What He Demands (What He Wants, Book Three) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

What He Demands (What He Wants, Book Three)

By Hannah Ford

Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights
reserved.

This book is a work of fiction, and any
resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Noah

9:10.

It was 9:10 and she still wasn’t here.

I took another sip of my drink and leaned
back in the red leather booth.
 
Had
I spooked her in some way, perhaps with that talk in her lobby where I told her
that in order for her to be with me,
really
be with me, she’d have to do things
she’d never even considered?

She hadn’t seemed spooked.

In fact, she’d seemed eager and willing.

And according to the text she’d just sent
me, she was ready to go, all dressed up in a sexy little black dress that
hugged her curves.
 
It drove me
insane just looking at her.
 
I
couldn’t wait to fill her with my cock, to tie her up, to make her beg me to
fuck her.

9:14.
 

I wondered if she was trying to mess with
me, planning to arrive late in order to keep me guessing.
 
The thought was amusing.
 
If she wanted to play those kind of games,
she was going to learn fast that there would be a price.

My dick hardened, thinking about the way
she’d looked at me in the lobby earlier, telling me she wanted to understand,
to learn.
 
I wanted to teach her,
to bring her into my world.
 

But she still wasn’t here.

Disappointment washed over me, and I was
shocked to realize that if she didn’t show up, I would head home.
 
I was surrounded by beautiful women,
women who had been conditioned and primed to provide pleasure for the men who
requested it.
 
And yet all I could
think about was Charlotte.
 
Her
lush curves, her fiery spirit, the way it felt to hold her close.
 
She was innocent.
 
Pure.
 
Perfect.
 

Be careful, Noah.
 
Don’t get too close.

I wouldn’t.
 
If she wasn’t here by 9:20, I would leave.
 
It would be better for me.
 
And for her.
 
I would have her fired from helping Colin Worthington.
 
I would tell him it was nothing
personal against her, that I just no longer felt comfortable having law
students working on my case.

The police weren’t going to arrest me
anyway.
 
I was sure of it.

Stop being disappointed.
 
She was too good for you.
 
She would have never understood.

I surveyed the crowd on the dance floor,
watching as a blonde girl in her mid-twenties was collared and led to the VIP
room.
 

You should take another woman.

You have to.
 

Forget about Charlotte Holloway.

You need to get her out of your system.

Find another pussy you can bury your dick
in, a woman who will let you do what you need.

That’s when I saw her.

Charlotte.

She was standing just inside the door,
wearing that tight little black dress she’d sent me a picture of.
 
High black stiletto heels were on her
feet, and the fabric of her dress gathered at her waist, showing off her curves
and hugging that deliciously round ass.
 
Even from here, I could tell she was wearing more make-up than
usual.
 
Her plump lips were done in
a shade of red that made me harden.
 
I couldn’t wait for her to suck me off, taking every last drop of my
come down her pretty little throat.

She looked around, confused.
 
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and
her eyes widened as she took in the fact that most of the women on the dance
floor were scantily clad and grinding up on the men.
 
She bit her lip as she watched a man reach out and put his
hand on his date’s skirt, then pull it up and grab her ass in front of
everyone.

It was this part – her naivety
about sex and the world – that made her so irresistible.
 
Her eyes scanned the room until they
locked with mine.
 
She began to
make her way over to me.

She was ready to learn.

And I couldn’t wait to teach her.

Charlotte

I spotted him sitting over in the corner,
in a booth, one of those VIP ones that was raised up on a platform so that he
could have a good look at everything that was going on beneath him.

I hated the thought of him looking at
other women, hating thinking that he might have been up there looking at that
girl’s ass and getting turned on.
 
The women in this club were extremely beautiful.
 
I knew as soon as Jared pulled the car
up in front that I was out of my element.

I’d been to fancy bars before, of
course.
 
The place I’d been the
other night for Cora’s bachelorette party was nice.
 
But it was professional nice.
 
Classy.
 
The
kind of place lawyers and professionals went.

The men here seemed like
professionals.
 
Or at least, they
seemed rich.
 
They were all wearing
sophisticated, expensive-looking clothing.
 
But the women looked like models.
 
Shiny hair, tiny waists, perfect complexions.
 
I was by far the biggest girl in the
room, and I instantly felt self-conscious.

Everyone here was wearing designer
dresses, and I was wearing a tight little mini-dress that Julia probably got at
TJ Maxx.
 
I’d felt beautiful back
at the house when I was getting ready, but now I just felt out of place and
bumbling.

I told myself it didn’t matter.
 
I wasn’t here to impress anyone, least
of all Noah.

I marched over and slid into the booth
next to him.

In an instant, he was next to me, his
body against me, his leg pushing into mine.
 
But I moved away so that I was out of his reach.

“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” he
said, smiling devilishly.
 
