Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (28 page)

11

It’s twelve noon when they finally gather at the restaurant
downstairs. Caleb and Cassie are extremely hung over and looking sheepish, for
some reason. When the boys take their seats and peruse their menus, Sam pulls
Cassie to the powder room.

Brian says in a loud voice, “Going in there for a girl
chat? Don’t forget to tell your best friend how good I was last night.”

Several diners at the other tables turn. Flushing, Sam
walks Cassie away quickly.

“Did you?” Cassie’s eyes are accusing.

“No! How could you even think that?” Righteous indignation
pours out of Sam’s every syllable. “I’ll be glad to go home and never have to
see his mug again.”

“Ah well, to each her own,” Cassie murmurs.

Sam is nonplussed as she follows her friend into the female
restroom. Then a light bulb goes off in her head.

She whirls to face her friend. “Oh my God, don’t tell me… you slept with him.”

Cassie has the good grace to blush. “We were both drunk.”

“But you hardly know each other!”

“As if that has ever stopped me.”

Sam’s mind is tumbling with possibilities – all
exciting. “So are you going to see each other again?”

“I don’t know … he’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”
Cassie takes out her lipstick from her purse and starts to apply it.

“Hell, yeah! A lot nicer than Brian.”

Cassie giggles. “He’s terrific in bed. Let’s say that for a
short-ish guy – ”

“He’s not that short.”

“ – I said ‘ish’. But he’s certainly not short where
it matters.”

Both of them shriek with laughter. A middle-aged lady comes
out of the stall to wash her hands. She darts them a murderous glare.

“Hey, free country, lady,” Cassie barks.

The woman hurriedly scoots out of the restroom.

“You’re so mean.”

“I know.”

“If he turns out to be the one, I’m glad for you, Cassie,”
Sam says warmly.

“It’s just one fuck. He may never want to see me again.”

“He’s not Brian, so cut yourself some slack, OK?”

Yeah, Brian. It’s a sobering thought.

“So, let’s talk about Brian,” Cassie says, handing her the
lipstick, “is he still flashing his genitals in your face?”

“Cassie!”

“Well, is he?”

“Kind of.” She doesn’t feel too comfortable talking about
Brian to her best friend for some reason. It’s as if what she and Brian had
together was too personal.

“You both were really hot together last night. Like,
really, really hot.”

“I know.”

“You should see Lori’s face. You were her party pooper.”

“Well, she was the one who insisted I lead the dance.”

“She wanted you to fall flat on your face. She doesn’t know
you’ve been taking Zumba classes. Watch out for her. She’s an evil one.”

“You shouldn’t say that about my sister.”

“But she is. Maybe you should get Brian to teach her a
lesson.”

Sam sighs. “I can’t even get Brian to roll over and play
dead, let alone fetch.”

*

After lunch, they pack up to check out. Brian lugs both
Sam’s suitcase and his overnight bag down to the reception, and realizes he has
forgotten his phone.

“Be right back. Don’t miss me too much,” he tells Sam.

“You wish.”

He takes the elevator up and re-enters their old guestroom.
His cellphone is on the bedside table where he left it. He seizes it and slips
it into his pocket.

He turns to go to the door but stops short.

“Fancy meeting you here,” says Lori at the doorway. She’s
wearing a halter top with a copious amount of cleavage over tight, tight jeans.

“The sibling object of your affection is downstairs, in
case you’re asking.”

“I know.” She slinks into the room. “But it’s you I wanted
to see.”

Brian’s antenna pricks.

“Oh? Because you think you’ll miss my spectacular dancing?”

“You got it.” She’s standing very close to him. She puts
her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you last night. All
night.”

Brian stills. Her strong perfume wafts into his nostrils
– dangerous and predatory. “Why? Lance Buchner doesn’t get it up for you
anymore?”

Lori slides her hands down his chest. “Let’s just say he
wouldn’t be averse to me getting a little on the side.”

“You sure about that? Or he wouldn’t be averse to not
knowing?”

