The Billionaire's Secret (BDSM Erotic Romance) (His Submissive, Part Six) by Ava Claire Read Free Book Online

the office--and facing Jacob.
    After a succinct conversation where Natasha managed to gleefully delight in my crappy state of health, we figured out a way for me to just work from home so I wouldn't get behind.
    I flipped open my laptop, dragging my hands to the keyboard. I pulled up the Whitmore and Creighton portal, eyes narrowing as my stomach trembled. It had been about an hour since I’d attempted drinking something and I knew I needed to stay hydrated unless I wanted to add dehydration to the list.
    I dropped my laptop back on the tumble of sheets beside me and sucked in a steadying breath before I stood up. I went rigid as a statue, exhaling after I maintained my balance for a full minute.
    So far so good , I thought warily. Halfway there .
    The kitchen was only a few feet from the futon (Thank God) but I still gripped the island, just in case it was adrenaline keeping me vertical. Megan had left out a couple of Gatorades right on the counter beside the stove and there was also a pack of saltines, but I was nowhere near brave enough for solids.
    I cracked one open and brought it to my lips. I gingerly sipped it and paused in case my body rejected it, but nothing happened. I finished the rest and dropped the empty bottle into the recycle bin.
    Feeling slightly more confident, I didn’t inch my way back to the couch. Maybe this day wouldn’t be pure hell. I stopped short, only a few feet from solid ground when I heard two solid thumps coming from the door.
    Fear rippled through me. Who could it be? Megan had a key, and she was knee deep in elementary kids at this point. She didn’t live in the safest of neighborhoods so of course my mind shot to the worst possible scenario, all of which ended with me being assaulted, robbed, and left in a bloody heap on the floor. That’s what I get for all of those Law and Order: SVU marathons.
    The knocks magnified and a deep, familiar voice accompanied them. “Leila?”
    It had to be some fevered dream. I was conked out, imagining things. To prove it, I pinched my arm then hissed when the pain came through loud and clear. I took a tiny step toward the door, opening my mouth then snapping it shut.
    “Leila, if you’re in there--”
    I rocketed to the door. Ever since he stormed out I wanted him to come back and here he was. I couldn’t let him walk away again.
    Jacob. Holding a crumpled bouquet of roses.
    And looking as horrible as I felt.
    His dark hair was a crumpled mess with the layered locks sticking out every which way. His usually strong jaw was hidden by shadow and untouched by a razor. His blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep. His white, button down shirt had an ashen, dusty parlor and I realized with a gasp it was likely the shirt he was wearing the day before. But there was one earthquake status difference. His shirt was half tucked, half not into a pair of dark wash jeans.
    Jeans.
    Jacob Whitmore was wearing jeans.
    I was definitely dreaming. Even on our most relaxed days in Venice, he still wore blazers with sleek cut trousers. Jacob was a walking, talking advertisement for sophistication. He just didn’t do jeans.
    I must have been gawking like I was watching a train wreck unfold before my very eyes because he gestured with the roses, bringing me back. “Planning on inviting me in?”
    I blushed and stepped aside, letting him past. My eyes dropped to his rear and a flash of lust echoed through me. Despite the rest of his wrinkled exterior, he looked like sex on a stick in those jeans.
    He stopped in the living room area, glancing around the place with silent disapproval. “This is where you’re staying?”
    “Yes,” I said, feeling defensive. “You have a lot of--” My eyes widened when I realized there was something slightly more important than defending Meg’s place. “How did you know where to find me?”
    His cool gaze drunk me in. “Well I’m not stalking you if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “That’s not what I asked,” I