Baby Fever Virgin: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I can't stop fucking her now. My body moves like a machine, programmed to fuck and nothing else.

  I'm not exaggerating. I've just come my brains out, and I'm still hard for her.

  My orgasm only weakens when I start thrusting again, ready to see if I can bring her off a third time in the same half hour.

  I'll carry her onto my private jet if I have to. Spent, satisfied, and wearing a just fucked smile on her lips.

  We never get that far though. Several more furious strokes in, something gives way when she crashes down on me, engulfing my cock.

  There's a loud snap! Next thing I know, we're flat on the floor. The mattress bangs the designer rug underneath the bed like a bowling ball dropping on the Brazilian cherrywood.

  I'm still buried in her when she starts laughing. It takes me several seconds to shake off the surprise, and then I'm grinning like a fool, chuckling alongside her.

  “See that? When I told you we'd break this bed, I wasn't kidding.”

  “You're insane!” she says, scolding me with a finger tapping on the lightning bolts tattooed on my chest. “He's going to kill me when he sees this, you know. We'll both catch hell for it. This rug belonged to his rich parents. They gave it to us as a housewarming present.”

  “Fuck the Draytons,” I tell her. Honestly, truthfully, carelessly perhaps, I'm done holding anything back. “He deserves a lot worse for what he did to you. Whenever he gets home, he's going to find all your stuff gone, and every sheet left on this fucked up bed stained with us.”

  “You're really evil,” she says, but the smile on her face tells me there's no warmth left in her heart for the cheating bastard who nearly screwed her in all the worst ways. “Luckily, I kind of like it.”

  “Kind of?” I say, cupping her face in my hand, bringing it in for another kiss. “Kara-bou, you've got my whole heart, the dark and the light. Let me see everything in yours. We've got time before the jet takes off.”

  She smiles. “That's what? A couple more hours?”

  “Yeah, and I'm still hard.”

  I roll her over, planting her hands above her head as she bends over, taking her ass in both of my hands. I mount her from behind and take her pussy to heaven once again.

  She comes a few more times, and so do I, before we hit the shower together.

  When I come upstairs, bringing a thermos of coffee like she asked, she's in a robe. Her face is turned to the window, and she's sitting on the chaise next to the fallen mattress, the sheets still tangled and torn in a few places from our savage loving.

  “You ready?” I ask, handing her the coffee, about to head to the opposite corner where I dropped my clothes last night. “I told my assistant to get some movers out here tomorrow. Just need to drop the keys at the office when we're on our way to the airport, and they'll take care of everything. Should have your stuff in storage this time tomorrow, until we decide where it goes next.”

  “I can't go with you,” she says, folding her arms. “Not unless you're ready to tell me the truth about what happened. I need to know why you left, and why you killed a man, assuming that's what really happened.”

  My heart relaxes for half a second before it starts banging my ribs like mad. I'd been ready to give her the full truth the other night, before her brother interrupted us, but now I'm taken aback.

  “It's a long story,” I say, moving to the chair across from her, wondering where the hell I should begin. Not that there's ever a good starting point with something this twisted. “I can give you the abbreviated version. Plane leaves in less than an hour.”

  “I don't care what version you give me, as long as it's the truth. I need to know why, Ryan. Believe me, I want to go. I want to trust you. I want to rebuild what we had before. But we can't do any of that as long as it's hanging over us” She folds her hands, leans forward, and looks me in the eyes. “Please. Just tell me why you ran.”

  “Okay.” Now, I know what a man under an interrogation feels like, and the stakes are just as high here.

  What if the story I'm about to tell her frightens her to death?

  What if she won't go? Won't look at me after she knows?

  What if she can't forgive the blood on my hands, or the lies?

  “I'm waiting,” she insists, unclasping her hands. They come out, reaching for mine, and I look into her eyes.

  No, fuck, I can't lie to her again. I won't run away a second time when I'm one step away from having her back in my life.

  “You can't hate anyone who's already dead,” I say. “That's the only thing I want you remembering before I tell you the rest.”