“So what do you see in her anyway? She’s clumsy, less
pretty and interesting than I am … and she’s certainly not the type of
material who snares a billionaire boyfriend overnight.”

“I’m not a billionaire, sorry to disappoint you. My uncle
is. I’m just a wage worker on the factory grindstone. I grew up eating baked
potatoes and living in a hovel.”

“Nonsense. You’re a Morton and Mortons take care of their
own. You own a hundred percent share of Vanguard Advertising, and like the rest
of the family, you have shares in every single company in Morton Enterprises
Ltd.”

“Someone’s been doing their homework. Did you Google Lance
Buchner before you dated him too? Or did you hire a P.I?”

“Let’s just say I’d make you a better partner than my
sister will.” Her hand dips down to his crotch. “I’m ambitious enough for the
two of us. I’m fantastic in bed and I’ll make a great hostess, the kind who
will do anything to advance her significant other in any world.”

“I don’t want a hostess.” His hand goes down to her groping
one and seizes it. “I want someone who doesn’t have a reptilian quotient of a
backstabbing snake.”

He can see her wince. Poor Sam. If this is the type of
sister she has, no wonder she’s insecure and angsty.

He says pityingly, “Go back to your fiancé, Lori Fox, and
learn how to love him. For Sammie’s sake, I won’t tell her about this. She
deserves to think you’re a better person than you really are.”

With that, he strides out of the room without a second
look, leaving Lori open-mouthed.

12

Cassie, Caleb and Sam spend most of the time sleeping in
the car on the journey back home. Figures. He’s the only one who can hold his
booze, fuck all night and still appear bright and coffee perky in the morning.
That’s only what he has been doing for the last ten years.

They drop Cassie and Caleb home with the usual goodbyes and
love declarations of “We’ll catch up this very night when we work off our
hangovers”. Then it’s time to take Sam home.

Sam is pensive beside him.

“Benjamin Franklin for your thoughts.”

She sighs. “They aren’t worth a twenty.”

“Let me guess. You’re thinking that I’m a bigger asshole
than I really am.”

“I’m just thinking about my family and why I am the way I
am.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing too.”

“About my family?” she says in surprise.

“About why you are the way you are.”

“And why am I the way I am, according to the Gospel of St.
Brian?” she demands.

“If I give you the extended version, promise not to claw my
eyes out?”

She turns away with a flinch. “Who am I kidding? No, I
don’t want to hear it. You’re just going to say something that will lower my
self-esteem and make me feel all rotten inside.”

That remark strikes him. No, it more than strikes him. It’s
like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his kneecaps.

Ow.

“Do I really lower your self-esteem?” He crinkles his brow.
That would make him no better than Lori Fox where Sam is concerned.

“Well … you don’t mean to, I’m sure, but the world is
just one big farce to you. You don’t care about anyone or anything, or at least
… you give the impression that you don’t through some misguided notion that
everyone would think you’re the weaker for it. But behind the scenes … ”
She shakes her head.

“What?” Woah. This conversation is getting dangerous. Did
Lori say something? “What exactly do you mean by ‘behind the scenes’? You make
me sound like some sinister puppet master.”

“Maybe you are.” Her big blue eyes turn to regard him.
“I’ve been talking to Caleb, and he told me what you did for him in a bizarre,
roundabout way that led to this weekend.”

“He’s deluding himself if he thinks I did anything for
him.” Brian chortles. Still, his insides are runny all over suddenly, as though
they are in a state of melting.

They reach her apartment building. He stops the car in
front of it, aware that this is the last time he would be seeing her again.
That is, if Caleb and Cassie don’t decide to become an item, in which case they
might string him along just to see who Sam will be fucking.

She says, “I guess this is it.”

“I guess it’s your lucky day, being rid of me forever.”

Her features soften.

“Thank you, Brian, for the weekend and … everything
else.”

The melting feeling hasn’t left his guts. It’s almost as
though he’s coming down with the Spanish flu.

