Anonymous Encounters (The Billionaires Club Book 5)

by Cassandra Dee

  My heart pounded as he swept me into a hungry embrace. I let myself sink into his arms, but also knew this would be our last time together. The hurdles had proved too difficult, too heart-wrenching, and after the dramatic entry of Sabrina at our wedding ceremony, I knew that it was best to let Luke go. He belonged to a different echelon of society, with different rules and expectations. The discovery of our illicit relationship meant that my hopes for a quiet beginning were dashed.

  I sighed into his mouth. Even if we could never be together, I wanted our last time to be a gesture of love, something that I could take with me forever. He was so overpowering, sensuous yet masculine, that I wanted it to last forever in my memory.

  Sensing my surrender, his arms tightened around me and he pressed his lips against mine, murmuring, “Wildflower, Wildflower.”

  My heart almost broke at the words. I had pined for Luke for so long, and to come so close only to lose him once more made my heart swell and tears pool in my eyes.

  He thought that the tears were for today’s aborted ceremony. They were, but even more, they were tears for a future together which didn’t exist.

  “Hush baby, don’t cry,” he whispered in my ear as his hands stroked my cheek. He kissed my hot lids, softly tracing the wet trail of tears. When his mouth found mine, he was almost desperate, pushing his tongue into my mouth deeply, forcefully, branding me his once again.

  I responded without abandon because I would always be his. I gave myself up to his embrace while returning it one hundred percent. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts against his chest, and ground my hips against his hardness, feeling him gasp, an immediate hardening against my tummy. He began stripping me, roughly pulling at the zip of my ill-fated wedding gown, tearing at the fabric.

  “Goddammit,” he growled. “Fuck this dress,” he panted. “I’m going to get you something even nicer, even fancier for next time.”

  I nodded silently, not daring to answer for fear that my voice would break. There wouldn’t be a next time. I was going to take Georgie and disappear. Where to, I didn’t know yet, but there couldn’t be another next time. My heart couldn’t bear it.

  I returned his kiss ravenously, my hands fumbling at his waist band, undoing the clasp of his tuxedo pants. I tore at his zip, eager to wrap my hands around his hot shaft. Ahh! There it was. His cock was so hard and hot it almost scalded my hand, the flesh rigid yet soft under his velvety skin. I grasped him in my small hands and ran them up and down his pole, causing him to grunt and buck his hips.

  “Ohh,” he moaned in my ear. “More baby,” he groaned.

  I obliged, wanting to remember this last time together. I licked my palm and grasped his shaft tightly, running the flat of my hand up and down before trailing my fingers gently against his hardness, tickling his flesh. I then reached below and squeezed his balls, feeling how full they were, filled with his virility. He moaned into my mouth, his sacs tensing and hardening in my hand as they got ready to shoot. Wanting to prolong his arousal, I let go, instead tracing a fingertip lightly against the seam of his ball sac, trying to memorize every crevice, every curve of my man.

  “Fuck,” he groaned into my mouth. “I have to see you,” he growled.

  With a mighty rip, he tore my dress all the way down the front, baring me to his gaze. I’d worn nothing but the barest strips of lingerie, the ivory lace cupping my breasts and pussy lovingly. He paused momentarily, hungrily staring at my body before lowering his head to sample my tits.

  He suckled voraciously, running his tongue around my areola and nipping softly at the puffy flesh, tracing the pink nub with his lips. Cunningly, he ran his hand up to my breast and began squeezing rhythmically, starting at the base before massaging upwards. Tiny droplets of milk began beading at the tip, and he licked at the creaminess ravenously. He’d only recently discovered that I was still lactating, Georgie being slow to wean, and had delighted in tasting my mother’s milk.

  He pulled hard, the sight of his dark head at my breast causing me to tingle between my legs. Shamefully, I felt a deep wetness begin to run there, and pressed my boobs against him, mewling for more.

  “Baby, we’ll get there,” he soothed against my breast, rhythmically stroking the flesh, coaxing milk from its source. He backed me up until I sat at the edge of the bed and angled himself so that he was kneeling between my legs. With a big fist, he tore my panties off, the lace giving way without hesitation.