  She blinks, confusion clouding her eyes. I don't say anything until she nods, agreeing to my terms. Then I launch into the cruelest night of my life, the one that fucked up everything.

  Five Years Ago

  You know about Nelson Drayton. How I buffed out the scratches on his car, made his baby just like new again, all while the dinosaur with the lifelong silver spoon in his mouth expected miracles without any time to work them.

  He asked me to clean up the interior after I'd finished the main job. I was happy to do it quick and clean, just to get him the hell out of there.

  I'm on my hands and knees, jabbing the vacuum in hard to reach places. There's a lot of ash everywhere, like the pig spills it all over his car, carelessly flinging ash from his cigars everywhere. If I miss a speck, I'm sure I'll catch hell, so I do several sweeps.

  There's something in the way underneath his driver's seat when I reach down. I have to turn off the vacuum and pull with both hands just to move it.

  It's a thick black leather folio, bloated with so much material stuffed inside it's barely held together by the metal clasp.

  If only I'd been more careful pulling it out, I'd have saved everyone so much grief.

  Didn't work that way. My hand catches against the steering wheel when I lift it up, banging the leather binder so hard it comes apart. A hundred papers go flying out.

  “Shit!” I swear, hit the ground, and begin reaching for the material strewn everywhere, escaping underneath his car.

  Halfway through gathering it up, I get a good look at what's on those pages. My brain freezes, realizing what I'm seeing.

  Maybe a third of the mess are ordinary papers, lists of names and numbers. The rest, the other two thirds...

  They're pictures. Violent, sadistic, unspeakable photographs burned forever in my head. And the poor women in them, the girls, they're all too young.

  I swear I recognize a couple faces from the orphanage. The place was tied to his charity, which he used to bring me to a foster home in Split Harbor. Apparently, I wasn't the only one he freed, but nobody's seen the girls since.

  Certainly not around town.

  While I left hell, got on my feet, and found a life here, they've been God knows where, serving this animal and the other brutes in his hideous photos.

  My first instinct is to vomit. The second is to race for the phone, call Bart, and ask for advice because I don't know what the hell to do.

  I can't just call the cops on a Drayton. Nelson has everyone in this town in his back pocket, and its his word against mine.

  These sick, gruesome pictures are the only evidence I have that this man – this fucking monster – isn't the paragon of respect and charity everyone believes him to be.

  There's no other explanation. It's him in the photographs, leering at the girls. A decent man wouldn't be caught dead with what I've got tucked under my shaking arm.

  I have to get out of here. Need to bring it to someone, anyone who knows what to do with it. There's got to be some way to get Nelson Drayton, bring him to trial, and lock this vampire away where he'll never hurt anyone again.

  I'm pacing, trying not to let the panic win. I can't freeze up, damn it.

  Absent-mindedly, I crinkle up one page with names and numbers – probably other criminals involved in bringing him fresh victims – and stuff it in my pocket.

  There's no time to spare
.

  I'm heading for the office, wracking my brain for options, when the asshole himself walks through the back door. He stops near the wall, stubbing his cigar out. He doesn't see me at first.

  Too bad I have to walk by him to get where I'm going. I try to make it, but he hears my footsteps, whips his head around, and stares at me like a wolf.

  “You done yet, kid?” he asks, taking a full second to notice the mess tucked under my arm. Then his old, evil eyes go wide. They darken, black holes full of fury, desperate to swallow me up. “Christ. That doesn't belong to you.”

  No shit. He's coming toward me, and he's pissed.

  I've been in bad places before in foster homes and orphanages, thrown in with unsavory characters from every corner of the Midwest. This is the first time my heart leaps in my throat, and beats so hard I freeze.

  He's almost got his hands on me when I start backing up. I hit the corner and I look around, shaking because there's nowhere else to run. Nelson stops in front of me, quietly seething.

  He's still trying to keep his composure. It's like watching a wild animal wearing a person's mask, the illusion hanging by a thread.

