Leah
"Were you actually doing business with my father?" I figured I needed to ask. If for no other reason, so I could attempt to wipe what I assumed was a stupefied, weak look off my face. I figured being sassy was better than being weak any day. I made sure that he heard the disdain in my voice, equal parts directed at my father and at Jacob Renaud himself. Both equally earned, I could assume.
I tried to recall what he said that night, but right now I was building up to a healthy level of seething rage at my current situation and my ensuing helplessness. I fucking hated being in another situation where I couldn't control what was happening to me. But the standoff wasn't helping. I was going to talk to him if only to satisfy my curiosity, and his. Because that smug bastard look was doing things to me...making me angry, and making me wet if I was honest.
I so didn't want to be honest in that moment, either.
I looked at him as he started to speak, in hopes that he'd be honest.
"In a manner of speaking," Jacob began, his cryptic words shading his voice with a lilt of humor. "Your father believed that I was merging one of my firms with his, but really I was stealing some of the art collection that I simply don't know how he even had taste enough to acquire."
Well, that was not the answer I was expecting. I felt my eyes widen in the instant reaction I had. He seemed to enjoy that.
"What were you stealing, not the-"
"Oh, you know I was," Jacob interrupted me, standing suddenly and making me jump a little at his movement. "It was the only possession your father had, other than you, that wasn't incredibly tacky." He walked to his bar and poured some scotch into two highball glasses, bringing one back to me and setting it down. "Now, I have them both."
Tentatively, I took the glass. At first, I was afraid. I had never really drank much. Just tried it a few times, and I wasn't sure that I liked the way that it made me feel. But I realized there was no reason to fear anything more from Jacob. What difference would some alcohol make?
"So you stole the DiMagerlay," I said, taking a small sip. It was warm to my lips, hot going down, and shocking. But I liked it. I took another drink, a bigger one this time, but by no means a gulp. It wasn't lost on me that Jacob was watching me, studying me, and it seemed like enjoying my exploration of his scotch. I let him have it and ran my tongue over my lips. I couldn't deny, not to myself, that I enjoyed the ramping of power that I felt when he looked at me with such desire. Of course, it should have dampened my urges to know that if I made him want me more, he'd take me more. And I should be trying to stop that...right?
I finished my drink and walked over to the bar, pouring myself more and turning to look at him, holding the decanter up to ask if he'd like more. He nodded, then slowly made a come hither motion at me.
I walked toward him. The weight of our words now was nothing compared to the growing heat in the air. I was touching something dangerous, yet I couldn't keep my moth-self away from the dangerous flame of Jacob Renaud. I was utterly ensnared by him. Right now, as he was telling me how he ruined my father, I didn't have too much of a problem with it. It was difficult to keep stock of what I wanted, what Jacob wanted, what I wanted to celebrate, and what I wanted to prevent now. I took another drink of my scotch, topping it off again, and then walked over to him.
"You came to ruin him. You always come out on top, no matter what big boys are playing with their company toys, don't you, Mr. Renaud?" I asked, slinking toward him and reaching out to pour him another healthy glass of the rich amber liquid.
He grabbed the decanter from my hand, placing it on the table. "Yes, yes, I do. Your father's shitshow of his attempt at having an empire will be ruined, and I'll be buying it at bargain basement prices, just to bury him. End him.”
He had a face of utter smug satisfaction. I couldn't help but cheers my glass, clanking mine into his and then taking another drink.
"I have the most valuable thing he ever had," Jacob said, and instead of sounding utterly smug and revolting about owning me, there was some dark power to his words that sent shivers through my body. I turned on my heel to return my seat, but he captured my wrist, taking my drink, and then pulling me down to sit on his lap, all while never spilling his drink.
"Slow down, princess," Jacob said with a laugh.
"I can handle myself, and if I can't, that's my business," I said, a lot more pouting in my voice than I would like. I just wanted to say something fucking sassy to ruffle his feathers and push him away, but sitting on his lap was making me feel the alcohol more. Suddenly, all the drinks I'd had were definitely starting to wear on me . I wasn't going to say it, but I was glad he stopped me.
Jacob took a sensual drink from his glass, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight of him drinking in the liquid with such elegance. He wasn't anywhere near tipsy. Jacob drank this sort of thing on a regular basis and handled it just fine. No, his full, sensual lips were wet with the scotch. Would taste like them too. They were such soft lips, formed the perfect complement to the rest of his chiseled face. I looked at his dark eyes now, traveling up his face the only way I could manage to stop staring at his mouth and wanting to kiss him. They were looking at me not with the same assholish, smug way they seemed to be much of the time. They weren't studying me. He seemed...vulnerable almost. It was a rare glimpse, and when his eyes met my gaze, that look flashed from his eyes. It evaporated, overtaken with a look of pure hunger. Jacob's eyes became that of a predator. I knew here I was the prey. And, coloring outside the lines with this new tipsy feeling in my body, I let the frenzy overtake me, and I captured his glass. Surprisingly, he let me take it.
I dipped a finger inside and wet the tip. I went to put it on his lips. Those lips, I wanted to touch them. I wanted them to touch me. I didn't connect with his face and instead brought my other hand to the zipper on the back of my dress, tugging it down enough to let me free my breasts. I popped off the bra that was the only thing between them and freedom, and then I ran the scotch over my nipple.
A fire crackled between us. Jacob took that glass now and, never spilling, he brought my nipple to those lips, flattening his tongue over the aching flesh peaking for him, and then kissed it. Shivers sparked through my body, and I was desperate for him now. I had a taste of what it felt like for him to really fuck me, and right now, I wanted more.
"Fuck me, please," I panted when his mouth had released my breast. I didn't mean to sound so desperate, but I couldn't bear the idea of him not touching me more. I needed so much more.
I dared to let myself look in those eyes again. I wanted to fall into them. In fact, I could almost see the melodramatic swaying of my limbs as I fell forever into the bottomless pit of Jacob Renaud's soul. Who would be there to catch me? No one. That was the point. And I couldn't bear another moment of the conversation we were having, and I couldn't fight how he made me feel when he touched me.
It killed me to want him, but the way he touched me made me feel alive.