RYKER (Rogue Billionaires, Book Two)

by Olivia Chase

  Besides, I need the money.

  If it becomes too much, then I’ll tell Le Nanny I can’t anymore. And that’ll be it.

  I check my phone in the darkness of my room for the time, noting it’s three in the morning. From somewhere downstairs, I hear a clanking sound, petrifying my body. Is someone breaking in, or is that just Ethan walking around? I’m scared to go look, but I can’t risk staying upstairs if someone were in the house. I would want to alert Ethan as quickly as possible.

  Grabbing my robe off the hook in the bathroom, I wrap it around my body and head out slowly. Not only is there clanking, but there’s music, too. A light aria coming from somewhere. Maybe the burglar loves opera? Pfft, crazy. I’m not usually awake at three in the morning, so it’s most likely I’m just hearing noises from the buildings next door or something. I creep downstairs, through the kitchen, following the source of the sound, which leads me all the way to dark hallway at the back of the house. I’ve never ventured this far before into Ethan’s home, and now I’m nervous as all hell.

  I hug myself in the cold hallway, padding my bare feet on the wooden floor, slowly approaching a mostly closed door left ajar. The light glows around it like in some horror movie but instead of hearing screams or ghostly moans, I hear what sounds like gym equipment, clinking, clanking and being thrown down in bursts of frustration.

  When I reach the door, I push it open ever so slowly, peeking through. Finally, I see him. He doesn’t see me, but it’s him, and I’m somewhat relieved. But seeing Ethan Townsend wearing only workout pants, no shirt, his chest rippled with shiny muscles, and his brow line covered with sweat might actually be worse than encountering a burglar.

  Because now I’m mesmerized by his aura. I want him again.

  He lifts the barbell, struggles to raise it above his head, forcing the veins to protrude from his biceps, triceps, and every kind of cep known to mankind, and seeing his frustrations vent with every breath, shake of his head, and pacing around the room, I know I’m in trouble.

  This man is tormented. Haunted by his past. I see it in his face, hear it in his heavy breath. Know it with my heart, because why else would he be awake at this time, working out like a madman?

  My footstep causes the floor to creak, calling attention to my presence. Before he can call me on it and get mad about it, I step through the open doorway into the full light of the fancy home gym. “Ethan…” Not Mr. Townsend. We’re not at work right now.

  His striking face whips around, his mouth slightly open with exhaustion, both the physical and mental kind. “Miss Wallach, what are you doing here?”

  Doesn’t matter what I call him, because standing here, feeling the static electricity in the space between us, potential or stored energy waiting to be released, the exchange of empathy plus need and desire and longing, all amplified in the middle of the night from emotional exhaustion, our boundaries mean nothing.

  My status as employee means nothing. Right now, he’s a man going through turmoil, and I’m a woman unsure of what to do, how to comfort him, and all I know is that I want to take him in my arms and tell him it’s going to be okay, that things will sort themselves out, and in the meantime, I can take care of him.

  I don’t have to say a word. He understands, and he’s all for it. Ethan rushes toward the door, a man on a mission, pulls me harshly away from the door, and then he’s slamming me against the gym mirror, pushing my arms over my head, and kissing me.

  Ethan

  I can’t take it anymore. Day in, day out, I want her so badly.

  She pisses me off and works positive magic on me at the same time. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me, why I let her stay in this house in the first place. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist her, yet I gave her the job. She’s the best nanny, that’s why. I can’t tell if I’m grateful to her, enraged by her that she makes me feel things deep inside, or falling for her.

  Maybe all at once, but I can’t think that way.

  I can only kiss away the rage. Deeply. Ravage her mouth, take her tongue and explore its essence, push her against the hard, cold mirror.

  My mother’s visit reawakened anger I’ve been holding back. Anger I thought I’d gotten rid of by immersing myself in work.

  “Why are you still here?” I ask through gritted teeth, my voice lowered a notch.

  “What do you mean?” Her question slides from her throat, heavy with torment. “Shouldn’t I be here?”

