Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  “I finish whenever you want,” she said, the right side of her mouth twisting up.

  My finger was still resting on her breast, her warmth burning against my fingertips. I could only guess what the rest of her felt like. Tasted like…

  “I’m ready now,” I said before I could stop myself.

  The words didn’t even sound like my own. They sounded like they belonged to some sleazebag. The type of garbage who chats up twenty year old barmaids called Lolita. But still, my finger touched her breast.

  I reached out the rest of my hand and squeezed her. She giggled and cooed, placed her hand on the side of my face and stroked the roughness of my jaw. It had been so long since I had shaved and I was suddenly overcome with the realization of how scruffy I must have looked. Still, she knew who I was.

  How was that?

  “Mr Bosworth,” she said. “I don’t live far from here.”

  I hesitated. It wouldn’t be long until I had her to myself and what then? How long did I have until I straightened myself up and came to my senses?

  “How far?” I asked.

  “Two doors down,” she replied. “And it’s dark. No one will ever see.”

  She leaned over and before I could answer, she pressed her lips to mine and my mouth was an explosion of cherry wine, nicotine and total forbidden lust. I couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop myself from kissing her back. When her tongue brushed up against mine, I felt the ring box fall away from my hand. Inside my pants, my cock grew hard, so hard it pressed up against my zipper until it almost hurt.

  “Are you ready?” she said.

  I took a deep breath and picked up the ring box from the floor. She leaned over to see what it was but I thrust it into my pocket before she could catch sight of it.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  She kissed me again before shouting over my shoulder.

  “Hey, bro! The place is yours. Don’t fuck on the table!”

  The young boy didn’t notice her, his mouth was buried into the neck of his girlfriend, his hand placed between her legs. We walked past just as her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a grown. Down below, I grew even harder, and Lolita slipped her hand into mine.

  ~

  I didn’t realize how much I’d drank until I stepped outside and the cool air hit my face.

  “Woah,” I found myself saying as she pressed herself into my side. “You put something in those whiskies?”

  She said nothing and just pulled me toward a small yellow house at the end of the road. It was quaint like something from a postcard with roses in the front garden and long, winding ivy that spread up the walls.

  As she creaked open the gate, a ginger cat mewed and sauntered over, brushed up against my shin then sauntered off into the night.

  “You must be quiet,” said Lolita. “Mom will be asleep.”

  “You live with your parents?”

  “Just mom,” she said and pushed open the front door.

  I was hit by the smell of more roses and a home-cooked spicy dinner. There was the faint scent of cigar smoke in the air along with something else I couldn’t quite identify, something bitter and chemical.

  “Up here,” she said and pointed toward a winding staircase at the back of the kitchen.

  She stepped out of her shoes and gestured for me to do the same.

  “Quiet,” she repeated in a whisper.

  It was then that I saw the gentle flicker of a television screen against the terracotta walls. In front, on the leather sofa lay her mother, fast asleep with a bottle of liquor knocked over at her feet. For a second, I just watched her, stunned. She looked so much like her daughter but barely old enough to be her mother at all. She was beautiful too with flawless skin and tumbling raven black hair. Yet even with her eyes closed and her body motionless, I could sense a deep sadness within her. It permeated the whole house.

  “Psst… What are you waiting for?”

  I looked up to see Lolita at the top of the stairs. Following her up, she led me into her bedroom and clicked the door shut.

  Posters of boy bands lined the pink walls. Beside her single bed lay a cabinet with trinkets and ceramic ponies. On top lay a padlocked diary along with a wine glass full to the brim with stubbed out cigarettes.

  I shouldn’t be here, I thought. I need to leave right now.

  Before I could turn on my heel and reach for the door, she slid her hands around my waist and led me over to her bed. As I sat down, I felt the creak of the spring and the hardness of the lumpy mattress.

  “I… erm…”

  “What’s wrong, Mr Bosworth? You need to relax.”

  She began massaging my shoulders and I couldn’t stop myself blowing out a long, relieved exhale. It had been so long since I had been touched like that and it felt so good I could have cried. Her fingers were pure magic and she knew it. She moved slow and steadily, all the while whispering in my ear.