  I was now bared before his eyes, nude with rivulets of milk running down the lower curve of each breast. He was immobile before me, his eyes feasting on my body before groaning harshly, “Baby, I need to taste the white in you …” he trailed off.

  I knew what he wanted. I carefully positioned my ass at the edge of the bed and shook my breasts at him, tantalizing him with each jiggle of my jugs. He began squeezing again, causing the milk to gush, streaming down the underside of my breasts, down my tummy, and finally to the crevice between my legs. I reached down and parted my cunny lips, showing him my hot pink as the milk poured through it, the white coating my inner folds with creamy goodness.

  His eyes were glued to my secret space, watching raptly as the white trailed over my clit and between my labia. Unable to resist any longer, he buried his tongue in my twat, lapping up the cream mixed with my pussy juices. He groaned deeply in his chest while burying his tongue in my hole, fucking me, thrusting in and out.

  He lapped and sucked, ravenously eating me, fiddling with my clit while devouring my fleshy folds. I gasped and screamed, twisting underneath him, the stimulation almost too much to bear. I was thoroughly covered in cream now, the white coating my torso, dripping hotly into my cunt as Luke ravished me, no crevice of my cunny secret from him, every ripple and fold explored by his clever tongue.

  Unable to hold back any longer, I gave up to my orgasm, trembling wildly beneath his mouth.

  “Luke!” I cried. “Luke, Luke, Luke!” His name escaped my lips.

  “That’s it baby, keep saying my name,” he panted into my folds, seizing my clit between his lips as my pussy twisted and spasmed beneath him. Wanting to feel my orgasm deeply and fully, he pressed two fingers into me, my cunt greedily clenching and unclenching around him as my cunny juices gushed into his mouth. He continued lapping, murmuring sweet nothings into my pussy, gulping the milk and female fluids as they flowed.

  As I came down from my high, he released my clit and glanced up at me. His mouth and chin were completely covered in my wetness, and he licked his lips, as if savoring my taste. I glanced down at his cock and saw that it was rigid with need, the tip pressed up against his belly button he was so aroused.

  “Baby, are you ready?” he murmured against my lips. I tasted myself, the tang of female arousal mixed with the sweetness of milk.

  “Yes …” I breathed. Without further ado, he nudged my legs further apart and pushed his cockhead against my folds. They parted immediately, welcoming my man home. He thrust all the way in, groaning as my inner channel cushioned him, grasping him tightly in my hot flesh, welcoming the fullness of his invasion. He bumped up against my cervix and I moaned, knowing that he had a massive load ready for me.

  Slowly, he began a deep rhythm, his cock running in and out, the friction against my vaginal walls delicious and erotic. He started gently, but soon was roughly fucking me, his hips pistoning against the softness of my body, his invasion rocking me back and forth.

  “Say you’ll never leave me…” he growled as he fucked me.

  I gasped, almost unconscious from the pleasure coursing through my body. I was barely coherent and answered without thinking.

  “I’ll never leave you …” I breathed. Luke orgasmed at the words, a guttural cry of “Wildflower” escaping his lips as his hips drove home, unleashing a wild spray of sperm into my pussy. I clenched around him, my own climax overtaking me as we coupled, our bodies trembling and shaking, his cock buried deep in me, my pussy hungry for more semen.

  He continued to grind
against me as his balls emptied, shooting his life force deep into my womb. Gently, I ran a small hand between us and squeezed his balls, helping him empty into me.

  “Oh Wildflower,” he groaned into my neck, burying his face in my hair as his penis dripped, his big body relaxed on top of mine. He felt so good, so right, that I almost cried then and there, knowing that we were destined to part ways.

  “Luke, I love you,” I said gently, looking into his eyes.

  “Wildflower, you don’t know how much it means to hear you say that,” he said roughly. “I know I’ve spoken those words to you, but I’d never heard you say them in return,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I was hoping that after we were married, I could convince you, show you that I love you so much that you’d say them to me.”

