Enter The Black Oak: A Dark Billionaire Romantic Suspense

THE HALLWAY TWISTS TO THE RIGHT as the merry noises of guests laughing and clinking glasses become almost inaudible. Jack opens a door to the left near the end of the corridor and we step into an empty office with a desk, chair, filing cabinets, a monitor and speakers, but no computers in sight. The weighty curtains on the other side of the room are closed with only peeks of the waning sun shining through.

Jack pulls me in, closing the door behind us before leading me through the room, through another door to the right and into a dark, sparsely decorated studio suite with a bed, kitchenette, shower, closet and toilet. The windows are tiny and positioned near the ceiling. The air smells musty and stale.

I glance around, perplexed. “Uh, why on Earth does his study have an en-suite bedroom?”

“This is where Richard brings the men that cook the books.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Jack shakes his head. “He can’t take them to the office—too much risk, too many people about. He brings the computers here and brings in someone to do his dirty work. Except he doesn’t want to see them—”

“Well, it’s understandable he’d need even more money. The place is barely large enough to swing a cat.”

“He lets them in when his family isn’t around and doesn’t want to have to look at them again until they’re ready to leave. That way he can go about his life as usual—the respectable family man, pillar of the community.”

“Well, whatever helps him sleep at night.”

An irresistible smile forms on Jack’s lips and the fervid heat in his narrowed eyes leaves me buzzing with nervous energy. He walks towards me slowly and deliberately like a panther about to pounce. Instinctively I start to walk backwards.

“I looked for you in the garden. Didn’t see you,” he utters, his gravelly voice low and quiet.

“Oh? I was out there somewhere.” I skim my forehead internally as I think about what would have happened if Jack had seen me with Cameron or even knew Cameron was here.

An edge of intimidation colors his stare as he slowly paces around me.

“Jack, what are we—?”

Before I can finish, he lunges forward, pushing his hand against my mouth to silence me with such fervor that I feel the wedding ring he never takes off pressing against my lip. The collision forces me back against the wall of the empty walk-in closet and he seals his lips over mine, pushing his body into me and pinning my arms against the wall behind me. His tongue enters my mouth and we kiss fiercely, me struggling to accommodate him as he continues to ravage my mouth for a full, adrenaline-fueled minute. The smell of sex still clings to him despite the shower we took together right before coming here. Or perhaps that’s just the cloud of raging pheromones that clings to Jack wherever he goes…

We pull apart breathlessly and I steel myself to withstand the impact of his ferocious gaze. His face is hauntingly stunning in the shadows. Being kissed by this man is like some drug that I can’t say no to.

“Baby, I loved watching you laugh tonight,” he whispers. “You’re so insanely beautiful. I know every man in the room was imagining what it must be like to fuck you senseless. To suck on your tits and taste your wet pussy. I could barely concentrate on the conversation out there, just thinking about you. Thinking about my cum still inside you…”

My cheeks flush and I let out a whimper, feeling dominated, but once again relieved to find myself turned on by my gorgeous husband. Another tornado of a kiss leaves him groaning at the sensation of my tongue dueling with his, his fingers interlocking with mine snugly, forcing them against the wall. Realizing what he wants, I know that I can’t give it to him, not just because I’m afraid of someone walking in on us, but because I’m still sore from the battering my sex took just a few hours earlier. This time no amount of relaxing would allow me to do it again.

I pull away from the kiss. “Jack, I can’t. I’m still in pain from before. It’d take me a week to recover.”

His longing makes me whimper as he moves his hands off mine and up my body, caressing my breasts over my dress before gliding his hands slowly up my neck and onto my lips.

“I know,” he whispers as he parts my lips with his fingers and pushes his thumb inside, moving it into and out of the wet warmth of my mouth slowly while watching my face, unspeaking.

A frown escapes me as I realize what he wants. My body is clearly receptive to his, but the shattered trust and the shock my system have endured, even after all these weeks, have left me unable to perform like I used to.

“I want your mouth, angel,” he whispers, his lips skimming mine. “I want to feel my hard cock inside it. You’re my wife. That’s where it should be.” I peer into his ravenous eyes meekly as he takes hold of my hands and places them onto the silver buckle of his black leather belt. “Take it off, baby.”

