Pikeman: A Billionaire Romance

by Kristen Kelly

  “I’ve known that you were untouched since…since the minute I laid eyes on you downstairs.”

  He was watching me? But…but how did he know I was a virgin? My thighs tighten. Even now, I can feel myself stretching, accommodating his girth. When I bend down to adjust the heel strap of one shoe, he slaps me on the ass, a loud whack that takes me by surprise. The palm of his hand lingers on my backside rubbing the sting. His fingers tease between my legs. “You like being spanked, don’t you?”

  I do but I’d like being fucked even more. “I think I want to be punished.” I have no idea where these feelings are coming from.

  He laughs. “I bet you do, but not now. I have to go to work. It’s a full moon and you know what that means for cops and firefighters.”

  “Crazy people?”

  “If only…”

  He helps me button up. Turning, he grabs some keys off a hook on the wall. When he turns back around, he bends forward to grasp my hand, eyes raised to meet mine and my breath catches as he kisses each fingertip one by one. So romantic that my eyes fill with tears. A memory of my father kissing the hand of my mother. They were so in love. So passionate for each other. There’s a brief silence and then a curious, “You okay?”Those eyes. They glitter with gold centers and peer into my soul.

  I nod, blinking back a tear. The last thing I want is to tell him is about my parents. It would just…taint things. I wanted this to be about me. Just me. I wanted him. I licked my lips and slid my hands down my whole body, lingering on my breasts as they jut out, showing him what he had—what is his.

  “Mmmm,” he growls. His mouth is incredibly close, his words a hot brand upon my skin. When he takes me in his arms, I’m enveloped by so much heat, I wobble on my legs. Thick fingers rake across my back, my neck, beneath my hair along my scalp. “Amy Lynn…I like that name.” He straightens his shoulders and steps back. “I want you to know something about me. This can’t be a one night thing so you may as well know what I’m like right up front. I may come off as a little possessive, overbearing, and some have called me a hothead...”

  “Well that seems an appropriate name,” I say with a smirk grabbing at the little tent inside his pants. “But you don’t know anything about me yet either.”

  A slow smile spreads across his full lips. “Oh, I will. Believe me I will.” My pulse roars inside my ears.

  “I’m not what you would call a warm and fuzzy guy around here. I can’t be. I’m the chief, for Christ’s sake. As a rule, I don’t let people close.” He chuckles again, a deep throaty laugh that makes my toes curl. “And no one, outside of the crew, has ever seen the inside of my office…until you.” Holy shit.

  “And I don’t make it a habit of hiding under desks either,” I say. “Just so you know.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “No one? No one has ever been up here?”

  “Nope. I don’t make it a habit of bringing women up here for nooners, in case you were wondering.”

  I was wondering. A man—this hot. This gorgeous— must have a lot of girlfriends. “You have a lot of Indian things,” I remark, not knowing what else to say. “I take it, that’s in your background?”

  “On my mother’s side. I’m half Indian, half Irish.”

  “Really? Sounds like a pretty explosive combination. Should I be scared?”

  He laughs. “I’m just a big pussy cat although I do have to keep up appearances.” I wasn’t sure how to take his admission of being a hothead. Did he have a temper? Or was that simply a caveman referral? I hoped for the later. My life, thus far, had been one of control. I’d always done the right thing, studied hard, did what I was told, took on responsibility with ease and grace but life got in the way anyhow. And I was tired of being good. I guess today I gave my wild side a little push.

  His eyes lock on mine. “Actually, my parents were the perfect match. My mother taught me about the elements and how to respect them. My father valued nature, so much so that I spent most of my youth traveling and I’m not talking about Disney World.”

  “No?” I was thrilled he was telling me things about himself and not rushing me out the door. For some reason he seemed less worried that we’d get caught by the other men. “So where did they take you?”

  “Places that carried some level of risk. While other kids were going to amusement parks or on a cruise, I was off rock climbing or walking on glaciers. Dad got off on that shit.”

  “So that’s why you became a firefighter?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you’re parents? Are they still…?”

  “Sadly, no. They died a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He waved his arms toward a shelf with several photographs of what looked like a very young Brock, accompanied by what I supposed were his parents on various excursions. One standing near a giraffe. Another dressed in firs like Eskimos. He picked up another photo, this one of a very old Indian, and then placed it back on the shelf. “I spend a lot of time here at the firehouse,” he said. “Unless I’m on a call, this is where you’ll find me.”

  “You’re home away from home.”

  He took my chin in his hands and kissed me softly. “I am a fireman so my hours are kinda screwy but I want you to know one thing, that if you need me and I’m not here I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible. ”

  I couldn’t for the life of me, think of anything I’d ever need—except…him. His arms making me safe, that velvety tongue along my skin, his kisses on my neck, the commanding voice in my ears.

  “Let’s finish dressing you. Turn around.” He zipped up my skirt.

