His Absolute Insistence: A Scandalous Billionaire Love Story (Jessika, #2) (12 page)

"It's impossible, but I wish it never happened," he said.

My heart jumped, then stopped.  What did he mean?

"I wish I never married Beatrice.  I wish we'd only been friends, and stayed that way, with nothing else involved.  It's insane, because you and I met under odd circumstances, so I probably would have never met you, but I wish I still had, and then we could have loved one another, and married, and most of the problems you've had to deal with because of me would never have happened.  It's impossible, and I realize that, but I think about it sometimes."

I squeezed his hand, reassuring him.  Leaning close, I touched his forearm with my other hand.

"That book was my father's," he said.  "He loved
Dante's Inferno
.  He said it could teach you everything you needed to know.  I don't know if it can do that, but I liked it, too.  It's just a book, and there's copies everywhere.  When I saw you holding it and reading it, I was fascinated by you, Jessika.  Beatrice never read anything but magazines.  Then you saw me and you dropped the book, and it ripped apart on the floor.  I'd only seen you for a second, but you intoxicated me, and then when that happened, something inside me snapped.  It's stupid, but I felt like I'd lost control of my life.  My father said the book could teach you everything, but now his book of everything was gone and I didn't know anything yet."

I swallowed hard, listening to him confess.

"I needed that control.  It's ridiculous.  I know that.  I needed it, and in my eyes you'd just taken it away from me forever if that makes sense?  It was a rash decision, but I wanted you so badly then.  You read the book, you enjoyed it, and then as easily as that, you broke it.  I know it was an accident, but it seemed so freeing in a lot of ways.  And infuriating, too.  You don't need to know everything.  That's what I thought right then.  I know this sounds really contradictory," he said, forcing himself to chuckle.  "I'd fallen in love with you because of that book, then I hated you for a brief moment because you destroyed it, then I think I loved you again more for the same reason."

"What about now?" I asked.

I'd never heard this story before.  It frightened me, but in a good way.  It was real and raw.  It was healing, but it was also special.  It was important.  We'd created our scene back then, and this was Asher's picture of it.

"I love you, Jessika.  I love you so much.  Back then, my life seemed like nothing.  I was coasting along, creating stability, but that's it.  You broke the book, and I felt like my stability was gone, but then I thought maybe I never needed it in the first place.  I didn't want to coast through life, I wanted to live it.  I was angry at you at first, and I did some things I truly regret, but... well, this sounds terrible."  He smiled.  "You don't hate me for telling you this, do you?"

I shook my head.  "No.  I don't hate you, Asher."  I love you, I thought.  I wanted to say it, but the words stuck in my throat, dry and afraid.

"I lost myself and I wanted to control you to regain that stability, but then... it just changed.  When I had you on the table, you were so
wet
.  You didn't have everything, you'd destroyed it.  Neither of us had anything except ourselves right then.  It seemed so strong, though.  Your face and your body and your arousal.  It drew me in.  I wanted you.  I almost took you.  I was rock hard, but I didn't want you to hate me after, as if I could convince myself that somehow what I was doing was alright and you wouldn't actually hate me for it.  I felt bad, but I wanted to see you live, and every time my fingers moved inside of you, you seemed more vivid and alive.  When I brought you to orgasm, I felt like I suddenly knew exactly what I'd been missing my entire life."

I blushed and looked away.  Yes, well, Asher and I had done some things.  I'd broken his book and he pulled me into his private meeting room in his office at Landseer Tower, then stripped me of my clothes.  And... he'd fingered me to orgasm.  Those were the technical details.  His story sounded so much more interesting and compelling, though.

"That was it," he said.  "I thought I must have lost you after that.  I brooded, sitting there, knowing everything I'd never had, and never would have.  You'd leave after that.  Perhaps you'd report me to the police.  I didn't know.  It didn't even seem to matter.  I had no marriage, because it was a lie.  I was about to lose my company because of a huge broach of corporate conduct, and I didn't care because the only thing I could think of was how alive you looked and felt, and how much it made me feel alive, and I just wanted to know.  I wanted to ask you how you could do that, like maybe you could just tell me."