I hesitate for a moment, torn between wanting to please my mouth-wateringly hot husband, wanting to feel the all-consuming desire I used to have for him, to recapture that time when ripping each other’s clothes off was a daily occurrence, and between wanting to run away, to reject the man who hurt me so much, to not give in to his relentless pressure and coercion.

His breathtaking face edges closer to mine. “It’s me, baby. I need you to trust me again. I’m not going to force you. I want you to want me—want your husband.”

Bleak energy enters me as the photo of Lydia pleasuring my husband flashes through my mind, leaving clouds of tormenting debris trailing behind. Anguish and lust possess his face, his rapacious eyes blazing as he drinks in my turmoil without flinching. In the shirt and pants that hide his robust body, he towers over me, surveying my face confidently for a long minute. Being in the presence of a man so masculine, so virile and so dominant leaves me feeling weak, my will to resist dissipating with every suspended second that his blue eyes hold me hostage in the dim light.

I can’t do it.

And yet, I so want him.

Or at least, I want to want him like I used to, to taste him like I used to, to use this act as a way to cast off the shell of the weakened person I’ve become and take back my strength, my spirit, my joy for life, and stop his betrayal affecting me so damn much. Whether I like it or not, swimming in him is the most divine ecstasy I’ve ever known. It almost makes up for the agonizing burn of the threatening flames of hell. Jack is a man who torments me as much as he haunts me; a man who can hurt me as deeply as he loves me; a man who makes me stronger and weaker, whose passion fuels my every move. A man I can’t live without. I have to do this.

My cheeks flush pink as I start to unbuckle his belt and a devilish smile of satisfaction pours over his lips as smoothly as syrup over ice cream.

I’m not going to feel weak around him anymore.

I pull his belt off his hard, lean waist, unbutton the top button of his pants and unzip them, the clicks of the metal zip reverberating through me. Jack undoes the buttons of his neatly pressed shirt, peels it off and throws it to the floor. He grabs hold of my hand and slides it inside his pants on top of the bulge under his Y-fronts. My mouth instinctively opens with a breathy exhale as my hand experiences the heft of his thick erection. As I run my hand up and down, I feel it throb, accompanied by a throaty growl from Jack. He runs his fingers over my lips which are still tender and glistening in the saliva exchanged just moments before. He uses his other hand to pull his pants off the hard curves of his glutes and pull down his briefs, leaving his erection pointing towards me like some challenge I have to take on. Taking my hand and placing it around his thick shaft, he begins to move it up and down the hard column of flesh.

“I want you on your knees,” he orders sternly.

I swallow hard at the command and drop to my knees, contemplating his towering virility for a long moment before taking the base in my hands and slowly and tentatively moving my lips towards the head.

“Open your mouth and look at me.” His ever-seductive voice is quietly commanding.

I lick my lips and part them before peering up at him, preparing myself to feel him in my mouth for the first time since the illusion of my faithful marriage was shattered.

You have to do this.

I take a deep breath and hear him hiss with delight as I slowly edge my plump wet lips over the smooth velvety head of his sex, over the bulging tip and onto the shaft, lubricating it with my tongue as I go. Clearly past the point of no return, I decide to embrace giving my husband fellatio, contracting my lips and tongue around the thick shaft and sucking up and down slowly and firmly, all the while held hostage by Jack’s gaze.

His hands venture behind my head and undo my messy bun and he runs his fingers through my hair before grabbing a handful of my dark chestnut locks and using them to tug my head back and forth over the rigid column.

“That’s it. You know what to do.”

I relax my cheeks as I tend to him, the head of his erection hitting the back of my throat mercilessly, forcing me to restrain myself from gagging.

“Lick,” he orders gruffly, the rasp of his voice vibrating through me.

The instruction both arouses me and hurts me somehow, but I comply, quietly whimpering as I run my small tongue up the thick length from base to tip, tasting him, feeling him, making him swell. As my lips form a tight seal around him and I suck up and down diligently, Jack thrusts his head back and curses, panting, saying my name and stroking my face with his free hand.

“That’s it. You’re a goddess, angel. I’m hard every time you come near me. I hope you know that.”

