Pikeman: A Billionaire Romance

by Kristen Kelly

  He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

  His hands grasped my hips as I lowered myself over him, letting his cock slide inside me—inch by delicious inch. “Oh, baby, that feels good but…but…I need more.” I saw his nostrils flare, a look of desire warring with patience furrowing his sweaty brow. My breath caught as our bodies joined in one huge impaling spike as he ground me down quickly, burying himself completely.

  “Oh!”It caught me by surprise but I was so wet. So ready for him that I only felt a slight twinge of discomfort but only for a moment. I started to move and Brock allowed me to set the pace, holding back his own lust to plunge inside me even harder. Amazingly, it barely hurt and after a few minutes I melted over him like chocolate. I realized with happiness that all my preparation and pre-stretching had actually paid off. Brock didn’t know that though. He held himself back, probably thinking he’d been too rough with me. He wasn’t moving at all. “You okay?” he asked, his face creased with concern.

  “Uh huh.” I smiled then I picked up my pace, his cock thrusting upwards as we made our own rhythm. He groaned but he was still holding back, his eyes closed. “Brock.” I was panting now, my senses on overload. “ Brock... Don’t treat me like a doll. Oh god. Oh my…oh…Oh!” I raked my nails along his back riding out the sensation that was slowly taking over every one of my senses.

  Encouraged, he lifted and lowered me over his cock, pumping into me faster and faster with horrific violent jerks—burying himself tip to root. He groaned and grunted, his body pulsing, palms moist along my hips.

  His shoulders were broad and firm. They fit my hands perfectly while his cock drilled up like a piston, taking me to the edge along with him, until the world started to spin, reality dropping out. “Oh…my….god!” If this was sex I was living on another planet all these years.

  There was no one else in the world except this. Except us. Two bodies becoming one. Every sense was on fire, sweet sensation controlling every fiber of my brain. I’d come before with vibrators but never like this. Never with a body so giving that I wanted to shove my cunt into his mouth, to mount him in front of everybody and in front of nobody. We were outdoors for Christ’s sake! For all I knew, the neighbors next door would hear us or worse, they could show up any minute. I actually didn’t care though. In fact, it made it more exciting.

  Brock’s chest glistened with sweat. He smelled of pine and soap and I wanted so much to kiss him again but I couldn’t stay still long enough to reach his lips. Too busy fucking is brains out. “Oh god,” Something seemed to grab me by the teeth. My voice shrilled as the highest orgasm I’d never known in my young life started to rise. And rise. And rise. I felt myself orbiting into a climax.

  He wasn’t done with me. His cock kept pumping, grunting with the effort. “So…fucking…wet…for me.” I could feel bruising on my hips and I had the sensation of being on a merry go round. A wild slippery merry go round that would spin me off if I didn’t hold on too tight. My nipples tingled as he reached up and pinched, making me moan louder than I already was. I was so close and then I wasn’t. I was…there. The climax made me scream, hit me full force, and then my body started to shudder. As my heart started to slow, I realized it was over but Brock refused to slack off. He pushed up harder, this time digging his finger nails into my ass.

  I felt sensitive now. I struggled to get free. To rise off his lap but he pulled me back down. “Almost. Almost, baby girl.” He was grunting and breathless, his own release mounting into what sounded like a magnificent yet endless fury. He went on and on it seemed.

  I felt assaulted. Didn’t he know I was a virgin for god’s sake? So sensitive. So damn sensitive. “No. I can’t. I …Oh!” My body betrayed me as another orgasm started to build between my legs, grabbing me with its teeth.

  “Fuck! You’re tight as hell.” He demanded more. A sex drive that was off the charts. If what I read was accurate about older men having a lower libido, they didn’t have Brock Fitzgerald in mind. Thick digits fondled my buttocks as he grabbed hold of both cheeks. He held on tight, preventing my escape as he continued his frenzied pace plunging upwards in an unbelievable demand of power over me. He growled and then leaned up so he could alternate between sucking on my nipples and ravaging my lips with that firm muscular tongue of his. The sensation egged me onto newer sharper emotions ,my skin prickling. “I…I’m coming.” I jumped off the cliff, my body spiraling out of control. Only stronger this time. Much stronger!

  With a serious determined look, he stared into my eyes, gave several quick thrusts, as if claiming me with his body, and stopped. I fell into his arms, collapsing euphorically.

  It felt wonderful and right. With a satisfied smile, Brock leaned back in the chair. Exhaustion stretched across his face, he moved a strand of hair from the side of my mouth. “Remember when you said you were a woman who knew what she wanted? Well, I know what I want too, Amy Lynn. What I want is you.” I leaned down, devouring him in a kiss, our tongues swirling and tasting each other more gently this time. When we broke apart, he said. “Getting pretty chilly out here. Let’s go inside.” I wasn’t cold though. When I looked down, I realized how muscular his thighs were. Besides his large hands, they’d warmed me with their heat.