  “That isn't yours, boy. You took it from my car. Need you to give it back.” His voice is like ice. “Give it the fuck back to me. Now.”

  “No,” I tell him, standing up taller and straighter than I ever have in my life. Maybe if I can scare him, he'll back off, retreat, buy me some precious time. “You're not getting it again. I saw what's in here, Mr. Drayton...the girls...torture. You're seriously asking me to give it back, look the other way, pretend I never saw it?”

  “That's what I'm telling you to do, you stupid little shit.” Anger curls his lips into a wretched smile. He cocks his head, the blackness in his eyes deepening. “What do you think you're going to do with it, anyway? Run to the police? The FBI? I swear to God, I'll pay them whatever it takes to let me off the hook. I'll burn my treasures in front of their eyes. You've got a lot to learn about how this world works, kid, but let me give you a primer. I'm on top. You aren't. I can get away with shit that'll curdle your stomach. Don't make this a fight, or you'll find out what kind of damage money and a name can do.”

  I don't say anything. I look him in his wicked, beady eyes, clutching the leather folio tighter, my eyes scanning everything around us.

  There's Mickey's tall, messy toolbox, just a few feet away. All sorts of blunt objects laying out on top of it, right above the Playboy bunny sticker he's got slapped on the side.

  “I don't want to fight you,” I tell him. My voice crinkles in my throat, harsh and dry as autumn leaves. “But I can't give this up, Mr. Drayton. I won't.”

  “I'm not asking your permission, fuckwipe,” he growls, two vicious fists forming at his sides. “It seems you're confused. Let me help you out. You want to give me my property, go home, and pretend we never had this conversation. Only chance I'm going to give. Go ahead and stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I'll damned sure bite it off, boy. I'll burn you to the ground, and that'll just be the start.”

  He pauses, doing a slow turn, looking around the garage before he's facing me again. “I can, and I will, make everything go up in a puff of smoke. I'll close Bart's Auto. Ruin this place with liens and lawsuits so fast your stupid, righteous head will spin. Believe me, I'll make sure that you and everybody who ever worked here are done in this town, and their friends and families are done, and you're packed away in a state pen doing time for threatening an old man before your young life's gotten off the goddamned launch pad.”

  “No. No,” I say it again, instinct taking over, ready to fight and kill if I need to just to put this disgusting bastard away. “You don't scare me.”

  “No?” His feet are moving again, heading toward me, closing the narrow gap between us. “Then you're much stupider and selfish than you look. I'm not asking again. Give me my book!”

  He lunges. I have just enough time to whirl out away, race to Mickey's toolbox, and grab the first thing I see.

  Nelson charges me, hits me in the spine, and knocks me on the ground before I can turn around. His strength shocks me for a man his age, but the asshole's fighting for his life.

  He knows how fucked he is if I get this out. We both do.

  His weathered hands go around my throat and squeeze.

  There's no second guessing this. No time to find a legal, just way out that doesn't involve someone getting hurt. The look in his eyes tell me he's serious. He's going to kill me if I don't stop him in the next ten seconds.

  I hesitate for two more. Everything grows louder, like a violent, throbbing roar in my ears. It's my own blood, seething with adrenaline.

  My hand moves automatically, clenching the wrench. I put everything I've got into the swing, my one and only chance to take him out.

  There's a wet crack, like someone tossing a pumpkin on the street. The killing hands wrapped around my throat loosen, just as everything goes hazy and black.

  I think he's going down, falling on top of me, but I'm too weak to kick him off me.

  I pass out, the wrench falling out of my hand, overwhelmed with everything that's happened. Blackness drowns me.

  There's no telling how long I'm out. When I come back, the old demon's body is off me. In fact, he isn't anywhere to be found. There's no sign it ever happened, except for a rusty red stain drying on the ground next to me.

  Shit. Did he get away? I stagger to my feet, suddenly noticing the black folio, and all the hell tucked inside, are also gone.

  “You're lucky I didn't have to throw water in your face, son. That was going to be Plan B.” Bart's voice causes me to jump.