I wrap my hand firmly around the base so that he swells even further until I’m struggling to accommodate the full length that I’ve invited into my mouth. My lips loosen their grip and I use my eager tongue to lick his entire length from base to tip, teasing the head with circular licks and the shaft with flicks of tongue until I receive a small shot of semen as a reward.

“My body is yours, Jessynia. I want you enjoying it like you used to.”

Jack’s groans grow raspy from agonizing pleasure as he thrusts inside my mouth, prodding the back of my throat while holding my head in place with my hair.

“Look at me,” he orders, pulling out of me, the head of his cock an inch from my mouth. I lift my gaze to his eyes which possess mine fiercely. He watches me as I kneel, dominant triumph coloring the lust of a man fucking his dutiful wife’s mouth.

“Open your mouth. Keep your eyes on mine. Just like that. Don’t move.”

I hesitate for a moment before respecting his instruction and he groans before very slowly inserting his greedy sex into the opening and withdrawing it, again and again and again.

“Even slower, baby. Keep your eyes on mine,” he whispers and I comply. “When you look at me like that, you have no idea what it does to me…”

As our gazes melt into each other, he once again inserts himself into the soft, welcoming warmth of my mouth slowly then pulls it out. He repeats the gesture over and over and over again until he can’t take any more and grabs a handful of my hair and rams the head against my throat before releasing. Upon his instruction, I lick up and down before reforming a tight seal with my dewy lips and sucking slowly, savoring the smooth maleness, enslaved to its power and potential, all the while my eyes watching his.

Jack curses again, emitting sounds of pleasure swirled with the pain of desire. “Keep going, baby,” he grunts. “You’re going to get a real taste for my cock again… That’s it… Your mouth is my property. I want it open for me every morning and every night from now on. I’m going to make you my slave again…”

No.

As rough and insensitive words come out of Jack’s mouth, unease floods my body. I’m used to Jack’s raw, primal way of talking about sex. In fact, sometimes just listening to the deviant things he says to me while fucking me elevates me to the brink of orgasm. But not now. Not so soon. I can’t hear these words yet. I know I need to get past this feeling, but I’m not ready.

“I’m going to teach you what your mouth is for. From now on, I intend to fuck it whenever I want…”

No.

As Jack’s merciless grip on my hair tightens, stopping me from moving freely, that thing I feared so much starts to happen: the image I found of Lydia performing fellatio on Jack blasts into my mind, allowing shards of shrapnel to shoot into me.

No. Don’t. No!

Disgusted and panicking, I try to think of something—anything—else, but instead, find myself in increasing anguish as the image intensifies and Jack’s determined hands make it impossible to pull away. I squirm as I keep pleasuring him, feeling more and more defiled, wanting to stop, to get away, unable to keep going as my skin starts to crawl and claustrophobia seizes me. I push my hands against his thighs, but he holds me in position unrelentingly, either not realizing that I want to stop or unwilling to let this mental block get the best of me. As my eyes water, leaving a tear falling down my face, and the ramming of his sex against my throat makes me gag, the words of another man whisper to me softly, canceling out all other sounds:

It’s great to see you… and even better to see you smiling.

Cameron.

Without bothering to think or try to understand why, I shut my eyes tightly and begin to imagine that the erection I’m tending to is that of Cameron O’Neill. Soothing light floods my body and I start to relax, instantly able to continue as I block out Jack’s voice and imagine that Cameron is standing naked before me with me on my knees having the privilege of sucking his hard cock like so many women would kill to do.

I have absolutely no idea why I’m clinging to such a thought—a thought I have never had in my life before—but picturing him makes the images of Lydia and Alex shatter into a million pieces.

I start to suck and lick with renewed gusto, closing my eyes and moaning as I give Cameron pleasure. The sound of his primal exhilaration makes sweet juice flood my lace panties, my clit throbbing to attention, my nipples hardening.

Cameron.

Cameron.

Cameron.

He glides into and out of the mouth reserved for his pleasure, fisting my hair, his rough moans getting deeper and rougher, sending a high coursing through my body in bursts of current. I suck fervently, lubricating his shaft with my saliva, in awe as I envision his breathtaking face, his virile body, his ecstasy. With eyes firmly shut, I whimper, aware of the incredible privilege it is to be able to tend to him like this, to have him experience a climax that shakes him to his core.

