The Billionaire's Touch (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Two) (2 page)

I clutched my overnight bag to my chest as the driver eased onto the exit ramp f
or the airport. Just the sound
of the airplanes whooshing overhead was enough to make me tremble.

I hated flying. The long lines, the unnecessary gropeage by the security officers, the overpriced food both on and off the plane,
and most of all,
the seats that forced you to get to know your neighbor whether you wanted to or not. It just seemed like every flying experience in recent memory involved dishing out cash to be made uncomfortable.

Not that this one was being charged to my credit card. All my expenses were being paid for by Whitmore and Creighton. I should have taken a small bit of relief from that, but the bright terminal
signs that hung overhead
still made me queasy.

I pushed my shades from the tip of my nose to the bridge and took a swig of the Perrier beside me.
If you can agree to being one of the hottest men on the planet's sub, you can do this.

"You can do this," I said aloud. "You can do..." My
self-affirming
confirmation trailed off as I peeked out the window and saw we weren't pulled to the bustling curb of a terminal or some parking deck, but a small parking lot in front of a
non-descript
building.

The driver killed the engine, pulled out the keys, and stepped out of the car.

I frowned up at him with confusion as he pulled open my door. "What-where are we?"

My question bounced right off him and as dreamlike as recent occurrences were, there was no mistaking the final three wor
ds that came out of his mouth: P
rivate aviation terminal.

“Private aviation terminal?” I clutched my bag tighter. "As in private jet?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes ma'am. Now, if you'd allow me to attend to your luggage..."

I let him take my carry-on
, threads and seams supporting the fact that it'd seen better days, from my lap and out into the sunshine. I slid out after it, still in a daze. Private jet. I assumed that Jacob would travel in style, but I was just hoping for a first class ticket.

I wordlessly walked behind him. No, walking wasn’t right. It w
as more like gliding.
I floated through the sliding door and wasn’t bombarded with a
cesspool of noise and bustle since t
here
were
only a handful of people inside
the lobby. A smiling attendant greeted us that
seemed
far too congenial to work at an
airport. Instead of standing in a
security line that crawled, having to remove my shoes and
get
ting
molested by some woman who wasn’t any happier about it than I was, I flew right through
security
.

The driver handed over my bag
and I took it gingerly
, realizing that I had no cash to tip him. That’s what rich people did, right?

“Mr. Whitmore has taken care of everything, Miss Montgomery,” he said, reading my mind. “Have a safe flight.”

I pulled up the bar on my bag and drug it
along
as I took in the quiet surroundings
.
There was
no strip mall feel here, no walking past endless gates and sco
uring the place for monitors with flight updates.
No bobbing and weaving around people willing to take you down to make their flight.

I sunk into a leather seat tucked near sliding doors that led to the jets and ruffled in my bag for my itinerary.
I scrolled the check-in information along with finding and boarding the plane.

I still couldn’t believe that Jacob Whitmore thought I was worth the trouble.
Not that any of this came
free of conditions. They burned in the blue fire of his eyes when he cornered me in the dressing room. Obey. And keep my lips zipped. I wasn't particularly good at either. But with his body against mine, his hands staking claim to me, damn it if I wasn't putty in his hands. Even though I found his type A antics infuriating, everything I learned in feminism 101 went out the window as soon as he touched me.

"Miss Montgomery?"

I glanced up in surprise, taking in the woman standing in front of me.  She was dressed
in a navy blue
suit with silver buttons that glimmered like gun metal. Fiery red coils sprung from a doll like face, the one thing that seemed to revolt against her otherwise tailored appearance. I felt an instant connection to her, like we were long lost sisters of the Girls Whose Hair Won't Do Right
club
.

"My name is Maggie Hall. I’ll be servicing your jet today," she said smoothly, extending a pale hand.

I shook it gingerly and rose to my feet. "Oh! Thanks for servicing me.” Yikes. That came out creepy. “I mean...for attending me...or, uh, the plane.”

I was grateful when she smiled instead of looking at me like I was an idiot. “
Your first time traveling in a private jet?
”

“That obvious?” I said with a nervous chuckle.

“You’ll be fine,” she said supportively
. “Oh! I was given this by Mr. Whitmore...” She reached into her purse and handed me a slender white envelope. "You are to follow the instruct
ions prior to boarding the jet
."

I frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Mr. Whitmore requests that you read this and follow the instruc
tions before you board
." Before I could open my mouth to protest, she held up a hand in defense. "I'm just the messenger."

I slowly took the envelope
and watched as she moved to
the exit, sending a wave of heat whooshing into the waitin
g area when the doors slid open,
then closed. 