  “All right.” I pulled my jeans on and zipped them back up. When I bent over to pick up my purse, Brock pulled me back onto his lap and kissed me again with such passion I found myself laughing that he still wanted me like that. Then he laughed too.

  “I feel like a teenager,” he admitted breaking off the kiss. His voice was loud, full of promise. “Okay, now we can go in.”

  ***

  I wasn’t prepared for what I saw inside the house. The living room was massive, with a large rustic chandelier made of elk antlers and lights that looked like candles upon a circular metal ring. The fireplace took up an entire wall and a huge horn from some sort of animal hung over a stone mantle piece. The furniture wasn’t fancy, but looked extremely comfortable in soft leather, and there was a stuffed black bear in the corner, poised as if to strike. Photographs adorned the walls and shelves, just like Brock’s office, and all sorts of memorabilia like arrowheads, harpoons, and stuffed fish and animal heads were scattered throughout the house. “Wow,” I said. “So this is the travel cottage. This where you grew up?”

  “No. This was where my family came for holidays and weekends. Some years we came often and others hardly at all. Depended on how much my father worked.”

  He lead me into another room, pointing out different aspects of the log cabin, the hand sawn beams, the custom fireplaces with stones from Iceland, a staircase curved up in a kind of spiraling pattern, the steps made of golden milled logs of knotted pine. It matched the floor and ceiling. Everywhere I looked, felt warm and inviting. I imagined cookies and milled cider, woolen quits and roaring fires, maybe a dog near the hearth. I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving this house. It simply breathed hospitability and took my breath away. Almost as much as Brock had.

  “So were you happy here? I mean, you haven’t come in a long time you said. I’m guessing it wasn’t because you work so much.”

  He patted the large overstuffed loveseat seat beside him. I sunk into the rich leather and he slid over just a hair, giving me more room. It was more than that though. The fire was gone from his eyes. That look that I so craved a few minutes ago replaced by something else. “No. It wasn’t work that kept me away.”

  “Then…?” I knew it might bring up something painful but I had to know.

  He swiveled around on the couch so he could look at me, worry lining his forehead. I could see he didn’t want to talk about it, but he was making some effort. I appreciated that. If we were going to have a relationship, I didn’t want any secrets between us.

  “There was…an accident,” he finally said.

  “The one that claimed your parents?”

  “Yeah. When I come here, it’s just…hard.”

  But we’re here now. As if answering my unasked question, he
went on. “But I’m forty one, you know. And it’s been a long time. I could have sold this place years ago, but I didn’t want to. Truth be known, I actually love it here.”

  “It reminds you of your parents though. Is that it?”

  “Partly.”

  “And yet you brought me here. Today. After all this time.”

  “Yeah,” he said chuckling. “I’ve no idea why.”

  “Maybe you thought if you could replace that memory with a new one? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much?” He gave me a tight smile that absolutely melted my insides.

  “You know for someone so young, you’re a very smart woman.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why you didn’t throw me out of your office.” I reached for his hand and wrapped my fingers around his palm. It was warm and comfortable and I wanted so bad to be here for him. To be the one he barred his soul to. “Can you talk about it? It might help. It helped me after my mother died.”

  “All right. My parents were not…ordinary people. They were amateur explorers although my father would never admit to the amateur part. He loved to travel and we went all over the world. Just the three of us.”

  “The only place I’ve ever been with my parents was Disney World.”

  Brock uttered a half-hearted chuckle. “Ah, the land of make believe. I tried to talk my dad into Disney once. Know what he told me?” He continued in a false deep voice. “Only a fool waists his time with talking animals and rides that make your ears bleed! Nope, there was no Disney for me to explore. Nothing so tame as that. When we explored a new place we explored it!”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “It was, actually. By the time I was eight, we’d been all over the world. My mother did all sorts of research, planned what food we would take, what temperature we had to prepare for, bought our hiking gear…And my father…well, he picked where our next adventure would take us and then he mapped out our route.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “Everywhere. We explored caves, studied plants under waterfalls, crawled along cliffs or explored ancient ruins.”

  “That must have been wonderful.”

  “It is…when you’re a kid. But as I got older, I didn’t want to go anymore. The trips grew more rugged. Too rugged for a spoiled teenager whose only interest was playing video games and hanging out with my friends. There would be long periods where all we would see were trees or mountains and there would be nothing to do, no internet, no television, or it would rain nonstop for an entire month. While my friends were discovering girls, I was camped out in a rain forest in Brazil, with gnats and poisonous snakes to keep me company. One time, we had nothing to eat but bison for two weeks! And I hate bison. I missed my friends. I missed being with kids my own age.”

  “Did you tell your parents that?”