“Oh my fucking God, baby, you’re so good. Get ready. I’m going to come hard. I want you swallowing every single drop.”

Come, Cameron. Come for me.

In the last seconds, my lips and tongue work hard at respecting his body until a blast of cool semen hits the back of my throat as he explodes in my mouth in a swell of ecstasy that has him cursing, his legs trembling and his sex throbbing. I swallow, relishing the taste before cleaning his still-hard cock with my loving tongue, taking tender links up and down as his body shakes gloriously.

Pulling out of my mouth, he collapses onto the floor of the closet next to me, and pulls me down with him so that we’re lying entangled in each other as he nuzzles my neck, inhaling my velvety hair.

“I love you, beautiful… so much it hurts,” he breathes into my ear. I open my eyes slowly to find Jack’s face riveted to mine. He smiles through his ragged respiration. “I’m sorry. You turn me into a beast,” he whispers. “I don’t mean to be rough, angel, but you make me lose my mind.”

I close my eyes for a second as it sinks in that for the first time in my marriage, I’ve fantasized about another man while pleasuring my husband. As Jack leans his head against my shoulder and runs a hand across my waist, my mind races, perplexed at the idea that I even thought about Cameron O’Neill, especially given the hurt I still feel towards him and the platonic relationship we’ve always had.

I frown, trying to understand but am brought back into the room by Jack’s kisses.

I make a silent promise to him: next time I’ll only think about you.

I only hope it’s true…

Seeing Jack reapply the smooth exterior he shows to the world as we get dressed and finish making ourselves presentable again never, ever gets boring. I’m always amazed at how a thin slip of fabric is all that separates the indecent, uncivilized male machine that I know from the successful, respectable professional most other people get to see. He pulls me towards him, kissing me hard on the lips.

“Let me go out first,” I whisper. “I don’t want anyone to see us, okay? Especially not my parents. I need to avoid having that conversation with my dad. Just wait five minutes then follow me out.”

He nods with a smile.

I walk down the empty corridor as the cacophony of sound coming from the guests gets louder. Reaching the main party area, I decide to take a few minutes to myself and head to the bar to get a drink. I’m feeling seriously devilish after the illicit encounter, not to mention relieved that I was able to break down a sexual barrier that stood in the way of being able to repair my precious marriage, even if that barrier was helped down by an unexpected source.

As I pull out a padded stool and sit for a few moments to calm myself down before going back out to take on the masses, a surge of happiness swells within me and I take a deep breath, feeling more and more like my formerly strong and able self, the nerves from earlier in the evening dissipating into the air.

Man, it feels good—like I’m finding myself again, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

I greet the barman cheerily. With ample drinks drifting on trays around the house and garden, the long mahogany bar is almost empty apart from a middle-aged couple sitting at the other end of it. Most of the bar is blocked off from the living area with only a portion of it visible through two double doors a few feet behind me.

“Hello, miss. What’ll it be?” asks the barman.

“Um, I’ll just have a glass of sparkling water, please. No ice.”

“Certainly,” he responds, serving me the drink in a tall crystal glass.

“Thank you. Man, sometimes water tastes so good,” I say, brushing a hand through my loose hair.

“You bet,” he smiles.

Mmm, the cool water is delectable.

I take a sip and inhale the balmy summer air which fizzes with the boisterous babble of party-goers.

I take another welcome swig… and another, all the while sensing… something.

As I slowly place the glass back down onto a wooden coaster on the bar, some energy stirs deep within me—some inexplicable malaise.

A force.

Alien. Toxic. Dark.

Wrong.

A hit of trepidation makes me shudder and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, followed by a frigid shiver that darts through the air, leaving me cold as if a sheet of chilly fog has just rolled into the room.

Everything suddenly seems to get slow, real slow as I sense someone coming up behind me and out of the corner of my eye, there’s a figure—a woman.

White dress.

Blond hair.

Curls.

No.

A hand places itself onto the bar next to me and a body sits itself down on the stool just to my left.

It can’t be.

The woman pivots towards me.

Everything stills until I hear nothing but the muffled beat of my heart booming in my chest.

I slowly turn in the woman’s direction and find myself staring into the unblinking close-set eyes of Alexandra Frost.