Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels (109 page)

My hand traveled underneath my pajama pants and I pressed my fingers against myself in an attempt to quell the throbbing of my pussy. I imagined him sitting in his bedroom in the mansion. Was he also touching himself? The image of his hands stroking his thick cock, his hips thrusting instinctually forward as he thought of himself inside of me, made me pine for his body.

I quickly kicked off the covers as I felt beads of sweat gathering on my skin. “I’m not wearing anything underneath my tank top,” I teased as my hand traveled up my shirt, and I started to massage my tender breasts.

“Are you touching yourself?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed.” My heart hammered excitedly at the command in his voice.

“I’m lying down,” I breathed as I tried to keep myself from rubbing my pulsing clit and bringing myself to orgasm right then. I wiggled out of my pants and pulled the tank top over my head. A chilly breeze wafted through the open window causing my nipples to rise from my breasts, demanding to be touched. As I  pinched them between my fingers, I felt wetness trickle down my thighs. “I’m completely naked. Now what do you want me to do?”

“Touch yourself again. Finger your pussy for me.”

My hands traveled down to my warm folds. I caressed the plump skin around my clit, still holding myself back from touching it directly, and slipped my fingers into the slit. “I want you here,” I sighed as pleasure moved through me.

“What would I be doing to you?”

I bit my lip as I slid my fingers in and out of my pussy. I raised my hips from the bed as I began to thrust my pelvis back and forth against my palm. “You’d stick the tip of your cock in me, teasing me until I was wild with desire, and then you’d pound into me until I screamed with pleasure.”

His breathing was heavy now. “Are you touching yourself?” I asked, wanting to know if he ached as badly as I did.

A soft moan could be heard on the other side of the line. “Yes, I’m stroking my cock, imagining it filling up your tight pussy, pushing my self as far into you as I could go. I want you to feel all of me inside you.”

My face grew warm as I thought of him moving his hands up and down his cock, hard from only the sound of my voice. “My fingers are in my pussy, Victor. But they don’t fill me up like you do.”

“Oh Dove, I want you. I want you here. I want to tie you up on my bed and fuck you.”

God, I wanted that, too. Nothing felt as good as when he had me blindfolded and tied up, torturing me with anticipation as I waited for his throbbing cock to relieve me—I could pass out from the ecstasy of it.

“What would you do to me if I was there?” I asked, need dripping from my voice and from the space between my legs.

“I’d tie your hands behind your back and bind your feet so that I could fuck you from behind.”

I felt my impending orgasm blossom in my lower belly as I thought about him tying me up on my hands and knees, my ass in the air for him to grab and squeeze until he came inside me.

“I’m going to come, Victor,” I panted as pleasure rippled through me, my body convulsing in orgasm. My back arched from the bed and I turned my face into my pillow to stifle my loud moaning.

The other line went silent, and I imagined him gripping the phone in his sweat slicked palm, his face flushed as he masturbated himself.

“Mmm . . . Dove. I came all over my hands, but I would rather it be in you,” he finally purred.

My own hands were hot and sticky from my relief.

And then suddenly, everything tightened.
But I thought you didn’t want me?

The words began to form on my lips when I heard a voice in the background on Victor’s line. He cursed under his breath. “Dove, I have to go.”

“What? Victor—” The line went dead.

I stared at my phone in shock before slamming it onto the nightstand, sending the diamond ring sailing to the floor. Hoping to ask Charles about it in the morning, I slipped it into the pocket of my pajamas, which I quickly buttoned to keep the ring safe.

I looked up at the darkened ceiling as my mind tried to make sense of what happened with Victor. Had someone heard him on the phone and come barging in? Was it another woman? I thought back to the time I was in the Victorian House, sitting in a room full of beautiful women. Did he decide to pick another girl out of the bunch to claim as his own?

Was it someone who works at his office?

I squeezed my eyes shut, as though doing so would wipe his image from my mind, but of course it didn’t work.