  “Why haven’t you quit? I’m making it difficult for you, Penelope. Why are you still hanging on?”

  “Because…”

  “Because what?” I breathe into her hair, exhaling negativity and inhaling pure perfection.

  “Because of Lilly Belle.”

  All the more reason to keep her. The care is evident. “And?”

  “Because of you. Because I’m still hoping…”

  “Hoping what?” My mouth slides to her neck and the softness of her needy pulse, its beckoning call to me.

  Her body arches, breasts and tight nipples aching for touch. My touch. My fingers and lips. I cup one breast in my hand—she’s not wearing a bra—and squeeze, pinch, cup again. Yanking up her shirt, I affix myself to her breast, sucking the life force out of her. I desperately want everything her body has to offer.

  “Tell me,” I demand.

  “Hoping you’d come back to my room,” she breathes. “I’ve left the door open…”

  “You’ve broken my rule,” I remind her.

  “I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

  “And do what?” Licking one nipple then the other, I suck the other one between my teeth and graze it along my tongue. Fascinating, perfect roundness against my face. “Tell me.”

  “And make love to me. I want you to make love to me.”

  “Fuck. You want me to fuck you, Penelope. There’s a big difference.” I’m hard as steel, and I pull her hand onto my crotch so she can feel it then I slide my hand into her pajama bottoms, searching for that hot, wet core. There it is, slippery and scorching. She gasps, arms around my shoulders, widening her legs to give me better access. “I feel how wet you are. Making love isn’t enough for you. You’re burning up.”

  “Yes. Feel it,” she says breathlessly. “Taste it.”

  Her words send me reeling. I’m dizzy just hearing her request. I make quick work of removing her pants, sliding her panties down, and pushing her legs aside, so she’s fully exposed. Her sweet pussy, bright pink folds glistening with her juices. Nectar for the taking.

  Falling to my knees, I hold onto her thighs and admire her bounty. I take in her unique aroma then bury my face in her cunt, lapping at her hungrily. She smells fresh, sweet with a hint of nervous sweat, a concoction I want all over my face for days to come as a reminder. Face in pussy, I taste her secrets while she moans above me, fingers digging into my hair and pulling me toward her. “Ethan…”

  “Yes, say my name.” I slide a finger into her cunt and begin fucking her while I bathe her clit with my tongue. “You taste delicious. I want to eat your pussy for days.” I speak between licks, giving her strong ones after every other phrase, feel her hips pushing against me, working toward her orgasm. It’s building quickly. “Just bring this to me every day. I’ll survive.”

  Her hands clutch the back of my head, drawing me closer, smashing me against her sweet lips. Cunt pie, bounty of the goddess. She’s my goddess, and I’m her loyal servant. Until it’s my turn, that is, which it will be soon, because I can’t take much more of this pressure.

  “Ethan, I’m going to come…”

  Of course she is, because I’ve kissed and sucked and tickled that clit of hers, fucked her pussy with two fingers, and we’ve been wanting this for days. When I begin rubbing her little asshole with my pinky, she writhes against my hand. “Dirty girl, fucking your boss. Come on my face, you little slut.”

  It’s a delicate word. I don’t mean it in a bad way, only that she loves getting eaten, loves hav
ing my hand grazing her asshole, and loves trouble. Well, guess what—I’m just what she needs then.

  “Come for me, Sweetness.” I want, need to feel her muscles singing their pleasure.

  After much grinding, she comes and it’s hard, pulsating against my face, smearing her slick essence against my chin. Scooping some up, I wait until her waves subside and then I bring it up to her lips, sliding it onto her tongue and kissing the juices into her mouth. “You taste that? That’s what a bad girl tastes like, Penelope. You like being bad, don’t you? That’s why you get out of bed in the middle of the night looking for trouble.”

  “I’m sorry. I just…”

  Ripping her away from the mirror and carrying her to a workout bench, I lay her down, placing her head just off the edge of the black vinyl. “I don’t want to hear you’re sorry. Just pay the consequence.” If I have to scare her out of this house, I will, but I can’t do this again. One more time and it’s strike three for me. I’ll fall—hard.

