Everything That He Desires (#1) (An Alpha Billionaire BDSM Romance) (4 page)

*****

“Did you sleep well?”

Callie stared at Hunter from where she sat on his porch swing, a notebook and pen at the ready on her lap.  He was seated across from her, up on the railing as though he was far too cool to actually sit on furniture properly. 

“I did.  Thanks.”

“Good.  I was afraid you might be missing home,” he replied.  “I appreciate you taking the time to come here with me on such short notice.  I know it couldn’t have been easy for you, having to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat.”

“The library is pretty quiet these days anyway,” Callie shrugged.  “They’ll get by just fine.”

“But what about the rest of your life?” he asked curiously, his eyes glued to her as though he was trying to see what was below the surface.  “What about the part outside of work?  Surely that must have been difficult to leave behind.  Friends, family, a boyfriend...?”

“I’m thirty,” she reminded him.  “Most of my friends are married and busy with their own lives.”

“What about your family?”

“Same story, really.  My mom died when I was a kid.  My dad remarried and has a new family with his new wife.  I see them on holidays, sometimes.  I’m not really close with them.  They’ve made it pretty obvious that there’s not much room for me in their lives.”

“Wow.  That must be tough.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I made my peace with it a long time ago,” Callie assured him.  Then she laughed, looking embarrassed.  “I’m not sure why I even told you all that.  Talk about over-sharing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hunter smiled.  “Though I must say, now I feel like an asshole.”

“Why?”

“All my questions were really just a roundabout way of asking if your boyfriend is pissed,” Hunter admitted.  “I mean, if some idiot author showed up and took my woman away for the foreseeable future, I’d be pissed.  So what’s the story there?”

“There is no story,” Callie replied, the smile vanishing from her face.  “There is no boyfriend.”

“Oh, I just assumed there would be.  Did you –”

“We had better get to work,” Callie interrupted him.  “Tell me about the book you want me to write.  I’m guessing it’s going to be another crime novel, right?  Do you have the plot all worked out, or are there some dots we need to connect?”

“It’s not a crime novel,” Hunter told her, his demeanor suddenly becoming much more subdued.  “I don’t write those anymore.”

“You don’t?” Callie asked, looking confused.  “I thought you told me you put out a crazy number of books last month.”

“I did tell you that, and it’s true,” he replied.  “But they weren’t crime novels.  I’ve branched out into new genres under a few different pseudonyms.  But I have no interest in writing in other genres.  That’s where you come in.” 

“Oh?”

The dark cloud that had momentarily passed over Hunter was gone, and he was back to his usual cocky self.  “You’re obviously not a fan of my work.  Otherwise you would know I’ve stopped writing crime novels.  Busted!” he taunted with a grin.

She reddened.  “I’ve never really read crime novels much before.  They’re just not my thing.”

“Nor are they mine anymore.  So we’re on the same page.  We’re off to a great start already.”

“So um, what am I going to be writing?” Callie asked curiously.

“A love story,” Hunter replied.

“Really?” she asked, looking surprised.  “I didn’t take you for someone who...”

“Yeah, well I’m not,” he interjected.  “So we’re going to smut it up.  I mean, we’re going to make it really dirty.  I’ve seen the sex scenes you write and they’re good, Callie.  Not great, but good.  I can help you make them great.”

Callie’s eyes widened.  “I don’t think,” she began to protest, but Hunter quickly shushed her.

“What’s the problem?  It’s just words on a page.  You came here fully prepared to write about crime even though you admitted that crime novels aren’t your thing.  What’s so different about writing sex scenes?  It’s still just words on a page, Callie.”

“I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”

“Relax, it’s not like I’m going to make you act them out,” Hunter joked.  Then he looked at her thoughtfully.  “Not unless you want to, that is.”

Her face reddened.  Callie stood up so quickly that her notepad and pen fell to the ground.

“Where are you going?” Hunter asked, unfazed.  “Is your own self-righteous indignation really going to cost you a million bucks?  Gee, I hope it’s worth it, Callie.”  He laughed and stood up.  “Why don’t you sit back down and at least hear me out?”

Reluctantly, Callie returned to the porch swing. 

“I don’t want to be a porn writer,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“What if people I know find out?”

He chuckled.  “You write some seriously hot sex scenes in your fan fiction, and I was able to figure out your identity within ten or fifteen minutes,” he pointed out.  “At least if you do it this way I’ll be able to protect your privacy.  And you’ll get a million dollars out of the deal.”

“Well when you put it like that...” 

“Who are you trying to impress, anyway?” he asked curiously.  “Are you afraid your librarian friends would be appalled to learn you write about hard cocks and wet pussies?  Because I mean, you’d be a millionaire.  You could pay them to kiss your ass.”

It took every ounce of willpower Hunter had to not add, “I mean damn!  I would do it for free.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Hunter pressed.

She shook her head as though trying to cast ugly memories aside.  “Nothing...it’s nothing.  You promise if I write this book you’re not going to out me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, to humiliate me?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Callie, I’m an asshole.  I’ll admit that right here, right now.  But no, I’m not going to out you.  I’m going to take advantage of you in other ways, sure.  But not like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to take advantage of you by taking the credit for a book you’ve written.  But I’m being very up front about that, so it isn’t unethical.  Plus it’s my connections that are going to make the book a bestseller anyway.  So we need each other.  We can’t turn on each other.”

“Why do you care about writing a bestseller in a genre you have no interest in?” Callie demanded.  “You’re already filthy rich.  I mean, just look at where you live!  You have a mansion and a private jet.  You obviously don’t need the money, so what’s this all about?”