He says quickly, “Yeah, you and I know I was forced into
it. Won’t be happening again, you can count on it. You need help with your
bags?”

“OK,” she says gratefully.

He carries her suitcase up to her apartment, which is a
loft. It’s tastefully decorated with the sort of minimalist furniture he hasn’t
expected – all modern white sofa set and chrome and glass tables. He
would have pegged her to be the rose-and-other-petals type. It just shows that
you can’t typecast anybody.

He can tell that she’s discomfited by him just being in her
loft.

“You want some coffee?” she asks.

“No thanks. I’ve got to be heading back.” He’s feeling
awkward as well. “Well … goodbye.” He holds out his hand, well aware that
he has been naked with this woman and sleeping in the same bed just the night
before. It had never mattered to him before, but Sam is … different.

She takes it. Her palm is soft and firm at the same time,
and there’s a slight tremor to it that he can marginally detect.

He says softly, “I’m sorry for being such a putz to you in
middle school.”

She gives him a crooked smile. “It’s OK. I’ve forgiven you
a long time ago.”

“Well. See you around.”

He has never said ‘see you around’ to any woman before,
particularly to a woman he has slept with. But he has never slept with Sam, so
maybe it just came out naturally.

“See you around,” she says.

She still hasn’t let go of his hand. There’s a wistfulness
in her blue eyes that he hasn’t seen on any woman for a long, long time, and he
realizes it’s because he’s never gotten to know a woman long enough to see that
kind of look in her eyes.

It’s exactly what he has been consciously or subconsciously
trying to avoid for his entire adult life. He doesn’t want to be in a
relationship. He knows what happens to relationships. Just look at his parents.
They have seemingly everything – money, beauty, pedigree, even health.
Everything except compatibility and happiness.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to end up a miserable
alcoholic who takes it out with a belt on his son just because he has got to
release that pent-up rage somewhere.

But Sam is making him very, very uncertain of himself right
now. Uncertain of his self-imposed rules. Uncertain if he is making the right
decisions of never allowing himself to get too close to anyone.

She is still holding his hand as she pulls him close for a
kiss. A goodbye kiss, he tells himself.

He leans over and seizes her lips with his mouth. He means
it to be a chaste kiss – but upon contact, a different fire he doesn’t
want to acknowledge is fuelled. A fire of unquenched passion and raging, hidden
desires and everything they talk about in the books that he has never read. He
kisses her and kisses her – open-mouthed, with hungry lips and tongue and
a roaring need in his loins, and with the blood rushing in his ears so
frantically that he thinks he’s surrounded by a waterfall.

She’s equally in as much fervor as he is, because her hands
clasp his face and neck and draw him in for a deeper kiss – a merging of
mouths and souls. He finds himself fumbling for the buttons on her blouse, and
she’s tugging his leather jacket off his shoulders, and he’s letting her do it.
And they are all over each other, groping, grasping, clutching, kissing, never
coming up for air, and it’s as if he hasn’t touched a woman in years, like some
sex-starved prisoner.

They drop their clothes on the floor, both driven by a
primal energy bigger than the two of them combined. They are both breathing
very hard now, and as she rips off his jeans, his cock rears up to almost hit
her on the face.

“Oh wow,” she says.

“You’ve seen it before.”

“But never this close.”

He laughs softly.

She kneels to take it in her mouth.

“Wait,” he says between pants. “I just want to say
something before you do anything you regret. This is just a one off. I don’t do
encores.”

Best to be honest about it upfront.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shimmering.

“So you’re gonna be OK with it?”

“Caleb told me all about you, so I’m OK with it.” Her voice
quavers slightly.

13

To be honest, she isn’t sure she’s going to be OK with it,
but she sure as hell will try. She has seen his cock before, but it’s another
thing to actually taste it – to roll and slide her wet tongue around its
crown, the little ridge that separates his head from his shaft, and to press
her tip into the little slit on his bulge.

He is salty and sweet all at the same time, and there’s a
masculine musk that emanates from his thatch of pubic hair and his smooth
balls, which she cups in her right palm.

