Romance: Billionaire In Disguise (Inspirational Clean Romance Box Set)

by Darcia Cobbler

  His mouth is lying open, not moving; there’s nothing he can say or do to make me change my mind and he knows it. Still, he doesn’t leave.

  “What’s wrong with you? I thought we just had the greatest sex of my life and you now want me to go away?”

  “It isn’t about us having sex, Mitch. You barged in here and messed up my life. Up until yesterday, you were a criminal, an ex-convict. It was the only thing keeping me from falling for you, but now...God, now you had to go and make things even more complicated.”

  My last word draws his interest. “Complicated? Complicated how?”

  I sigh and walk to the other side of the kitchen. I pick up my clothes and head to the front part of the shop. Mitch does the same and soon he’s following me to the front.

  I have to say something to him. One way or another, he’s going to find it out. “I...I’m the one that started this petition.”

  His eyes open broadly. “What? Are you serious? Why did you do that?”

  Once again, his veins start pumping. Is it me or is this the start of a fetish for me? I feel my parts getting wet again, even after I just came twice moments ago. I can’t continue seeing him.

  “Mitch, I’m sorry but I can’t have you getting in the middle of my job. Your tattoo studio would drive away most of my clients. I’ve told you so many times already, but people of this town care about the appearances, they care about the past. And your past is dangerous to this town, to my business, to me. I can’t have you taking from me the one thing I love the most in the world.”

  When my rant is over, Mitch is staring at me with the look of a man that has just fallen from the sky. Did he think that by simply fucking me, things would change between us? That I could snap my fingers and make this go away? Well, I can’t.

  Mitch doesn’t talk again. He lowers his head and turns to leave the shop. His hand is on the knob when he stops and turns around. “You know, I have spent all my life being kicked away. I’ve been kicked away by my parents, by all the foster homes I’ve been sent to, even by the schools. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t afford a specialist to teach me how to read, and the only thing I had going for me was drugs.

  “My life was revolving around drugs. Cocaine, LSD, heroin, everything that’s out there, I’ve probably done it twice. That’s until I got caught by the police for trafficking. I was in the bathroom of a club the night they raided the place and I was so high that I didn’t even realize what was going on until I was in the prison.

  “From that day on, I decided that once I came out, I’d never get kicked out from a place ever again, not without trying my best to get clean. But then, I ended up to this fucking hell. All my life, people told me that I’m not worth a penny, but they didn’t know any better than me. You, though, you’re the worst of them all. Goodnight, Heather. I hope you have a good life.”

  He hurls the door open and rushes out of the shop without looking back. Instead of heading to his apartment, though, he heads to his studio on the other side. I...well, I can’t move an inch after hearing his story. Tears rise to my eyes and my whole body is feeling like I’ve been knocked down by a raging bull.

  But the pain isn’t physical; it’s sentimental.

  “Oh God, what have I done? I’m so stupid. So, so stupid,” I say. I hit my head with my fists and let my tears start falling. People, like books, shouldn’t be judged by their covers. And I went on and did just that, all to “save” my business from the danger of the tattooed man. I should have known better.

  With two swift gestures, I wipe my tears and walk firmly to the entrance of my shop. I turn off the lights and lock the door on my way out. When outside, I stop. I want to turn and give him one last glance before leaving, but I can’t.

  I can’t because if I do, I’ll run behind him and ask for his forgiveness.

  What the hell have I done?

  ***

  MITCH

  The cold air manages to bring back my focus a bit. I’ve never talked to anyone about my life before. People back in the neighborhood just knew. They somehow looked at me and knew what I was going through, what my hardships have been. The police officers read it in their files, the gang members found out after asking around, and everyone else just figured it out by themselves. But I’ve never said a thing to indicate that I was actually in pain.

  Before getting to prison, I was used to getting hit hard by life. I knew that if I let my guard down, one of these days, life would toss a round-kick to my stomach and tell me to man the fuck up. Men don’t make art; men don’t cry; men don’t read.

  But this woman managed to shutter my defenses with a glance. And now, I’m paying the price of not getting out of this place when I still had the chance.

  I come to my tattoo studio and get inside. Everything was almost ready for me to open this little place, somewhere to start my life. The waiting lobby, the ink station, everything. I’ve put up almost all my money in this endeavor only to be shut down by people’s malice. But I guess I should have expected that. “Heather is right, after all. People don’t forget or forgive. It’s easier to keep a grudge than to let go.”

  I turn on the lights and search around for the buckets of color I have stored for later use. I find them and carry them outside. The physical exertion takes some of the stress out of my mind. Doing something is preferable than staying put after all. I have to do this one thing tonight and tomorrow evening I’m out. I won’t stay another day in this place, even though I have nowhere else to go to.