Sleep didn’t come easily to me. I tossed and turned for a good half hour, imagining all the possible things that Victor could be doing, his reasons for breaking off the contract. I had left the mansion so that I could have the chance to discover myself, but even from a distance, I was drawn back to him.

If only I could remember my old life and forget my new one.

Chapter Twenty-five

I was in my bedroom when I woke up the next morning. I glanced at my cell phone: 8:00am, perfect. I had time to have breakfast before I had to pick up my graduation dress from the lady in town who was shortening the hem.

I got up, stretched and grabbed my robe from the back of the door. I cursed as a throbbing pain jolted through my skull. Of course I would be getting a migraine on my graduation day. I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my cheeks were flushed. I brought my hand up and felt my forehead. It was hot to the touch.

I stifled a sneeze.

All right, so maybe this was more than just a migraine. Hopefully I’ll last through the day. I ran a comb through my hair. At least I would be able to get this sickness over with before going to Europe with Justin.

…Justin?

I shook my head as though to clear it.

I could hear the clattering of dishes downstairs. Awesome, either Mom or Dad was already down there making breakfast. It couldn’t be Charles; he usually slept in until at least ten when we were home.

Still half asleep, my eyes a little blurry, I stumbled down the stairs and walked over to the kitchen. Dad had his back turned to me as he was cooking something on the stove. The entire room smelled of bacon and pancakes. My mouth watered. “Good morning, Dad,” I said as I walked over to the cupboard and grabbed a mug to fill with coffee. “Thanks for making breakfast.”

“…Caitlyn?”

That was obviously not Dad’s voice. I looked over at him and found that the man was not my dad. He had wavy honey brown hair and golden-brown eyes like mine. It was Charles. He had a confused look on his face. “You just called me ‘Dad’.”

I was remembering.

We had been driving and looking for Charles, thinking he must be somewhere close since his car was still in the driveway when he ran off. Mom was babbling hysterically and calling every neighbor she could think of as Dad cursed and told her to calm down. I had my head turned completely around when I heard a screech and then a loud thunk from impact. That was the last thing I could remember.

My face and arms felt like they were on fire. I sat down at the kitchen table before I could process it, realizing as I sat down that I must have been sleepwalking. As soon as I sat down, I began to shake violently; tears quickly followed until I was bawling.

Charles quickly turned off the stove and came over to wrap his arms around me. “I think I’m beginning to remember,” I told him through my tears.

“I can’t believe it. This is great, Caitlyn.”

Was it? I had never felt so much pain before in my life. The full extent of the tragedy of losing my parents thundered into my chest with its full weight; I was devastated. It felt like a part of my soul had been awakened just to be snatched away. When you know your past is tragic, do you even want to remember it? My previous ignorance had protected me from everything I was feeling at that moment.

I wiped my tears away and put on a brave face for my brother, though I couldn’t stop crying completely. He seemed too happy for me to say such things to him. “We need to look through those scrapbooks again.”

Charles’s eyes were red with tears of happiness. He sniffled and turned back to the stove. “Of course. Let’s finish breakfast first before it gets too cold.”

“You remembered that I like pancakes,” I said, smiling through my tears as he served me a plate.

“Pancakes and bacon,” he said with a grin. “You once told me that you could live off of this meal.”

As I dug in, I thought again of my parents. They had died while I was spared. I shook my head in disbelief as the impact of a lifetime of memories continued to reverberate in my mind. It was a full-on assault now. They had been there all along, and now they were emerging faster and faster. It scared me, but I couldn’t close the box I’d opened. I had to deal with this if I was going to go on living.

***

After breakfast, we went back to the couch to flip through the scrapbooks. I was hoping that focusing on this task would help take my mind off the huge array of emotions I was feeling as I processed the enormity of my forgotten past.

Charles was very eager now that I had begun to show signs of recovering everything he so desperately wanted me to recover. I realized for the first time how important this was to him; I was the only other person in the world who held so many of the same memories as he did. Our parents were gone. For him, I was a bridge to the past. His only one.