Sweat exploded at my temple and found company with the bitter taste in my mouth. Follow the instru
ctions before boarding
? I
had a feeling that
‘R
emove all traces of your poor-ness
’
was scribbled on the paper. Couldn't contaminate his precious jet, now could I?

I broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out a cris
p piece of paper. "Remove your-
" I read the last bit silently, shock moving across my body like wildfire. I had to read it twice and the words still punched all the air from my lungs.

In brisk curves
and fierce lines, his requirements were simple:
Remove your bra and panties prior to boarding
.

Remove my underwear?
I thought incredulously.
Hell no!

He'd told
me to wear the colorblock dress
for the flight
and I was already breaking into hives thinking about how close I'd been to revolting and wearing the sheer black dress because of the heat.

“Absolutely not,” I said
to myself, my voice hoarse
. “I won’t do it.” Who
cared if I
signed a contract, agreeing to submit myself to his will? Rough, kinky sex, was one thing, but no underwear? Didn’t he know that I wasn’t some A cup waif that could go topless without flopping about?

My cheeks darkened as it sunk in. Of course
he knew
. That was the whole point. Making me un
comfortable. Reminding me who was
in charge.

I turned qu
ickly, swinging my bag
over my shoulder. I was just going to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I wasn’t, under any circumstances, taking off my bra and undies. I kept repeating it, over and over, even as I stepped into the stall and slowly pulled off my comic boy shorts. It would have been easier to pretend I wasn’t giving into his humiliating request if I could just magically remove my bra without taking off the dress. No such luck.

When I pushed out of the stall, my bra and underwear
were
a bundle of cotton and polyester in m
y bag.
I held my breath as I rushed out of the lobby towa
rd the loading dock
, focu
sing on the tail end of the aircraft
. I just needed to find the jet and get on board before a strong wind made a neon sign of my naked body.

“Miss Montgomery?”
Maggie
stood at the landing of a set of stair
s leading up to the belly of a
jet. “Are you ready to board?”

I couldn’t manage an actual response so I just took a step in her direction and hoped she took it as some sort of affirmation.

“I’ll take
your bag.” She reached for the F
rankenstein-like thing and did me a solid by not holding it gingerly between two fingers. “Mr. Whitmore is in the sleeping chamber and requests that you join him as soon as you board.”

Something in her voice told me it wasn’t a request at all and I couldn’t help but hesitate, lingering at the landing and wonderin
g what he had planned.

She picked up on the awkward and leaned in, dropping her volume to a whisper. “You’ll be just fine.”

I knew she meant to make me feel better, more at ease, but
I couldn’t help but think about the last person that tried to give me advice.
Skye
from
Le Magnifique
came rushing back with her wiggling
eyebrows
as she pretty much lumped me in with every other girl that cycled through Whitmore’s office and bed.

I didn’t say another word, holding my head high as I walked up the stair
s. I said yes, but he
didn’t own me. This wasn’t
Pretty Woman
. I had a degree. I was here to work, damn it.

My temper cooled as I stepped into the crisp body of the jet
and took everything in
. Gone were the cold, uniformed seats packed tight like sardines like on a commercial plane.
In their place were four reclining chairs
to the right near the window and a table to the left flanked by two more. The chairs weren’t made of the horrible pleather material, instead, a rich, mahogany cow hide that was soft to the touch. The walls were lined with wood paneling giving off the vibe and atmosphere of riding in a luxury car instead of a plane. Even in flats, I could feel the plush carpeting beneath my feet.

The sound of Jacob’s
smoky, urgent voice floated from the back room and I swallowed hard before standing tall and
remembering I was supposed to report to him.
As I neared the divider that separated the back of the plane
from the front
, I caught pieces of his conversation.

“What else have you found out about Leila?”

There was a sliver of an op
ening and I peered in, watching him
.

He paused, raking a hand through his ebony waves. “No boyfriend, no baggage I need to know about?
” He paced back and forth.
“Yes, I’m aware that she was given the same work up as t
he others.” He scoffed. “Driven?
No, the others were driven. This one is different.”

I took a small step backward, the way h
e said ‘different’
lighting up every pore of me.
This one is different
. I let out a long, stuttering sigh. He had to have meant something else. He’d done this before. Could Jacob Whitmore be falling for
me
?

He glan
ced at the door and I heard
something tighten in his voice. “Leila?”

My lips trembled and for a brief moment, I entertained the idea of ducking away. Maybe even booking it out of here, flagging a cab and going back to the real world where girls like me had to toil in mail rooms and cubicles for years before getting their break. Back to reality where a celebrity businessman wasn’t telling people that I was different with a decidedly romantic undertone. Because as excited as the prospect of being more to him was, none of the others got their happily ever after. They fell off the face of the earth as quickl
y as they entered it on his arm.
I wasn’t willing to forfeit my career for romance. I couldn’t.