“Maybe I’m just a greedy bastard,” Hunter replied, hoping that explanation would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.  “Now let’s get to work.”

*****

Three hours later, Callie was in a sexual frenzy.  She tried her best not to let it show, but every time the ocean breeze kissed her skin it made her take pause and shudder.  Her nipples were as hard as pebbles and every time Hunter spoke the words sent shivers up her spine.

She wasn’t even hearing what he was saying.  She was far past that point.

They had worked out the details of the book.  They had gone over the fundamentals – plot, setting and characters.  And after they had discussed the basics, they had delved into the flesh of the story. 

There was sex in the book.  There was a hell of a lot of sex in the book. 

The specifics didn’t even matter.  It wasn’t the words on the page that had reduced Callie into a quivering heap.  It was hearing Hunter Black say such dirty things that had gotten her all worked up.  Every time he said “cock” or “pussy” or “fuck,” she felt herself turn to mush.

It wasn’t romantic.  It was far from romantic.  It was filthy and primal and oh so hot. 

The mild mannered librarian was practically beside herself.  All she could think about was sex.  All she could see in her mind’s eye was Hunter’s gorgeous cock.  All she wanted was to feel it inside her, to feel him on top of her, to be consumed by him...

Hunter, meanwhile, was cool, calm and collected. 

He sat across from Callie looking laid back and at ease.  He had moved from the railing to the porch itself.  His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his knees bent slightly.  The wind had tousled his hair and he looked boyishly handsome and sexy as hell all at once.

Callie was so confused.

In one breath, Hunter was flirting outrageously and in the next, he was aloof and in control.

He had asked if she had a boyfriend.  He continuously made obscene comments that most guys wouldn’t make unless they were trying to get into a woman’s pants.  And that first night, the way he had offhandedly teased her about her exposed bra (which was
so
mortifying!) had made her think he might be interested.

But then he went and said rude things, acting disinterested and unengaged.  It was so hard to get a read on him.  One minute Callie thought Hunter might possibly be interested in her, and the next she found herself doubting everything.  What was she supposed to think? 

She didn’t know. 

Maybe a more experienced woman would easily have all the answers, but Callie was shamefully lacking in that.  It was a secret she guarded carefully, but she was unsure how much longer she could keep it from Hunter.  He kept asking her things, presumably under the guise of writing.  It was making her squirm, literally and figuratively.

“I like this,” Hunter said, handing Callie’s first draft of the second chapter back to her.  “I like the way you described the sex at the end of the chapter – raw and passionate.  Those are good, strong words.  But it’s lacking something, I think.”

“What?” Callie asked him, her pen at the ready.

“It needs to evoke a certain feeling,” he explained.

“Okay, what should it say?”

He shook his head.  “If I write it for you, you’re not going to learn.  I told you I would mentor you.  That’s part of the deal.  So I’ll guide you in the right direction but you’re going to have to figure out the answers for yourself.”

She stared at him blankly.  “You’re not some pretentious hippie who has a big stupid involved writing process, are you?”

He burst out laughing at that.  “No.  Hell no.  Don’t worry, I might be full of myself but I’m not
that
full of myself.  I just mean that you need to draw on your own experiences.  Remember that age old advice?  Write what you know.  Otherwise a discriminating reader is going to be able to smell the bullshit from a mile away.”

Callie swallowed hard.  “So uh...?”  She looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Think about your own experiences,” he coached, his voice low and commanding.  “Think about the best sex you ever had and how it made you feel.  Did he whisper in your ear?  Did he say things that drove you wild?  What did it feel like when he touched you?”

Callie set her pen down.  “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do,” he insisted.  “I’m not asking you to tell me or anything, so don’t look at me like that.  All I’m asking is for you to revisit those feelings and that experience.  Draw upon it.  Use it to help you craft the perfect story.  Use it to inject real feelings into the words on the page.”

“No.  I don’t know,” Callie said, with more urgency. 

He tipped his head to the side.  “You really don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“You haven’t had a single really amazing sexual experience?” he asked as though he could hardly believe it.  “But Callie, you’re thirty years old!”

She jumped to her feet then.  “I think it’s time for us to take a break,” she announced.

“But we’re finally starting to actually get somewhere,” he protested.

“No.  I need a break.”  Her tone was firm, making it clear that the matter wasn’t up for negotiation.  “You have no business asking me about my sex life, by the way.  You’re my boss.  Try being a bit professional, would you?”

He laughed, clearly amused by her indignation.  “Yeah I’m your boss, but we’re writing a book about fucking.  The conversation was bound to head in this direction eventually.  Stop being so uptight, Callie...you will find life is a lot more enjoyable when you let go,” he advised.

“I’m going for a walk,” she announced suddenly, clearly wanting to get away from him.

“Fine, then I’m going to go surfing,” he shrugged.  “Look at the waves.  They’re perfect.”

Callie didn’t know anything about surfing or waves, nor did she care.  She simply turned on her heel and stormed off, flustered, annoyed and on edge.  How dare Hunter try to get so up close and personal with her?  He had no notion of boundaries and no respect for her.  He was an ass.

Even as Callie silently seethed, she knew her anger wasn’t directed at Hunter.  Sure, he had drudged up an old, ugly memory and a decade of regret.  But he hadn’t done it on purpose.  He hadn’t known the effect his line of questioning would have on her. 

The rational part of Callie’s brain reminded her of those things, but when her emotions took hold all bets were off.  Hunter Black was a genius when it came to making money.  He was a legend when it came to writing captivating novels.  But that didn’t change the fact that he was a pompous, presumptive, egotistical asshole.