He dug through a pile of scrapbooks. “This one is your senior yearbook,” he said as I began flipping through the pages.

“I got ‘Most Artistic’,” I said with a laugh. “That seems pretty apt.” I scanned the pages of senior photos, finding my own but not seeing Charles. “You’re not here.”

Charles turned to me with concern. “I moved up a grade, remember?”

I did. “Oh that’s right. We all called you Brainiac.”

He laughed, and tears returned to his eyes. “God. Yes, you all did. This is everything I hoped for.”

I barely knew him and yet I knew him exponentially more by the second, and it made me happy to see his reaction to the return of my memory. “How’s school going for you?” I asked him.

“The school part is going well, by and large. But to be honest, my social life has been somewhat lacking. Love life especially. I’ve had nothing but failed relationships, mostly because I’m so wrapped up in my work.” He put his arm around me and gave me a hug. “That’s why I was so worried about you being with this Victor. I know how easy it is to be wrapped up in someone, think you’re in love with him, and just have him hurt you in the blink of an eye.”

That wasn’t all of it and I knew that. “Really, is that the only reason?” I worried that, despite our conversation in the car yesterday, Charles still held a grudge against Victor.

Charles’s face became serious. “Cait, I’ve been waiting over two years for us to have our life back. And this guy had given you a new one and honestly it all looked pretty fishy to me.” He paused. “I love you and I’m glad you’re alive but I really want to have the old you, before the accident, with all your memories, all our memories. I want our shared life back as best as it can be, even if our parents are—”

He stopped, choked up. I nodded and gave him a hug, feeling his tears dampen my hair.

“I’m here for you though,” he added after a moment. “You know that? If you ever need me, even if I’m halfway across the country, I’ll come over here and help you out. Regardless of anything.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

He pulled away and looked me right in the eye. It was uncomfortable to see intensity in eyes so like my own. “You’re what I have now.”

We went back to looking at pictures in silence. As I saw more and more reminders of my life before the accident, the strange sensation of my mind filling up with my past took over. Connections were flooding back, and what had previously been an imagined childhood was being replaced by real memories. Connecting those with the person I had become—with Dove—was already proving a challenge, and I knew it would get worse before it got better.

I stared at a picture of myself in high school, standing next to a painting I had done in my art class. “Caitlyn Ray,” the label said. I sighed.

What the hell was I going to do?

At the next page, Charles sat up. “Remember him?” He handed me a picture.

I looked down at it. It was a picture of me standing next to a young man with short, dark brown hair and green eyes. He had his arm around me and I was leaning into his embrace. It was the same man who I was kissing in the picture in my bedroom.

I took the ring I had found on my nightstand out of my pocket. I already knew the answer, but I had to ask anyway.

“This is an engagement ring, isn’t it? From him.”

Charles nodded.

I looked down at the yearbook and read the name. “Justin. Justin Breck.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

I didn’t. Whatever had opened up about my other memories, my relationship—engagement—with Justin wasn’t coming back.

“I don’t,” I said sadly.

He nodded and shrugged. “Well, who knows, maybe it will come back. Listen, though, I do have to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

He took a deep breath. “I invited him over this afternoon. I had to,” he added, putting his hands up before I could voice my dissent. “He’s been looking for you this whole time, constantly. He hasn’t given up. If I didn’t tell him I’d found you, he would’ve never forgiven me.”

I took a deep breath, but he continued. “I told him about the amnesia. He understands, I think. He knows you might not remember everything right away. I can call him and tell him you need more time if you want. But he desperately wants to see you.”

I was trying to remember him as Charles was talking, but I just couldn’t. Having to face a man who had been engaged to me and searching for me for two years sounded horrifically stressful, but it probably wasn’t going to get any easier. “No, he should come. It might be awful, though, if I can’t remember anything.”

“At least he’ll have visual confirmation that you’re alive. It’ll probably come back eventually. It seems like the other stuff is.”