He
reached under the table and stroked my knee.
 
“Fine with me.
 
It’ll make it even sweeter.”

I marveled at his change in tone, how
he’d been so vulnerable back in the lobby of my building, how he’d seemed like
he really wanted to let me in.
 
I
thought we’d be going to a nice restaurant, or a movie, or one of the million
of other places you could go on a first date.
 
But now, here we were again, in some fancy loud club, and
all he was thinking about was sex.

His touch was sending heat pulsing
through my core, and I cursed him for being able to have such an effect on
me.
 

I reached into my messenger bag (I’d had
to bring it instead of the tiny little clutch—it didn’t match the outfit,
but some things were more important) and pulled out the file folder Professor
Worthington had given me, slamming it down on the table.

“What’s this?” Noah asked, looking
dismayed.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, flipping open the
folder and pulling out the photo, the one of Nora and Dani.
 
“Just an interesting picture of two
women you used to date, two women with the same marks on their wrists that I
have.”

He picked up the photo and looked at it.

I’d been replaying this moment in my head
the whole way over here.
 
At first I’d
thought that I wouldn’t even come, that I’d just leave Noah waiting.
 
I’d never talk to him again, I’d resign
from the case and build up my reputation with Professor Worthington through
hard work in his class.

It was too dangerous.

What were the chances that the two
murdered women had both dated Noah
and
had the same marks on their wrist at the
time of their death?
 
The marks
looked fresh, like maybe he’d just been with him.
 
Was that what he did?
 
Tied them up and fucked them until he got bored, then killed them and
tossed their bodies?
 

In the end, though, I decided to come
because I wanted to confront him.
 
I wanted to put the evidence right down in front of him.
 
I’d pictured us in a restaurant though,
the kind of place where he’d tell me to keep my voice down and get a panicked
look on his face before begging me not to call the police.

You came because you wanted him to
convince you it wasn’t him.

I ignored that thought and waited for
Noah’s explanation.

He glanced at the photo as if it were
nothing, then placed it back in the folder before sliding it back across the
table toward me.

“Is that why you came here tonight,
Charlotte?”
 
He took a sip of his
drink and regarded me over the table, his gaze piercing.
 

“What do you mean?” I shifted on the booth,
uncomfortable.
 
Somehow he had
already turned the tables, and now he was questioning me, instead of the other
way around.
 

“I mean did you come here tonight because
you wanted to accuse me of murder?”

I thought about it.
 
“Haven’t you already been accused of
murder?” I shot back.

“Have I?”

“You’re talking in circles.”

“Why did you come here tonight,
Charlotte?” he pressed.
 

He was making me nervous.
 
He was looking at me like he wanted to
fuck me, his gaze smoldering, his eyes full of want.
 
But he’d taken his hand off my knee and now he was leaning
back against the booth.
 
He was
wearing a soft-looking black sweater and the sleeves were pushed up, showing
muscular forearms.

I didn’t like that he’d moved away from
me.
 
Now that I was here, I wanted
him close to me.
 
I hated that he
had this power over me, hated that I’d come here to confront him about
something, and now he was the one in control.

But why
had
I come here? I wondered.
 
Was it that I wanted an
explanation?
 
If I did, then why
didn’t I just come out and ask him for it?
 

Because you’re afraid of the answer.

“I came here because you invited
me.”
 
My hands twisted in my lap,
and I wished I had a drink to keep me busy.
 
I looked around for a waitress and spotted a beautiful
blonde in a gold minidress setting a round of glasses down on a table a few
booths down.
 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,
Charlotte,” Noah demanded.

It was like a reflex.
 
I turned my attention back to him, my
eyes snapping back onto his.

“Good girl,” he said, like it pleased him
that I could follow directions.
 
He’d said the same thing when I was sucking his cock.
 
That I was pleasing him turned me on—then
and now.
 
“Now answer my
question.
 
Why did you come here?”

“I came here because you invited me,” I
repeated.
 
“And because I wanted to
get to know you better, like you said.”
 
It sounded lame and cliché and such a girl thing to say, but I didn’t
care.
 
I did come here because I
wanted to get to know him better.
 
I wanted to know something about him, anything.
 
If he had brothers and sisters, if he
liked his job, what his favorite color was.
 
Right now he was like a completely closed door, and the lock
was proving impossible to open.

“And you thought you could get to know me
better by accusing me of murder?”

“No.”
 
I shook my head.
 
“I wasn’t accusing you of murder.”

“You came here and showed me a picture of
two dead girls, which by the way, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be doing in
such a public place, and then you compared the marks on their wrists to the
marks on yours.
 
Marks that I put
there.”

“I wanted an explanation.”
 
I kept my eyes on his, daring him to
contradict me.
 
I didn’t care how
devastatingly sexy he was, or how successful, or how much he turned me on.
 
I deserved an answer.