  After some effort, I open the buckets. I don’t have anything particular in my mind yet, but my art has always been like that: raw and unpredictable. I start by drawing a long, red line, on the wall. The line keeps getting longer, and longer until it shapes up to a damaged heart.

  I take one step back and smile mirthlessly in the design. “Is this what you've been reduced to, Mitch? Painting broken hearts on the wall?”

  Still, I continue. My hand has a life of its own. The picture flows out of my mind. It develops from a simple heart to an intricate painting by the time the sun has risen again. I’m exhausted as the golden light falls on my creation. Sweat is dripping from my hair and the smell of the alkaline paint has given me a headache.

  I don’t want to be reminded of those times, but my head is heavy like I’ve been stoned all night.

  Sometimes I do wish I wake up and find out that all my life has been a drug-induced nightmare and that I’m back at being young and innocent. But then, shit like this thing with Heather happen and I'’m reminded that life is worse than the nightmares.

  Nightmares are but short glimpses of hell; life lingers around and makes the hell a reality.

  I sign the painting and slowly return all the paint buckets inside my studio. Suddenly, the sweet smell of freshly baked bread comes from Heather’s bakery. My stomach growls but there’s nothing I can do to fix this.

  I just have to sleep and the nightmare will end.

  Chapter 6

  HEATHER

  Oh boy. I don’t even know where to start. One moment, Mitch and I were yelling at each other about who is right and who is not, and the other minute he was fucking me against the wall in the bakery kitchen. And the fact that it was the greatest sex - with the man I was secretly adoring - I’ve ever had doesn’t make things easier.

  All morning, my hands are moving mechanically. My body is here, but my mind is next door. What was he doing last night? He didn’t return to his apartment until early in the morning. The sun was already out when he did. I know because I was just getting ready to go downstairs. I guess, he has been working all night on something. I thought of going next door to check on him, but it’s better that I didn’t.

  I’m late with baking the bread for today, and Frank will be here in a short while. I have no excuse, and being the friend that he is, he’ll pick up on my secret in seconds.

  “I can’t allow that to happen. It was a mistake on my part that I didn’t walk away when I had the chance. Now, I have no excuse.”


  The moment I end my sentence, the doorbell rings and Frank walks into the shop.

  “Good morning, Heather,” he says. He’s less vocal than usual.

  “Good morning to you too, Frank. What’s wrong?” I say as I pop my head through the kitchen to check up on him.

  “I’ve passed outside your neighbor’s studio. Have you seen it?”

  “Seen what? His shop? I see it every day. What’s wrong with it?” I ask him.

  “You haven’t seen it, yet? Then, I suppose you have to see it before we continue,” he suggests.

  Without waiting for a confirmation, Frank walks out of my shop and straight to Mitch’s. It takes me a moment to realize he wants me to follow him. I take off my apron and rush behind him.

  “Well, here it is. That boy certainly has a talent,” he mutters.

  As I first lay eyes on the painting on the wall, my heart skips a beat. I never thought a man could create something so beautiful in just one night and with no help. And yet, Mitch did it.

  “Wow...” I say.

  “Wow indeed,” Frank continues.

  I turn around and look at him. “I think I’ve done a mistake. I kicked out a man with feelings so strong that he poured his heart out on this wall.”

  The painting starts from a broken heart and expands to different scenes of his life. An open book with monsters coming out of it; colorful pictures that end up in soulless people; a happy family on one side and an abandoned child in the middle of it; everywhere I look, it’s like I’m peering deep into his soul.

  And all I’ve done since he arrived is spit and kick at it relentlessly.

  “Heather, it wasn’t your fault. He’s talented, I get that, but this only strengthens your position. Mitch will be able to survive somewhere else. His business would never kick off in this town - people here are not into tattoos that much,” he says.

  “Screw this town, Frank. Screw this town and us ruining it. Where did our manners go, Frank? When did one of us take a second to talk to Mitch and befriend him? I only cared for my business, but why didn’t anyone stop me from harming him?”

  The questions come out of my mouth rushed as a tangled mess of emotions and words. Frank doesn’t reply to me. I’m not in the mood to say anything else, as well. I’ve become the spitting image of the people I hated. I’m like that snobby lady from a few weeks ago that had never shopped from a different bakery because of...reasons.

  “Frank, I must stop him before he leaves. I can't allow for this to happen, not when I know the truth. That man deserves the chance for a better life. Can you please take care of the bakery until I return?” but I don’t wait for his confirmation.

  I run all the way to the front door of his apartment. I spend a moment to catch my breath and think what I’m going to say to him. Obviously, I should apologize. Then, I should tell him that I can help him build a clientele like Frank did for me when I first arrived here. Then, I should--

  Suddenly, the door opens; a half-naked Mitch is standing on the door. He looks surprised when he realizes it’s me.

  “What are you doing here, Heather?” he asks.