  “Oh Luke,” I said, cupping his face in my hands. “I’ve always loved you, I’ve never stopped loving you,” I confided, gazing deeply into his blue eyes. I wanted to remember these eyes for as long as I lived, the way they penetrated my soul.

  “And I’ll never let you go …” he rumbled, his arms drawing me close. My heart did break then because I knew I’d be taking Georgie and leaving the man I loved, starting a new life without him.

  THE END

  Read A Baby for My Billionaire Stepbrother, Part 6 next

  Previously …

  The girl I’d called Wildflower had walked out on me two years ago, leaving my bed empty and cold. I’d shuddered in her absence, my body aching as my mind whirled with worthless thoughts. How could she have done this? How could she have walked out on a relationship so caring, loving and mutually respectful? My body ached each night in remembrance of her warm, female heat.

  But a chance encounter brought her back to me. Except this time the blonde had a baby in tow, and one look at the child was a revelation. His dark hair and grey eyes were a spitting image of me, from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. And no way was I going to let Wildflower waltz off again without a battle this time … especially with my child in her arms.

  I steamrolled her into a hasty wedding, my need for her desperate and overwhelming, but the ceremony was aborted when a crazed woman walked in proclaiming that we were step-siblings. Of course it was true, but I wasn’t about to let that get in the way of claiming my girl …

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Alana

  I swallowed a lump in my throat, tears pooling in my eyes as I looked down at my son.

  “Mama,” he said, a chubby fist extended towards me, offering me a wildflower he’d picked from the lawn.

  “Thank you baby,” I said softly, taking the blossom from him. He looked so much like his father that I was overcome with emotion again. His big blue eyes were the same shade as Luke’s, the raven hair the same inky black.

  I looked down at my belly. I hadn’t started to show yet, but there was an unmistakable curve that hadn’t been there four months ago. Just four months ago I’d almost married Luke …

  I shook my head, the memories overwhelming. Our ill-fated wedding was best forgotten. The way we’d been so hopeful, so loving, only to have our future dashed when that bitch Sabrina burst in with my birth certificate, declaring that we were step-siblings. It was true. Luke and I were siblings through marriage, even if not biologically related, and we were prohibited from being legally married in the State of New York. Shamefully, I’d fled after that, taking my boy with me, hoping to escape the mess that was my life.

  But unknowingly, I was pregnant … again. Luke was a father for a second time, and the prospect filled me with fear, but also glowing, incandescent joy. If I was to have two reminders of the man I loved, then I would gladly welcome the new addition to my life.

  But right now, the going was tough, even if Georgie didn’t know it yet. I’d brought my son with me to the far reaches of Alaska, hoping that no one could find us here. It was summer still, so the days were still fair and bright, but soon winter would descend and we’d be surrounded by darkness.

  My journey here had been tough. After a plane flight with my squalling son, I’d landed in Anchorage, not sure where to head next. An ad in the paper for short order cooks had directed me to a town called Kilukut, an Eskimo word for Paradise. I’d liked that … a Paradise far away where I could raise my son.

  I’d splurged on a cab to take us to the rooming house in Kilukut and offered myself as a cook to the proprietress. The old lady was a sweet thing, with dyed red hair and perceptive eyes. She took in my bawling boy and offered him a glass of milk during our impromptu interview.

  “So you can cook?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” I’d said softly. “Hamburgers, chili, soups, anything that will keep you warm in the cold of winter,” I said. I was handy at the stove. Being a latchkey kid had taught me take care of myself early on.

  “Well, this rooming house boards twenty men, and we’re filled to the rafters right now,” she said. “It’s oil season, and we’ve got men from all over working the rigs, hungry as can be. You think you can keep up?” she said doubtfully.

  “I know I can!” I exclaimed. “I often had to cook for cousins, so I’m good with large groups and hearty food,” I said. “I can stretch a dollar to feed twenty men if I have to.”

  She liked the sound of that and nodded. “Right then. You’ll be an assistant to Rosie, our head chef. Wages are $200 per week plus room and board. What are you going to do with your boy while you work?” she asked.

  “Is … is there day care around here?” I asked timidly.

