LANA

 

 

It was nothing more than a short post-sex nap, but when I open my eyes, squinting around the room in confusion, I feel disoriented yet weirdly rested.

"I was starting to worry."

His soft voice greets me from the side, and I realize that I'm lying in his arms, my hand resting on his muscular chest. The very same chest I was so desperate to touch and kiss a few weeks ago.

"That was good," I whisper.

He chuckles and squeezes me closer. "Glad to hear it."

"Sorry," I add. "I didn't mean to say that-"

"I know what you meant, Lana."

He turns to me, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Are you hungry? Because I am."

I nod. "I could eat."

I haven't had dinner yet, and he wore me out. My backside is still hurting from the belt.

He whipped me with a belt, hard, and I liked it. I still can't get over that. I quiver at the thought of it.

I want more.

It was such a cathartic experience. I've never been hit like this before, especially not during sex. It hurt, but it felt so right at the same time. I know that some people get off on pain, but I never thought I’d be one of them. Then again, I don't think it was just the pain that drove me wild. It was everything. His control, his care, his way of taking me, making me feel safe, and being so desperately wanted by a man who couldn't be farther out of my league.

He orders us some food and has it sent up to the room. Because I didn't give him a clear answer as to what I'd like to eat, his order gets a little out of hand, leaving us with so much food that the dining table inside the living room can barely hold all of it.

I sit across from him, wrapped in a soft robe provided by the hotel, and dig into the best steak I've ever had.

He casts me an amused smile. "Good?"

"Very," I reply, still chewing.

"So, while you were avoiding me," he says. "Did you happen to think about that homework a little more?"

I wash the last bite of my steak down with champagne, relishing the decadence of it. In fact, I did more than just think about it. While I knew I didn't want to face him for a while, I still planned on taking some time to figure out exactly what I wanted to do with the idea he planted in me. As it turns out, thinking about it and applying what I learned in his class actually led me to sketch out a draft business plan for bringing one of my ideas to life.

I wipe the corner of my mouth with a heavy cloth napkin to buy myself some time to find the right words to explain it to him.

"I have," I say. "I actually started working on something... I think."

"You think?" he asks, looking at me with an amused smile, leaning back in his chair. He's wearing an identical white hotel robe, looking incredibly delicious with his dark rumpled hair.

"Let me hear about it," he says, waving his hand.

I clear my throat. The app I decided to follow up on is an idea I had when I first started college and realized how hard it was to socialize outside club activities.

"What I think would be really nice to have is an app that helps you find people close by who are interested in similar things, like playing a certain game or sharing a hobby, and you could search for others to do it with via app."

"Like a dating app, but for socializing?" he asks, seemingly trying to grasp what it is that I’m picturing in my mind.

"Yes, and not only to socialize," I reply. "Like, say, you need a certain tool for home repair, but you don't have it and can't or don't want to buy it. So you want to know if any of your neighbors might have one that you could borrow."

"Interesting," he says. "Go on."

I continue to tell him more about the details of certain functions while he listens, his eyebrows furling at some points, enthusiastically nodding at others. I haven't thought out all the details yet, but as I talk to him, more and more ideas come flying to me, and I'm having trouble keeping them in order.

"Can you code?" he asks eventually, interrupting my speech.

I pause for a moment, shaking my head. "Not really, I learned a little, but had to stop because it didn't fit my schedule."

"Things like that need to always fit into your schedule," he argues, figuratively punching me in the stomach. "So, what you’re saying is, you'd have to hire someone to write the app for you?"

"Yes, I think I'd have to," I admit.

"That's not a problem, you don't have to write it yourself," he says. "You just need to be aware of how much it will cost for you to make it happen."

"I know."

"Do you think you could come up with a proper business plan within the next couple weeks?" he asks, startling me.

"I don't know," I say. "I mean, I probably could. I've already done quite a bit of research, and-"

"The reason I'm asking is this," he interrupts, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table as his eyes fixate on mine. "Remember how I told you about me being an angel?"

I grin at him. Somehow, the fact that he refers to himself as an angel is funny to me, especially considering what kind of man he is in bed. But I know what he's talking about.

"Yes, sure."

"I've recently become part of a collaboration of investors who provide a platform for young entrepreneurs to present their ideas and receive our support," he says. "Financially and with business advice.”

He pauses and looks at me, observing my reaction. Is he going where I think he's going with this?

"You think I could...?"

"Why not?” he says. "It'd be a good opportunity for you to gauge whether or not this could work for you."

"A couple of weeks you said?"

"Close to three, to be exact," he confirms.

I gulp. "That's tough."

He smiles at me and takes my hand, softly stroking the back of it with his thumb when he says, "I'll help you along the way, as much as I can."

My eyes widen with appreciation. "You'd do that?"

He nods. "Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Portland."

"Jackson," he says. "I think there's no harm in you calling me that when we're alone."

His words feels like a warm embrace, so intimate and loving. I get up from my chair and walk around the table, forcing myself onto his lap to hug and kiss him.

"Thank you," I whisper, my face close to his. "Jackson."

He wraps one arm around me while placing the other on my thigh, slowly traveling along my skin, beneath the robe, while his eyes fixate tenderly on mine.

"Why?" I hear myself ask, as I stare at him with wonder.

"Why what?" he asks in a whisper.

"Why do you want to help me?"

"Because I want to," he says. "And because I can."

"You don't have to, just because we're sleeping with each other."

He chuckles, and his hand moves to the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to my center. I willingly open my legs to grant him more leeway, and he moves his hand further in, until he's touching my warm entrance.

"Sleeping together," he says, while parting my lips. "You're so cute."

I inhale noisily. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," he agrees. "But rest assured, I'm not helping you because your cunt tastes so fucking delicious."

Oh, God, he and his filthy mouth. I blush, even though my core starts throbbing with desire as he starts circling my clit with his skillful fingers.

"I'm helping you because I believe in you," he continues. "You are a smart girl, there's no doubt about that. The only thing that has kept you from success on a road less traveled is your fear and your oppressive environment."

He pauses, his expression changing into a contemplative state.

"Sometimes you need a push in the right direction," he adds. "And a person who pushes you there."

He plants a kiss on my cheek. "I hope to be that person for you."

As if he wants to keep me from replying, he slides a thick finger inside of me, bending it and pushing up at that sweet spot, while his thumb continues to caress my clit. I moan, my fingers clawing into the flesh of his shoulder.

"You're too good," I breathe, rasping. "Too good for me."

His gaze darkens for a split second, before a mischievous smirk appears.

"I'm just right for you," he says.

His grip around me tightens, and I am silenced as he brings me to another climax.