  Shit, he’s so handsome I can’t focus. Look away, Heather. Look away. His arms, all the way to his neck, are stained with dried up colors and beautiful tattoos. He’s wearing a pair of black, tight boxers, and his hair is ruffled from the sleep.

  “I... I came to apologize to you,” it’s the only reasonable thing that comes to out of my mouth.

  “Too late,” he says and pushes the door to a close.

  However, I lunge myself towards him to stop. “Please, listen to me. I don’t want you to go,” I sputter.

  That seems to do the trick; he freezes in his place and slowly opens the door again. When his divine body is on full display again, he moves to the side to let me in. I pass by him and enter into his apartment.

  “Look, I know I sound like a crazy person to you, especially after everything I’ve put you through, but I was wrong. I misjudged you and let the small-town mindset to take over me. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be so petty, but...but these things get to you eventually. You want to expand your business, for the people to love you, and to have more customers. However, the only way to do that is to become like them.

  “I thought that I’ve had it under control, but when you appeared out of nowhere, you messed up my plans of expanding. I hated you for that, but now I realized that I was hating myself more for not being decisive enough. That’s why I want to apologize to you, Mitch. I want to ask you to stay here and I’ll do my best to help you.”

  When my speech is over, I have finally regained control of my breath. It feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off my chest. Now he knows the truth; now, it should be easier for him to decide to stay.

  Only that he didn’t. “I’m sorry, Heather, but I’ve already decided to leave. This whole dream to open the tattoo studio here was a stupid idea. I have no money left, people here don’t like me, and I won’t allow myself to fall again to the self-pitying hell. Still, thank you for apologizing. I didn’t know that I would, but it made me feel better.”

  When he’s finished, he simply turns around and walks to an old couch. Before he’s too far away, though, I grab his arm and make him turn back.

  “I love you,” is all I can say. I put my hands on his cheeks, I stretch and kiss him. He didn’t expect that, so he jerks back, but a moment later, he returns my kiss with an even deeper one.

  We kiss for a while, long enough for him to get a hard-on. When I open my eyes, I see his tight boxers stretching by his extended manhood. With a simple glance and a smirk, I get on my knees in front of him, my face at the same height as his dick.

  “This is for last night,” I smile.

  “Heather, no--oh! Shit, that’s good,” he moans.

  My lips envelop the red head of his hard dick. The skin of his shaft is soft yet tense; his ball sack is hanging low, his balls turning from satisfaction. I start up slow, using my tongue to travel to every inch of his penis before getting the whole thing in my mouth. It’s big, bigger than I remember from last night, so it makes me choke at first.

  But soon, everything changes. “Yeah, like that. You’re...oh....you’re so good.”

  I continue sucking his cock for some time until he starts thrusting it in and out. He’s fucking my mouth hard, my saliva exploding all around his dick, getting mixed with his precum. I use my hands to cup his butt and try to set up the rhythm of this moment.

  After a few more minutes, Mitch can’t take it any longer. “Baby...Heather, please stop. Stop or...God...I’m coming.” After one long, tensing moment, a thick stream of cum floods my mouth.

  I swallow everything and clean up his cock after that. When I raise my eyes to look at him, I see the eyes of a changed man.

  I get on my feet and kiss him. He pulls back, laughing. “It’s salty.”

  “Well, get dressed up then and follow me downstairs. I have a spare cake we can enjoy.”

  After that, we both burst into laughter.

  ***

  It has been half an hour since I left my shop in Frank’s hands. When I return, he’s absolutely furious. “What in the world, Heather? Are you out of your mind? I’m late to my work,” he yells at me.

  His shouting is cut short the moment he turns to see Mitch right by my side. “I'm sorry, Frank. I really had something important to do,” I say.

  It takes him a moment to reply. “I...no problem. I’m sorry for yelling at you, but you vanished just like that. You could at least have given me some instructions” he says.

  “Yeah, you’re right. But...I think it was some kind of epiphany. If I didn’t leave the moment it came to me, I would never do.”

  Frank nods at me and then looks at his wristwatch again. “I’m sorry, Heather, but I really have to go now. We’ll talk again later.” He rushes out of the bakery probably afraid I might leave him babysitting the bakery again.

  Mitch turns and looks at me in wonder:
“What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing. The whole town just learned that we’re together.” I freeze. After the words are out, it’s too late to turn back. “We’re together, right? Are you staying?” I ask him.

  He shrugs but retains his smile on his face. “I don’t know. I want to, but I have no money and no work. I hate to admit it, but I think I was overly optimistic believing that I could open up a tattoo studio with the limited budget I had. I think I would have failed either way,” he says.

  That moment, a customer gets in. “Mitch, can you go back to the kitchen for a moment? I’ll be with you in a sec,” I mumble.

  It takes me some time to tend to the client’s order, but then I rush back to the kitchen to talk to Mitch again. He’s standing next to the cake I talked about before, doing something to it.