  “There ain’t no formal daycare, but Miss Lyons across the street takes children into her home for a few hours a day. Why don’t you ask there?”

  Fortunately, everything had been settled. Georgie and I moved into our own room in the boarding house. Miss Lyons miraculously had a slot open, and I dropped Georgie off each morning before starting my shift in the kitchen. It was hard work, but I wasn’t above honest employ. I’d started washing dishes and chopping vegetables, but Miss Rosie now trusted me with desserts and breads, even if I hadn’t moved onto the main course yet.

  But we were a happy bunch. My little boy smiled at me once again and I scooped him up in my arms. We’d have a new addition soon, and I could feel the baby beginning to stir.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Luke

  The discovery that Alana was gone filled me with grief. I’d sunk into a deep depression upon returning home and realizing that her small satchel had disappeared, the only traces of her the echoes of laughter in the empty apartment.

  And she’d taken my son again. I’d fallen in love with Georgie during our brief acquaintance, the little boy an image of me that could not be denied. I was hell bent on dragging them back, but knew that my Wildflower would only run again. She’d run once before, and my beautiful bride would continue to run so long as she didn’t feel safe.

  I’d been incandescent with anger at the interruption to our wedding. I’d already destroyed Sabrina through a few well-placed phone calls. She’d never be welcome at the elite clubs and social gatherings that were everything to a bitch with her fucked-up values.

  But how the fuck had Sabrina located Alana’s birth certificate? Sabrina was crafty, but certainly not hard-working enough to mine the musty storage rooms of the New York City Register. I’d interviewed everyone on my staff but discovered no leak. It was only ruminating in the dark confines of my office that I realized there was someone I’d never spoken to … Alana’s mom.

  I’d driven out to the Bronx, intent on confrontation. It was this bitch who must have spoiled our union, with Sabrina as her pawn. I’d pounded on the door to a derelict house, the paint peeling and shutters drooping from their hinges. I’d expected to see someone rundown and aged, but the woman who’d opened the door had been unexpectedly beautiful, with a strong resemblance to her daughter. Her blonde hair was faded, but swept into an elegant updo, and she wore a cashmere sweater even if there were holes at the elbows.

  She knew who I was immediately.<
br />
  “Luke Miller,” she greeted. “I wondered when you’d piece two and two together.”

  I’d barreled into her home, the interior shabby and makeshift. But somehow, I couldn’t look down on it. This was where my wildflower had grown up, and I couldn’t make fun of her past, even as I wanted to burn the place down.

  “Tell me where she is,” I growled.

  “I don’t know,” said Lilly Johnson. “Don’t you?” she looked at me questioningly. I’d set detectives on Alana’s trail, but hadn’t been able to pin her location yet. All I knew was that she was somewhere out west, with my baby in tow.

  “Why did you do it?” I growled, not even bothering to re-hash the unfortunate turn of events.

  “Ah, your wedding,” said Lilly slowly. “Before I get into that, Luke, let me tell you a bit about Alana’s life here. Have you any idea what it was like for her to grow up in the Bronx? Look around you. I raised my daughter here, scraping by without a penny to spare, while you, your mother, and your sister lived in the lap of luxury. My Alana had nothing, while you and your family had everything,” she said bitterly.

  “You’re jealous of us?” I asked disbelievingly. “You should blame Robert Woodson,” I said roughly. “He’s the one who left you.” My stepfather was Alana’s biological dad, and had deserted Lilly when he’d found out she was pregnant.

  “I don’t blame Robert for leaving,” she said. “But it was the fact that he forgot about us. He didn’t care about his own daughter. He didn’t send a penny our way, instead lavishing his riches on you and your sister.”

  I stopped short. “Lady, you’ve got this all wrong. I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but the family wealth comes from my family… and not Robert.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re chairman of Atlantis Records. But Robert was the one who raised you in the lap of luxury.”

  “No,” I said slowly, shaking my head. “My mother is a scion of the Phelps clan, an old banking family from Long Island. When she married Robert, Robert was not much more than a small-town lawyer. It was my mom and her trust fund that paid for our apartment on Fifth Avenue,” I said.