  I’m terrible for her, yet she comes back for more. She’s too good to be here, yet she won’t leave, and that fucking infuriates me.

  I slide off my pants and stand naked at Penelope’s upside-down face flushed with heat. She knows I’m going to shove my cock in her mouth, and she’s ready. “Look at you. Touching yourself again. Such a dirty girl.” Legs apart, I crouch until my massive cock is even with her face, my balls just grazing her forehead.

  Penelope slides her head further down to prepare for a better angle. One hand massages her left breast while the other slides between her legs. She cranes her neck for my balls and takes one into her mouth, moaning as she lets it drop onto her tongue and gently sucks on them. I lean forward, reaching for her ample tits, squeezing them, as I slide my cock into her mouth.

  It feels so fucking good, reaching the back of her throat and hearing her gag and make yummy sounds at the same time. As good as this feels, I have to fuck her—now. Stepping over her, she watches me, as I turn around and widen her legs, kneeling between her knees.

  I can see her face this way. With gorgeous brown-green eyes rimmed in gold tones, reddish brown hair, and a pretty, perky mouth, she’s meant for gazing. Angel face. Without waiting another moment, I slide into her, slowly at first, then all the way to the hilt, filling her up good. And it feels fucking amazing. Her pussy tightens around me, drawing me in. Her breasts shift and wave with every slow thrust I give her, as I build up momentum.

  “I’m going to pound you good, Sweetness.” I fuck her harder, faster. She has no idea what’s coming, literally. It takes me a while to come, usually, but with Penelope, I get there much faster. She brings out the best and worst in me.

  She watches my face with mixed fascination, lust, determination. “I love how you fuck me, Ethan. Do it harder, please. I want to feel you filling me up inside.”

  “As do I.” Reaching down, I grip the back of her head, fingers laced into her hair, and stare into her eyes. “I want you now, because I know I can’t have you. I’ll fuck you until you scream, and then you’ll become mine.”

  I don’t deserve this creature but here she is, and I’m not one to turn down a gift. I pound into her, pulling back and hammering again, over and over, building us both up to new heights. As she tilts her head back again, I kiss her neck, suck on her throbbing pulse.

  “Come again, Penelope. Anytime you need to come, you come to me. You understand?” I don’t know why I’m saying this. Didn’t I want her to leave? I do but I don’t. If I had it my way, she’d stay every day for me to gaze at, strip naked, and fuck whenever I feel like it, but I’m also in awe of her and wish she could depend on me for everything.

  That smile. I love gazing at it.

  I don’t know where this feeling is coming from, but I’m overwhelmed by it and nearly ready to explode into her. Slowing down, I hold back my release and focus on her instead. “Come with me,” I say, taking her by the hand then hoisting her into my arms. With a screech, she holds onto my shoulders.

  “Why are you carrying me? Put me down, Ethan.” Her tiny fists pound against my back. “I can walk on my own. I don’t need—”

  “You need whatever I say you need. I’ve been alive longer than you.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’ll listen to every word I say.” Entering the shower room, I place her gently on the stone bench where I sit to soak in the hot vapors and ask her to flip over.

  “Why?”

  “You’re asking questions again, Penelope. Just trust me.”

  That’s what this is about, ultimately—trust. For a girl who’s used to excelling at everything, being the big sister in charge of all, it’s time for her to let someone else take control. And that someone is this man right here.

  Narrowed eyes examine me. I know I haven’t given her much reason to trust me, but then again, I’ve stayed away from her for the most part. I turn on the shower and let the water run for several minutes, as swirling hot mists fill the room. Dizzying. Sweat beads up on her face and body, and my cock is on edge. My balls hurt from interrupting our fucking, but I need to hear her come again. Only then can I finish.

  Flipping her over, I raise her onto her hands and knees and command her to stay there. Then, I direct the shower head onto her body, reach for the soap, and lather her all up. Her body is tight, toned, all natural. I haven’t seen her work out not once. She shivers with anticipation.