"I realized later that it was impossible, but I'd still ruined everything.  I asked Jeremy to buy you the dress I gave you.  I texted him while you cleaned my office mostly nude.  I was sort of surprised you did it and didn't run out.  Then I got that call from the doctor about Beatrice and everything happened so suddenly but it seemed right, and I asked you if you'd be an egg donor and surrogate.  That was a little weird, huh?"

I laughed.  "Maybe a little," I said.  "Asher, I... um..."

He smiled at me.  "Yes?"

"I felt the same, a little bit.  I knew it was wrong, too, but I kind of wanted it to happen in a way.  It was a dream.  I was stuck back then and not in a great place, and then you showed up.  People mentioned you in the halls when I was walking to your office.  It sounded like they thought I was going to be in trouble."

"I wasn't the nicest person back then," he admitted.  "I tried to stay happy when I could, but I was too curt and tense sometimes."

"It was just a weird fantasy, I guess," I said.  "You and I, what you did, how I reacted.  When you asked me about
Dante's Inferno
, it caught me off guard.  I thought you were just angry at me for not cleaning like I was supposed to, but then when you mentioned the book in particular, it startled me.  I didn't think you liked to read or would care about books, but you did.  Then you got me the dress, and you asked me that question, and I just wanted to know."  In some weird hindsight perspective of the situation from a year ago, I understood something I'd never considered before.  "I wanted to know everything.  Everything about you.  Why you did the things you did and why you were the person you were."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss me softly on the lips.  I moved into his kiss, joyous as our lips touched together.

"That's why," he said.  "That was a longwinded story, but that's why I wanted to take those pictures of you, and that's why everything progressed to being a little more than picture taking.  I saw you and I saw something beautiful in you, Jessika.  You
are
beautiful, but I love the liveliness inside you, too.  I don't know what it is, but you make me want more.  I took those pictures because I felt like I could never have that, though.  I wanted you.  I wanted to have you forever, and I wanted to give myself to you, too.  I couldn't, though.  I was trapped.  I didn't love Beatrice, but leaving seemed impossible.  It seemed wrong.  I still don't know if it was right, but everything became too complex after what happened."

"I wanted to take pictures of you because I wanted to remember you forever.  I wanted to remember what you looked like and how we were together.  I wanted to remember every part of you, but the only thing I could have was your picture.  I didn't care what kinds of pictures I took, I just wanted ones where you looked real and alive, ones that reflected the way you were inside."

"This sounds quite affectionate and devoted, Mr. Landseer," I said with a silly grin.  "Except I really should remind you that we were having sex during half of those pictures."

"Yes," he said, smirking back.  "That way I could pretend you were mine, and that you always would be.  It was a finely crafted fantasy I had in my mind."

"I wanted you, too, though.  I unbuttoned your pants and I put you inside of me."

"I think maybe we're both a little strange," he said.  "I'm still not sure how we managed to make this work out."

"Do you still want it?" I asked.  "Do you still want to remember all of me?"

He nodded, sincere.  "Every day," he said.  "I cherish every day with you, Jessika.  It hurts when I see you scared or lost, because I've seen you so happy and I want you to be happy always.  I oversee Landseer Enterprises because I want to create something magical.  I was setting scenes in my mind.  Each building, each tourist hot spot, became the perfect picture.  That's how I convinced myself to take over the company, by telling myself I could set those scenes for everyone, even if I did it indirectly.  When I see you upset, it reminds me of that.  I want to make you happy again.  I want to set our scene and make it perfect."

"We do have a lot of pictures together," I reminded him.  He had so many pictures of me while I was happy and smiling, or reading, talking, while we were intimate, while we kissed, while we made love.  A part of me worried there was a limit, that eventually he wouldn't need more because he'd have enough.

"I look at them," he said.  "When I'm alone, or when we're together, I look at our pictures, and I see you happy.  Maybe you're just smiling, or maybe you're laughing at me and shooing me away, or maybe it's you and I together and I'm buried deep inside of you and we're close, and your eyes are clenched shut in ecstasy.  It's never enough, though.  It will never be enough.  I want to take more pictures, Jessika.  Even if I can't use a camera, I want more memories.  I want both of us to be happy in them, not just for now, but for always.  I will do everything possible to make that happen."

I smiled, becoming lost in his love, his heartfelt confession.  I eyed the plate in front of me, three-quarters eaten, the rest laying there.  It tasted good, I enjoyed it, but...

