still didn’t explain why he’d stopped by after hours or why he was acting like such an entitled jerk, but whatever.  At least he probably wasn’t an axe murderer.

“Um, is there something I can help you with?” Callie asked.

“Yes.”

She cocked her head to the side.  “You’re not going to make me play 20 Questions, are you?”

“No.  Come have a drink with me and we can discuss my proposal.”

“Your proposal...?” Callie repeated, her perfectly shaped eyebrow shooting up.

“Relax,” Hunter said with a wink.  “It’s a business proposal, not the marriage kind.”

Immediately, Callie’s face reddened.  “Well I didn’t think
that
!” she shot back, acting annoyed to hide her embarrassment.  She didn’t want to let on that she thought Hunter was gorgeous and the more she looked at him, the more she imagined him inside her.  No way would she ever admit to that.  Why did the jerks always have to be so good looking?

“Is the bar across the street any good?” Hunter asked.

Callie shrugged, not wanting to admit that she had only been there once, ages ago.  She doubted Hunter Black would be impressed to know she wasn’t a party girl type – and for some infuriating reason she found herself wanting to impress him.

“Well let’s go find out.”

Hesitating, Callie turned back toward her book.  She was still annoyed she’d lost her place in it.

Hunter followed her gaze.  “The characters and story will still be there after we get back from the bar, promise.”  He grabbed the book off the counter before she could pick it up.

“Hey!” she protested, unsuccessfully lunging for it.

“You’ll get it back,” he reassured her as he held it out of her reach.  “But first you have to hear me out.  One drink – that’s all I ask.  Then I will return your book to you, promise.”

Normally that kind of ultimatum would piss Callie off.  But Hunter was extremely, sinfully good looking.  Not even his abrasive personality could overshadow his gorgeousness.  And it had been a stupidly long time since Callie had been in the company of a halfway attractive, successful, articulate man.

“One drink,” she told him.

“Good girl.” 

That struck Callie as an odd thing for him to say.  Even stranger was the effect those two words had on her.  Suddenly she felt very warm and even slightly tingly in her extremities and in, well,
other
places.

Hunter looked down at the book he had confiscated from Callie.  First he skimmed the story synopsis.  Then he turned the book over and examined the front cover, which featured a brawny half-naked pirate holding a swooning, busty damsel in distress in his arms.  Hunter looked up at Callie and smirked. 

Then, because he apparently had to act like an asshole at all times, he commented, “I know you write fan fiction online, but even so I would have taken you for someone more, well, literary. You really read this drivel?”

“I’m going to give you ten minutes,” Callie said pointedly, making a big show of glancing down at her wristwatch.  “Once the ten minutes are up, I’m taking my book – which for the record is probably better company than you – and going home.”

“Friday night sitting home alone reading romance novel...exciting!” Hunter taunted her.  “Why do I get the feeling that’s what you spend every Friday night doing?  Jesus woman, you’re a librarian by day and a bookworm by night – are you
trying
to make the world think you’re a walking stereotype?”

“Nine minutes.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

*****

When he had walked into the library, Hunter had been a man with a mission. 

He’d known exactly what he was after, and he was hell bent on getting it.  He always got what he wanted, and tonight wasn’t going to be an exception.  He had a goal, he had a plan and he knew precisely what he needed to do.

What he hadn’t been expecting was for Callie to be such a looker.  Photos didn’t do her justice.

She was that unconventional, surprising type of beautiful that he loved.  She had a pretty face with full pouty lips, high cheekbones and intelligent eyes.  Shiny shoulder length brunette hair framed her features flawlessly.  The dark rimmed glasses she wore made her even sexier – she could make any hot blooded male develop a dirty librarian fantasy.

And those curves!  They were to die for.  Callie was dressed conservatively in a button up blouse, grey wool skirt and black kitten heel pumps, but it didn’t matter.  She would have looked fuckable as hell even if she had been wearing a potato sack.  She had a body that was built for taking a pounding, no doubt about it.

Her ass was big and round, straining against the seams of her skirt when she bent over to pick up the book she’d dropped.  A peek over the counter confirmed that she had shapely, perfect legs...the kind Hunter fantasized about having wrapped around his waist.  And those tits!  It looked like she had two big juicy cantaloupes stuffed down the front of her blouse.  Yum!

The best part of all was that when Hunter had barged in and startled her, one of the buttons on Callie’s blouse had popped open.  She was completely oblivious, but he was getting quite an eyeful of her red lace bra.  It was starting to turn him on. 

Obviously he hadn’t told her about the button, nor was he going to.  No, he was simply going to enjoy the view.  He had walked into the library with business on his agenda, but what was wrong with mixing it with a little pleasure?

Callie was a knockout, but that wasn’t going to change a thing.  Hunter was still prepared to play hardball with her.  He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.  That was what made him so good, so successful and, according to some, so ruthless. 

The sexy librarian wasn’t a pushover.  She had made that much clear pretty much right from the start.  She was going to take some work, but that was okay.  Hunter wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.  One way or another, he was going to make her bend until he got what he was after.

*****

“Are you going to tell me why we’re here?” Callie asked as she sat down and looked around. 

The bar had been getting noisy, so she and Hunter had moved out to the patio after ordering their drinks.  It was quiet out there, making it a good place to talk.  But Callie had no idea what it was that Hunter wanted to talk to her about.  This whole encounter seemed so random and strange. 

And she wasn’t sure, but she thought he kept staring at her chest...or was she imagining it?

“I’ve read your work,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Your writing,” he replied.  “I’ve read it online.”

The color drained from Callie’s face.  “You mean...?”

“Your fan fiction,” he nodded.  “What, can’t I peruse internet forums in my free time?”

“But how did you...?”

“Don’t look so surprised.  It wasn’t rocket science.  It was a bit tricky figuring out who was behind the pseudonym, but I don’t mind playing detective every now and then.  You should do a better job of covering your online tracks if you’re concerned with anonymity, by the way.  At the very least you should get a separate email address,” he winked.

Callie was speechless.  She wrote under a pseudonym for a reason.  She viewed writing as her outlet.  Her fiction, although completely made up, was like her diary.  She had never imagined it would come back to haunt her in her real life. 

Maybe she
had
been a bit careless about covering her tracks, but it was only because she had never in her wildest dreams imagined anyone would care enough to track her true identity down.  She was stunned.  She felt...well, she felt violated!

“You’ve got quite a following, and you have a way with words.  I like your style.”

“That’s just something I do in my spare time,” she mumbled, embarrassed.  “It’s only a hobby.”

“It could be so, so much more than a hobby,” Hunter informed her.  “You’ve got what it takes – imagination, an eye for detail, a knack for storytelling...you’re the whole package, Callie.  And I want you.  In fact, I’ve decided I have to have you.”

“What do you mean?”  Callie’s mouth was dry as she stared across the table at Hunter.  His gaze was unwavering and it was making her skittish.  Even in the fading light, his eyes were so green.  How could they be that green?  Surely he had to be wearing contacts.

He grinned.  “Do you know how many books I published last month?”

“Uh, no...”

“Seven,” he replied.  “Do you know how long it took me to write those books?”

“No.”

“Neither do I,” he winked.  “Don’t let this cause your whole world to come crashing down or anything, but some of the most prolific authors utilize ghostwriters.  That’s how they manage to churn out new work so regularly.  And I’m one of them.”