  Ten minutes later and after more passionate kissing, Brock drove me home in his scorching red Jeep Renegade, horns blaring. Brock was right about one thing. If I thought my relationship with him was going to be a secret, that he would keep me to himself, or that this was simply a one night stand, I was sorely mistaken.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brock

  There was a wet spot in my boxers reminding me that the dry spell I’d been nursing for the last year-and-a-half definitely was over. Either that or I was dreaming about that little angel I came all over. I didn’t feel bad about it either. Why would I? Despite the age difference and the fact she was a virgin, I knew she was watching me. Knew that she wanted me. Not only had she been staring me down every time I looked up from serving flapjacks and then turned bright red when she knew I caught her looking, but I’d seen her before. Always watching with a hunger in her eyes. Couldn’t quite put my finger on where I’d seen that sweet sexy smile, but it was her all right. It was clear by her expression what she had on her dirty little mind. She definitely had my number tonight. How did I know? The tight skirt that barely covered her ass. The low blouse and four inch heels. The fact that she was alone and only picked at her food. And she’d ordered three plates, throwing away the old ones when she thought nobody was looking. Besides, who the hell dresses like that to eat pancakes at ten o’clock in the morning?

  I couldn’t wait to get her naked. Fuck, her skin had been so soft. Like a babies—but she was all woman from head to toe. When I saw her crawl out from behind my desk, my throat caught at her beauty. The curve of her back. The long length of her legs, naked and smooth as she crawled slowly and carefully, gazing up like a lovesick teenager, until she literally stopped at my feet. Fuck, she was sexier than anything I’d ever seen. Crawling on all fours like that. I could have taken her right there. Hitched up that tight skirt, slid my hands up her hips and buried myself in heaven. I would have loved screwing that tight pussy her from behind. Dog-like and dirty. But she was pure. Untouched. Fucking gorgeous too. How the hell had I held myself back? I was hard as fucking granite the minute I laid eyes on that perfect body. I nearly came inside me pants.

  She’d captivated me with her smile, her wit and her ease of the situation like she’d planned this right down to getting the men involved with that goddamned pancake breakfast. She must have known I would
be here. That I barely leave this station. That I had no life. Not outside the job anyway. What she didn’t know was when the time was right and buried deep inside her, every pulsing bleeding inch of my throbbing patient cock, I was in it for keeps. She might regret that little sexy ass attitude of hers once she knew what she was in for. I wouldn’t let up. Not until she was mine. When her lips crashed into mine, the world stopped spinning.

  She didn’t know what she’d done. And when I do take her, she’ll never be the same because she’ll come so hard, so strong—her body pulsing with electricity—that only ends with the release of frenzied contracting waves, I’ll own her heart. Like I said, I’m in it for keeps

  Fuck, she was good. It had been the most erotica moment of my life without real consummating sex. When I’d dragged my finger over that hot pussy, her petals clenched around me. So slick. So wet. I felt the draw of her sweet lips, a suction so intense I thought her pussy had teeth. And her sounds! Between her writhing and her tits bouncing, the way she moaned into my shoulder, she drove me insane. If I could hear that all day, I’d be a happy man. Bottle it for when I was depressed. Take out some ear buds and fill myself with her lust. How had I restrained myself? My dick was about to fall off. It was all I could do not to fuck that tight pussy. I didn’t. It wasn’t that I was a goddamned saint for not doing it. Nothing as noble as all that. I simply wanted her to come back. Wanted to see her one more time. Wanted her to want me so bad she would die without my cock inside her. And the wanting was half the foreplay. Wasn’t it?

  I loved that she was totally unashamed, open and unyielding yet still the picture of innocence. How the fuck did she pull that off? Make me want to fuck and protect her all at the same time. It didn’t make sense. Maybe I was hopeless. Maybe I was imagining what I wanted to believe.

  She whimpered against me when I stopped stroking the petals of her lips.

  “Please.”

  How could I say no to that? I saw the yearning in her eyes, felt the panting of her breath against my neck, a little mewing as she begged me to fuck her and fuck her hard. Her eyes bore into mine, pleading as if in pain. I loved the power it gave me. If that made me an asshole, so be it.

  It felt good. I felt good. Better than I’d ever felt in my life actually. With so many things out of my control, I sure as hell could control how fucking horny I made her. She yearned for me with every breath of her sweet sexy body. I could control how hard she came on my cock even if I couldn’t control me. She didn’t know it, but I was powerless around her. Fucking powerless to resist those sugary lips, the soft supple skin, the way she buried me inside her.

  I never would have done it. Never would have touched her virgin skin. But her body cast a spell over me, her voice filled me like a prayer, her smell seeped through my pores like hard liquor. When I looked into those gorgeous caramel-colored eyes, something inside me was woke the fuck up!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amy

  “Oh my god! Tell me. Tell me everything, Amy Lynn. You have that look in your eyes.

  “What Look?”

  “Like the cat that ate the canary. You simply have to tell me what happened with Brock and I need details. Details, girl!”