He moans softly and smoothens her hair.

She takes more of him into her mouth. She has to stretch
the sides of her mouth wide to accommodate his girth. His flesh rushes in and
fills her up to her throat, flattening her tongue and expanding the sides of
her cheeks. It has been so long since she has performed fellatio, and every
shred of technique she ever had – or thought she had – flees from
her mind. She is now focused on sucking him as though he is a gargantuan
lollipop, and taking more and more of him in … and out … and in, and
out. Until she’s practically massaging his thick rod of warm flesh with her
hollowed cheeks and grazing his skin lightly with her teeth.

His appreciative noises only serve to spur her further. Her
hands rub and caress his balls, two delicious fruits in their tight casings.

His fingers play with her hair, dance with her tresses and
grab bunches of it as she sucks him harder. And all this while, the kernel of
need in her core is building and building, and her juices are flowing and
melting her insides with heat and making them go all soft and achy with want.

“Sam,” he says hoarsely, “I need to fuck you.”

She needs him to fuck her too. The tunnel of her pussy
literally clenches with her need to be filled by him. It’s a visceral hunger. A
scorching culmination of her manifested desires.

They don’t even make it to the bed.

She takes his glistening cock out of her mouth, and he
reaches for his jeans pocket to take out a little silver foil packet.

“Here, put it on me,” he says.

Her fingers are trembling as she takes the condom packet
from him. She rips a tear into it with her teeth. Then she takes out the little
circular fold of rubber and rolls it slowly, oh so slowly, onto his stone hard
cock.

“You’re good,” he teases.

“I wish I can say I’ve had plenty of practice, but I
don’t.” In truth she is nervous. Nervous that she wouldn’t measure up to his
usual standards – to the hundreds of women he has obviously bedded.

He senses this.

He caresses her cheek. “Hey,” he says softly, “just follow
my lead.”

She looks up at him with shining eyes. He is so handsome.
So masculine. So much in command of everything he is doing. She wishes she can
be as confident as he is.

Then he grabs her by the shoulders and flips her onto her
back with sudden aggression. His eyes sparkle dangerously. She’s lying on the
floor, naked, her pointy breasts bare to him and the velvet down of her pussy
moist and open.

He parts her legs and positions himself in between them.
Without mercy, he plunges into her – deep and strong and fitfully.

She shrieks.

“You OK?” he says, thrusting himself in and out of her all
at once.

She’s too bowled over to answer, but she nods. The pain is
instantaneous, sharp but pleasurable. The sudden expansion of walls long left
untouched is overwhelming, to say the least. She feels as if she has been
sucker punched down there – but in a good way. In a long, pulling,
languorous sort of way.

She twists her head left and right. Her hips are snagged
beneath his pumping ones, trapped in a vise grip around the anchor of his
penis, unable to move.

“You sure?” he says.

“Y-yes.”

“Been a while, huh?”

“Not for you, I suppose.”

“I could barely get through the weekend without thinking of
doing this to you every five minutes.”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I wanted you bad. Couldn’t you tell by the way my
cock hardens up every time I flash it before you?”

He pummels his way vigorously, going so deep that his cock
head grinds and knocks against the little puckered orifice of her cervical
mouth. The energy of his hips slamming against hers astounds her. She has never
had such a frenetic lover before, let alone one who knows how to angle his head
in such a way that it hits a spot just below her cervix – the very spot
that sends curling tingles all over her pelvic region and up her spine into her
fevered brain.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she cries.

“What? You like it here?” He pinions her hips and
concentrates on that spot. “They say ‘G’ is the target.”

“Bullseye,” she replies faintly.

Oh, she’s going to miss him after this. After being fucked
by Brian Morton, what other guy can possibly compare?

He drives himself floridly onto her G-spot – coring
it, rubbing it until she writhes and screams in delirious pleasure. Her orgasm
is blinding, coming on almost without her giving it permission. She arches her
back from the floor and screams with all the sound and fury in her body. Paeans
and paeans of sensation whiplash and crash through her sensory fibers.