"I don't want to eat anymore," I said, gazing at him with some intense, previously unknown emotion.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"You," I said, "in the bedroom.  Right now."

Asher shoved the table aside, slamming it into the back of the couch.  I gasped and winced at the sound of clattering dishes.  He kicked his chair out of the way and swooped in, grabbing me.  He lifted me out of my chair with strong, powerful arms and I laughed and shrieked and screamed, elated.  My shouts were muted by his hand, then his mouth.  He dragged me partway to the bedroom while kissing me hard.  I tried to unbutton his shirt, but I gave up after two buttons and ripped the rest of it away.

Asher grinned at me, lasciviously insatiable.  Scooping me into his arms, he carried me to the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed.  I bounced and the bed creaked and groaned, not used to the abuse.

Yes, well, I thought, speaking to the bed in my mind.  You better get used to it, because we're about to do some rude things atop you.

Asher crawled onto the bed, prowling over me.  He grabbed the bust line of my dress, dug his fingers into the fabric, and pulled roughly, ripping it down the middle.  I gasped.

"Asher!  That's an expensive dress," I protested, nearly squeaking in aroused excitement.

"Fuck the dress," he said.  "It's in my way."

He ripped the rest of it off until I lay on the bed in nothing more than tatters.  I didn't need a bra with this dress, so I lay there in only my panties.  Asher delicately wrapped his fingers around the waistband of my underwear, his powerful hand pressing against my pubis.  With one sharp wrench, he peeled and pulled my panties down my legs, then threw them to the floor.

S
ex made me hungry again.  Sex also made me feel exhilarated.  I was happy and I wanted to skip around the room, even though my legs felt weak and maybe I kind of wanted to lay down and take a nap or kiss, or have sex again.  Sex was a very nice thing, I thought.

Asher laughed at me while I smiled at him in my post-orgasmic daze.  I smiled and I kissed him, first on the nose, then the lips, then more on the lips.  He chuckled and squeezed me close, but then I slinked away and fell onto the bed on my back.  It jumped and creaked and moaned.  I kind of wanted to moan, I thought.  During sex, of course.  With or without the bed.  The bed didn't really matter.  I didn't care about the bed.

"Asher," I said, finding my voice hidden somewhere behind a giddy smile.  "Are you hungry?"

"I think our food is cold by now," he said.  "We've been in here for awhile.  We could heat it up in the microwave?"

"We could..." I said, trailing off.  "Or, I made dessert, too."

"Oh?" he asked.

"Yes!"  I made it.  Me.  Well, Jeremy helped, but it was my idea and I did a lot of it, so I was going to take credit since he wasn't here right now.  Rolling to the side and sliding my legs off the bed, I plopped my feet onto the floor and bounced up.  "Wait here, alright?  I'll go get it."

"Should I close my eyes?" he asked.

I considered it for a moment.  Biting my bottom lip, I nodded.

"I'm not sure if you actually need to go get anything," he said.  "If I have to keep staring at you standing there naked like that, I'm going to drag you back to bed and have you for dessert."

Yes.  That sounded good.  Except, no, I wanted to show him what I made.  Also, I wanted to eat it.  I might have accidentally become sweet-obsessed.  The other night was the cake and now it was... well, it was a surprise, sort of.

I shook my head and waggled one finger at him.  "Stay," I said.  "Don't move."

Asher rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, pretending to pant like a dog.

I laughed.  "Good boy."

Skipping, lighthearted, I bounded away.  The bedroom door was open because neither of us had closed it, and I went into the kitchen with ease.  Once there, I hurried to the cabinets and pulled out a small disposable aluminum tray of chocolate chip cookies.  I didn't really make these, I got them from a roll of cookie dough, but I liked those sorts of cookies.  I put the tray on the counter, then spun around to open the refrigerator.  Poking through the minor amounts of food I had from Jeremy's shopping excursion, I reached for a pie tin.

Within the pie tin lay my masterpiece.  I stared at it, rapt and rather satisfied with the outcome.  It looked more than decent and I wanted to eat it.  I didn't actually make this from scratch, either, it came in a box with some instructions and it was a simplified version, but I hadn't had any in a long time and I longed for it.  It reminded me of sex, if you could somehow place sex in your mouth and let it simmer and melt, and then swallow it, reveling in the creamy deliciousness inching down your throat and into your stomach.