  I couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about his hands all over my body, how my breasts swelled at his touch, how excited I’d been when I felt him come all over my ass. When I thought of how dirty I’d spoken, how turned on and unabashed, I almost believed that was some other girl. Some other woman who didn’t have a 4.0 grade average. Someone who never did anything wrong. Never smoked. Never skipped school. Never talked back to my parents. A woman who didn’t go to parties or even date. Part of me knew how wrong baring myself to a total stranger probably was, but I was going on instinct here. I hadn’t chosen Brock Fitzgerald, a total stranger, to give my virginity away to lightly. Any other guy could have been a serial killer but not Brock. He was a goddamned hero. The words to a popular song popped in my head. ‘If loving you is wrong I don’t want to be right.” I knew it was just sex but who knows how more lay beneath the surface. Did he feel the same? Was he thinking about me right now?

  Jane bounced up and down on my little twin bed. “Did he catch you? Of course he did. Like I said, you have that look. Stop smiling already and tell me everything before I beat it out of you.”

  “I can’t kiss and tell. What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

  “He…kissed you? No way! Oh…my…god…Brock Fitzgerald kissed my best friend! I need to sit down before I faint.” She started fanning herself with a magazine, her eyes wild. “I knew I should have gone there instead of you. I knew it should have been me.”

  “Oh please. You’re such a chicken.”

  She crossed her arms, brow furrowed. “And you’re not?”

  “Okay, you got me there. I can’t believe I did it, Jane.”

  “So he did catch you.”

  “I didn’t say that.” I give her a tight smile, wondering how long I could keep a secret from my best friend. I didn’t want to tell her. Not yet. Not until I knew where this so-called relationship was going. It would just…cheapen it. I should tell her though. I would tell her though. Eventually. Maybe at our wedding. My laughter bubbled over.

  “There’s that look! He did catch you. I knew it! Did he scream obscenities at you? Call the cops? Tell me he didn’t call that evil stepmother of yours.”

  “No. He didn’t call her.”

  “Soooo?” She jabbed me in the ribs while giving me a shit eating grin. “Tell me, is his bedroom everything you thought it would be or is it just that generic kind with a pole running down the middle?”

  “Nope. No pole.” Unless you count the semi between his legs. God, it was hard!

  “Oh right, he’d have his own room as the chief, wouldn’t he? Probably doesn’t fight fires anymore.”

  “Well, that, I wouldn’t know. But his bed…his bed is nothing special. Just a regular one. A desk and some fireman coats hanging on the wall. Nothing special.” She stared down her glasses at me, clearly disappointed. I wanted to yell, he was fucking hot, Jane and he christened my ass! I wondered if she could smell him on me. I still hadn’t showered.

  “And this is Brock Fitzgerald we’re talking about, right? One of those other hotties didn’t find you snooping around? Or…Oh my god! Was there more than one of them? Did they try to gang bang you? Sorry. My mind is in the gutter. It could have happened though. You read it on the internet all the time. I should never have let you go alone.” She banged a fist on her head. “ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

  “Geeze, calm down, Jane. Nothing happened. I…we just talked is all and he was sweet and nice and I think I may even see him again.”

  “Holy crap on a cracker.”

  I giggled. “Jane, he’s just a guy. A regular guy who just happens to be a famous fireman.”

  “And he could have forced you to do his bidding. Fucked you right there on his desk. Yeah, I know. “You know that don’t you?”

  “I don’t understand you, Amy Lynn. Why are you so calm? You saw where he sleeps. You saw where he takes his clothes off. I’m so jealous. So what was Brock like?” Before I could answer, I heard a phone buzzing somewhere. Annoyed but anxious to veer the conversation in another direction, I launched off my bed and ran to the living room. Penelope’s pink jeweled phone was vibrating in a basket on a table near the door. I picked it up and scanned the text.

  Babe, it’s all set. We leave at exactly eight on the twenty first. Did you take care of everything?

  I texted back. Who is this?

  Penelope?

  No answer and then the phone rang for real.

  “Penelope?” asked a voice a second time.

  “Uh no. Who the hell are you?”

  “Er…is this Amy? Amy Lynn?”

  “It is. Who are you?”

  “Uh…uh…sorry, wrong number.” The phone went dead.

  Jane frowned. “I’m surprised you picked up evil Cruella’s phone. Usually you just ignore it.”r />
  “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I’ve no flipping idea but it was weird. Very, very weird.”

  ***

  In the morning, a certified letter came for Penelope from the bank. I signed on the dotted line, not giving it another thought. I flipped through the rest of the mail. My eyes landed on letter from Stanford and my heart stopped beating. My grades being as high as they were, I’d already been accepted to twelve other grad schools, but Stanford was the only one offering a master’s degree in International and Comparative Education with an offer to work on a major research project. I opened the letter with shaky hands and my mouth dropped open. My eyes moistened with tears. This was everything I wanted. Everything my mother hoped for only she wasn’t here to say so. From as far back as I remembered, mom taught me the value of education, taking me to museums, art fairs, the Smithsonian in DC as a child. I was barely thirteen when we started making plans to visit campuses all over the country.