  I turn around and see him wiping his hands, cleaning them with some chemical that makes my nostrils pucker. He's watching me sadly, like I've done something irredeemable. It hits me that, Jesus, maybe I have.

  Did I kill him? Murder the old man?

  I have to explain everything before it's too late. I rush up to the man who's been like a father to me, grab him by the shirt, and stare into his eyes, hoping maybe they'll give me a shred of peace and sanity.

  “Where did he go? And the pictures, the wrench...? Please, tell me you didn't let him get away.”

  “He's finished, Ryan. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. I saw the photos. Then I saw the wrench with your fingerprints on it and the blood pouring out of the crease in his skull. I'm looking at the bruises on your neck right now, son. I know you had no choice.”

  “Is he...dead?”

  I honestly don't know what answer I want. Is it worse knowing I've killed a man, or that the sick fuck got away?

  Bart's expression turns stone cold. He nods. “Caught him trying to get up when I walked in. We're all very lucky on the timing. You hit him hard, enough to do some serious damage. Just not enough to put him away for good. You don't have to worry about him anymore. I finished what you started.”

  “Finished?” I realize I'm not looking at my boss or future father-in-law anymore.

  I'm staring at a man who used to be special forces more than twenty years ago. Cold blooded, efficient, and always accurate.

  Nelson is done. Thank God. That's all I need to know.

  I don't need the details, and he isn't offering them.

  “What about the folio, Bart? We've got to bring them to someone who knows what to do. I'll tell them how I got them, who was in those pictures with the girls. I don't give a damn if I'm testifying against the mafia. Dead or alive, people need to know. Maybe they can help his victims, if they're are still out there.”

  “You're in no condition to throw your life away, son. Frankly, neither am I.”

  His words make me blink. I don't understand. I'm shaking my head, slowly releasing his shirt, pacing back and forth over the blood stain on the floor.

  “What are you saying?”

  “You're leaving tonight, Ryan. I've done everything I know how to prep his body to be laid out just the way I want, to take the flak off both of us. But
I can't work miracles, son. They're going to think it was one of us who did him in, and if I turn over those pictures, it's going to be pinned on us.”

  I can't believe I'm hearing this. I'm not sure whether it's the defeat in his words, or the coolness in his voice that turns my stomach the most. “He's dead, man! Gone. There's no way he can come back and twist the truth. Why in the hell wouldn't we do the right thing?”

  “Because there's plenty more where he came from, Ryan. The Draytons are a powerful family. You don't just kill their head and expect them to take the fall. They'll stomp us like ants with their money and connections. I've lived in this town a lot longer than you, son. Long enough to know people like us don't win when we take them on through the system. We've done the right thing, the only thing we can, taking it onto ourselves and putting him away like this. That's the best case scenario, son. Unfortunately, with everything else, the damage is done.”

  My head's about to explode. Next time I turn around, stop moving, and plant my feet firmly on the ground, I point my finger. “I can't let it go! It's insanity. You saw what was in those pictures, right?”

  He nods.

  “Then you also know what a sick fucking pervert we're dealing with. I don't care how corrupt he is. We'll go to the Feds. There's got to be somebody who'll look at all this, bring it where it matters, and end them all if they're in on it, without costing us our livelihoods!”

  “There's nothing to show them, Ryan. I took the entire folio out behind the shed in the back, and burned it. I'll be vacuuming up the ashes later.”

  “You did...what?!” My ears are ringing.

  It's like the world is imploding on itself because I can't comprehend what's happening anymore. Burying my face in my hands, I back into the nearest wall, and start sliding down. It's impossible to stand with the only thing that might save our lives, gone to the seven winds.

  “I'm sad that you're going to hate me, son, but I'd rather save your life. Even if we got the evidence into the right hands, the Draytons would have you in the hardest, dirtiest prison they can find.” He grabs a mop, and sloshes another acrid chemical over the blood stain on the floor, calmly scrubbing it with a brush.