  “Yeah. For awhile they gave in. They let me stay with my grandfather. Well…until he got sick that is.”

  “Dad said grandfather’s illness made him re-evaluate his life. That he was going about our trips all wrong. I had no idea what he meant. In my fourteen year old mind, I hoped he was going to take us on a real family vacation for once, with room service and maybe one of those indoor water parks. I got so excited and I knew the holiday break was coming up. I wanted to go skiing like other kids did and I would have loved to go to Disney World. Damn, at that point I’d go anywhere that had running water.”

  “I take it, that wasn’t what he had in mind?”

  “God, no! He took us to the Arctic. The fucking Arctic! By boat. I grumbled and complained the whole trip. On the third day, I set out in my little dingy, determined to catch some fish because I was sick of eating seal blubber. It was springtime and the ice was breaking off into little ice floes. I saw an opening in the channel so I thought I could squeeze through in order to get to a different fishing spot. I’d seen one of those Intuits the day before doing it, ice fishing only a few yards from our boat. Naturally I’d talked this over with my father and he refused to let me go. He said it was too dangerous. He was right of course but I didn’t know that. I was too stubborn. Deep down, I knew about the dangers but I was a cocky little shit, always angry about something. Always thinking about myself.

  “You were fourteen,” I soothed as if that would give him absolution.

  “I thought I was a man.”

  “So you went anyway?”

  “I did and sure enough the ice closed all around my tiny boat squeezing it. God, I was terrified then. It crushed the hull within minutes and I had to jump onto the sea ice before I was crushed too. Then it started to rain, soaking me with ice and snow.

  I gasped. Goosebumps rippled over my skin and a wave of dread overcame me. I squeezed Brock’s hand, wondering what kind of monster I was for making him relive this personal horror. “You must have been…so scared.”

  “I was. About an hour later, I passed out. My parents saved me but…” He threw up his hands. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s over and they’re dead.” His low dark brows creased in a scowl.

  “What happened, Brock?”

  He took a deep breath running a hand over the back of his head. “In my father’s haste to reach me, he’d kicked over the kerosene lamp in our boat. Part of the upper deck caught fire. My mother put it out but that was the end of our fuel too. We couldn’t go anywhere and our food was running low. The next two weeks, we waited to be rescued.”

  “So I’m confused. I thought they died in the accident.”

  “No. My father was diabetic. When I was hurrying that morning to get out on my dingy, I shattered one of his glass insulin bottles. It took an extra nine days to be rescued. By then, my father was dead.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She died six months later of breast cancer but everyone said it was from a broken heart.” Brock didn’t make eye contact with me, his gaze caught by some framed photograph across the room. I wanted to hold him, tell him everything would be all right, that it wasn’t his fault and he should stop beating himself up over it. “He should have brought more insulin,” I said instead.

  He just looked at me as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Maybe.”

  “Anyway you were just a kid.”

  He was still staring at the photograph and when I caught his eye. He look away quickly and made to rise off the couch but not before I saw that his eyes were moist with tears. “Come on. That’s enough moroseness for one day. Let’s go see what the cook left us in the fridge.”

  “The cook?”

  “Yeah. He lives next door.”

  As I followed him into the informal dining room just off the family room in the back of the house it was as if a light just went off and I immediately felt at home. It had a plain trestle table, six chairs and large windows which let in natural light. So much so—that if felt as if we were outside. Brock opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator and a slight whoosh of air cooled my face. There was everything and anything in there and judging by the fact that Brock hadn’t been here in awhile, I knew it had to be fresh. He took out a tray of cold roast beef, a tin of mashed potatoes, and another container of glazed carrots. “You like beef?” he asked.

  “Love it.”

  “Great.” He made us both plates and then warmed them in the microwave before setting them down between us. He lifted his chin pointing with his knife. “Look.” With one hand on Brock’s massive shoulder and resisting the urge to kiss him, I peered out the window, past the wrap-around porch, past the railing and the apple trees to a clearing a few feet away where five deer were grazing right below the house. My breath caught in my throat. I’d never seen deer so close before.

  “They’ve lived here since I was a kid,” Brock said. “Well…maybe not the same deer but the same family of deer.”

  “Oh.” I turned at the loud beeping of the microwave indicating our food was ready.

  He gave me a linen napkin that I placed in my lap. Minutes later and with a glass of sparkling white wine, I couldn’t believe how goo
d leftovers could taste. The meat melted in my mouth, the red potatoes flavored in olive oil, garlic and some other herb I couldn’t name and carrots were crisp but not hard. I almost expected a wine steward to appear at my elbow to refresh my drink. I sunk into my chair letting the flavors work their magic on my tongue, feeling relaxed. Very relaxed. I could tell Brock was relaxing too. I didn’t know how many people he’d told the story of what happened to his parents to, but I guessed it wasn’t that many. I was happy he’d told me.