  “Trust me,” I say again. As much as I loved her ass the first moment I saw it, I would never ram into it blindly until we’d built trust together. Maybe one day—if she’s still around. Which is pure fantasy, because it won’t happen.

  Penelope shows her brave side again, going along with anything I tell her. I wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything. I rinse her off, get behind her on the bench, and spread her ass cheeks apart.

  Fucking beautiful.

  A perfect round peach marked by a pink center, and the moment I press my hot tongue onto it, she sucks in a breath and lets out a long groan. When I grazed her asshole out in the gym, she was sensitive to it but wanted more before she came quickly. Now, she’ll get that extra time to explore what she likes. “Has anyone done this to you before?” I ask.

  “Never. But Ethan…”

  “You can stop me if you don’t like it.” There. A little niceness. I want her to rely on me. I want her to know that if I’m demanding or controlling, it’s only because I have to act that way. I can be nice. I want her to know that. Pressing my tongue onto that puckered, dry entrance, I lick in long strokes, sliding my fingers into her pussy and rubbing her clit in small circles. “Does that feel good?”

  She can’t speak. Only moans and arches her back, pressing her ass into my face slightly more. I can’t tell she doesn’t want to love it. She doesn’t want to go “all bad” and admit that she loves my eating her ass, but I know that she does. She’s speechless, her mouth open in a round O.

  “Don’t hold back, Sweetness. I’m the one worshipping you. Feel it.” I go all out, licking her asshole, imagining myself entering her there, taking her completely. Making her mine. She is beauty, sex, love, and trust all at the same time.

  I must really want her to break down her walls this way. I must want her to see more of me as well.

  I’m tired of wondering why, and maybe it’s time I stop and just accept it. I want to spend more time with her. I want to fuck her every day that she’ll let me, and I want to eat this ass out until she screams. Because she loves it. Increasing the pressure on her clit, I rub her a different way until I hear her gasp, continue my tongue bath on her asshole, feeling it clench against me, feeling her legs tighten around my face, holding me in there, nearly keeping me from breathing, and then she’s coming again.

  Hard and loud she screams into the shower mist, curls of steam billowing around her like she created the heat herself. I can’t take it anymore and whip her around, making her sit on the stone bench, while I kneel between her legs. Cradling her face in both my hands, I gaze into her ey
es, as I enter her one more time, as she’s still coming. This is how I want to do it—watching her face and knowing that I satisfied her twice. That she needs me as much as I need her.

  Waves of energy spike through me. I groan out loud, pressing my forehead against hers. I come with her, into her, through her. She is mine, and we are one. I spill my seed into her cunt, claiming it, pleasing it, pleasing her. Penelope watches me, draws my face in, and kisses me deeply. She understands more than I’m telling her. She’s comforting me like I’m made of haunted dreams, and maybe I am.

  She shushes me, but I didn’t even know I needed quieting.

  All I know is that my chest heaves, and she can read my mind, what I’m feeling, thinking without saying a word. I’ve been through a lot in this life, and she seems to get it. How does she do it? It’s a long time before we move from the stone bench, where I collapse onto her body, cheek against breast, slender arms around me, fingers caressing my hair.

  I almost don’t hear it, but then she sits up tensely, listening. “The baby is up. I should go,” she says, reaches for a towel, then begins to leave. At the door to the shower room, she pauses. Looks at me with worried eyes.

  “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  But I won’t. Because I see myself in her expression. Yes, Sweetness, I understand how you feel right now. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to us either.

  Penelope

  Something has shifted. Not sure what it is.

  But Ethan has been out of his home office more, banging around the kitchen, walking around the house, and even venturing upstairs, which I now call Neverland since he banished us here. Ever since the episode in the gym and shower the other night, we’ve been gravitating towards each other, like two molecules hovering and swirling near each other, never quite connecting. Not a very scientifically accurate, but that’s how it feels.

  He’s not as super strict as before. Though I’m respectful of his rules by staying upstairs, he hasn’t barked at me, hasn’t come to check my door at night, but I know he wants to see me. It’s like he’s been trying to do it in a more…organic way.