Tied to the Tycoon

By: Chloe Cox

He jerked her head back again, gently, and said it again. “Look at me, Ava.”

She did. She looked desperate.

“Jacks, please…”

He almost hated to say it, but he had to. He had to make sure she knew. “You’re not the only one with regrets. You’re mine, Ava Barnett, whether you know it or not. I’m going to have you. You will come for me now, and you will come to me later, and you will submit.”

And then he curled his fingers around as far as they would go, his thumb rubbing her wet clit in fast, tight little circles, and twisted inside her until she came for him, quaking over his hand.

He kissed her again, and wished he could go on kissing her. Instead he waited until she was done shaking, until he was sure she could stand on her own two feet. Then he smoothed the hair on her head, kissed each closed eyelid once, and murmured, “One week, Ava. No strings.”

He gave her his card, and left.

chapter 3

Ava Barnett arrived home feeling like she didn’t know what. She had no frame of reference for something like this. Like she’d been in a boxing match, maybe? Twelve rounds or whatever it was. Maybe, but honestly, that seemed preferable right now to whatever this was. She felt drugged. Hypnotized.


She couldn’t decide on a metaphor. First had been the avalanche of memory and emotion upon seeing Jackson Reed again, right when she’d been trying her hardest to forget him. It had been like one of those great seismic events that moves giant slabs of earth and grit and mud around to reveal something unexpected and terrible buried underground. Then he’d just plowed right through her and turned her inside out. Like someone had broken into her house and emptied every single one of her drawers, then gone outside and unearthed something awful on her lawn.

Except that didn’t make any sense either. She was totally disoriented. She didn’t have a house, or a lawn. She had a crappy apartment in Alphabet City of dubious safety, the only place close to work where she could afford space for her secret painting studio. She did, however, feel that something terrible and frightening had been irrevocably revealed. That would be my stupid issues, she thought grimly, tossing her keys on the dining room table and kicking her high heels clear across the room. That’s what the bastard had unearthed. Every damn thing she’d been working hard to bury for the past ten years.

She didn’t really mean to call him a bastard. When she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could still feel him on her. And she didn’t want to shower, even though she should, because she knew she’d smell him on her skin.


It wasn’t just that Jackson Reed had reappeared out of nowhere; it was that he’d reappeared out of nowhere exactly as she’d always wanted him to: as a strong, sexy Dom. And apparently a wealthy one, too. How often did that happen? How often did someone actually rise beyond one’s expectations and meet one’s hopes?

Well, let’s not get carried away. If experience had taught Ava anything, it was not to trust people who were too good to be true.

She wished she could stop thinking about him. About what he’d said. You will come to me. You will submit.

Ava called her voicemail and put her phone on speaker. Three new messages. She got excited for a second before she remembered she hadn’t given Jackson her phone number; he’d given her his card. With an address.

Right, because she was coming to him.

The annoying, vaguely British robot lady recording droned on about voicemail from her phone as Ava slipped out of her dress. There had been a moment, when he’d pressed her against the window, when she’d thought he would rip it clear off. And she’d wanted him to.

She stood still for a second, stark naked in her bedroom, and let the ghost of that orgasm rush through her once more. Just thinking about it, about his hands on her, in her, she could almost…

“Ava, it is I, your favorite.” Her boss’s nasal voice intruded on her thoughts. Damn, she’d told Alain about the engagement party. He’d been very interested in such an exclusive event. “I am a little disappointed you did not call tonight, but I am sure you did well and got many new contacts, yes? I am out late, call. Perhaps we meet up.”

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