And still he does not give her respite. He goes on and on,
fucking and squeezing himself within her smooth passage while his lips dip down
to kiss her savagely on her mouth. Again and again. Wet tongues laving wet
tongues. Moist groins bumping and squishing with squelchy, lovestruck noises.
She has never felt so desired before. Or so horny. Even as her first orgasm
abates, a second one blossoms and crests.

He trawls her through three mind-blowing orgasms before he
lets himself have one. And even then, he keeps on going. She can feel him
softening inside her, and then hardening again. Does this man ever stop? He’s
more than an incredible fuck. And when he looks into her eyes so deeply the way
he is doing now – with gold flecks in his brown irises – she can
imagine herself falling in love.

God forbid.

Never, ever, ever must she allow this. Because he won’t be
reciprocating it any time soon, she can be certain.

He doesn’t do encores. Better take what he has to offer
right now.

He finally collapses on top of her, his body shuddering
with deep breaths. His skin is flushed and beaded with sweat. A drop actually
falls upon her lips, and she licks its salty tang away. She can almost imagine
it to be one of her tears.

His chest heaves with several deep breaths, and then he
settles on top of her, sinking comfortably into every curve she possesses.

“Now I know why you’re so slim,” she says. “You must get
thorough workouts every day.”

He laughs. “Let me catch my breath, and then it’s one more
for the road.”

Yes, she’s going to miss this. Miss him laughing with her.
Miss his snarky sense of humor. Miss his vivid smiles and the snap of fire in
his dazzling eyes. Miss discovering more about him – those endless,
boundless undulations and complexities of his mind that she has yet to explore.

She strokes his cheek.

“Goodbye, Brian.”

He sighs as he smiles winningly. “Gawd, I hope you’re not
going to get all weird on me.”

“No, I promised I wouldn’t. And I won’t.”

“I believe you.”

He kisses her again. A loving deep kiss that is layered
with regret and emotion and hidden meaning that she would like to read in
between his lip nuances.

I’ll make myself un-miss him.

He smiles again. “Now what do you say to us grabbing a bite
to eat … and then fucking our brains out one more time?”

*

They made love throughout the evening, and then through the
night, stopping now and again to drink wine or nibble at snacks. He falls
asleep on her bed for the second night in a row. This time, they are entwined.
Limbs curled around each other, her head on his chest, listening to his steady
heartbeat.

It is … almost romantic.

He reminds himself he doesn’t do romance.

When dawn snakes through the cracks in her curtains, he
puts his hand on her hair and tugs at it gently.

“Wakey, wakey. I’ve got to be getting back to the Evil Day
Job.”

“Oh right,” she groans, “it’s Monday. Two nights of
partying. I can’t believe it. It’s so not me.”

Yeah, but it’s me, he thinks. Time to get back to his old
life. Why does he feel heavy all of a sudden, like there’s a lead anchor
dragging down his chest?

He vaults out of bed for a shower.

“I thought you were the boss,” she calls from the bed.

“Yeah, well, somebody’s got to play the devil.” He has got
to work back his razor edge. He has been uncharacteristically mellow last
night. Any more of this and he will be losing his touch.

When he has finished showering, she stands by the bathroom
door, watching him as he towels his hair dry. They are both silent. He hates
goodbyes and he knows she senses that he doesn’t want her to create a scene.
And so she doesn’t. She just stands there, her hair mussed up – that
sexy, been-fucked-all-night, out-of-bed hair that he finds so alluring. Her
eyes are soft and accepting, and he’s grateful that she doesn’t try to talk him
out of leaving.

After he has dressed in yesterday’s clothes, she watches
him walk to the front door.

“Have a good life,” she says.

“You too, sweetheart.”

He turns to go before he can say something he’s going to
regret, which is basically the story of his life. He avoids the elevators and
bolts down the stairs, fleeing the carapace of emotions he left behind.