  “You’re such a handsome man, Mr Bosworth. So strong too.”

  She dug her fingertips in deeper and I let out a grown.

  “Shhh….” She hissed in my ear and her breath sent goose bumps down my neck. “Silencio.”

  I had a flashback to the old man at the side of the road and that one tooth of his.

  “Relax,” she whispered. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Her lips made their way to my neck then further down and down and she was winding her way around my body like a serpent, her breath, her kiss, her voice intoxicating me until I fell back onto the bed.

  Her deft fingers pulled apart my shirt. She dragged her sharp nails across my chest and I looked down to see red stripes form across my skin.

  “Shhh…”

  I bit down on my lip as she kissed my stomach and licked the sensitive skin of my hip. She cupped me gently, my hardness pressing into the palm of her hand.

  “Ooh, you like that,” she purred and pulled down my zipper.

  She took my cock in her hand and stroked it, softly at first then faster and faster until I could feel an unbearable heat burst through my abdomen as my legs began to shake.

  “Stop,” I demanded and pushed her hand away.

  “Too good?” she asked.

  “Yes. You’re too good at that,” I said and clenched my eyes shut.

  There was maybe still time to walk away and forget all about her, but as I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, I noticed shapes and patterns begin to form across the plasterwork. The walls seemed to be looming down on me, the pink, floral wallpaper swirling in front of my eyes.

  Then it dawned on me. It wasn’t just whisky she’d given me.

  I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Once again she was stroking my cock and then I felt as the tip became wet and hot. Looking down, I saw she was sucking on me. Her eyes met mine and I felt powerless to move.

  “Lol…lita….” I heard myself say, the word sounding as though it was coming from faraway. “Wh-what have you done to me?”

  All my senses felt as though they were being assaulted. The smell of her perfume was sickening, the sound of her mouth sucking on me almost deafening. Her nails on my thighs were so sharp it was like daggers were pressing me down into the bed. The light was so bright it blinded me, made me feel as though I was losing my mind as the wallpaper swirled and swirled.

  “Mr Bosworth…” I heard her say as she slipped off my pants.

  There was the clunk of my belt hitting the floor then something fell out of my pocket, something small that bounced along the floor. I looked over just in time to see the ring box tumble beneath the bed but as I reached for it, she laughed and pushed me back. I fell over, too dizzy to move.

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking it up and flipping it open.

  “Give it to me…” I struggled to say.

  Her eyes widened with excitement and before I could stop her, she’d yanked the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger.

  “Ooohhh…”

&n
bsp; “Don’t. That’s not for you.”

  She wasn’t listening. She was in her own world, holding her hand out in front of her as she watched the diamonds sparkle.

  I tried to sit up but felt paralyzed. Everything was dead, except for my cock which was still solid and throbbing. She lifted up her skirt and straddled me, the ring on her finger still shining as she lowered herself onto me.

  “You’re a rich man, Mr Bosworth. A smart man. You should know better than to follow naughty girls down a rabbit hole…”

  What the fuck is she saying? I thought. Why can’t I move?

  My arms were weighed down against the bed like lead, my legs numb and my head spinning. She rode me hard but I never felt a thing apart froman overwhelming nausea that was attacking my head.

  A lump formed in my throat as I realized what was happening.

  “Please…” I managed to say.

  At the corners of my eyes, my vision began to blur until the wallpaper was no longer pink but dark gray. Then it was black and so was everything else.

  The last thing I remembered as my eyes flickered shut was the sound of her reaching orgasm, those knife-like nails of hers stabbing into my chest as she shuddered.

  Chapter Three

  ETTA

  I stood in the kitchen staring at the clock. It was long past midnight but I wasn’t tired. Or rather my body was exhausted but my mind was still in overdrive. It had been for weeks, never allowing me a single moment of respite.

  “Where is he?” I asked myself, my voice hanging in the darkness.

  Upstairs, mom’s footsteps moved down the hall. She was probably thinking the same thing, no doubt wondering where our savior was.

  “Honey?” she called down the stairs. “Are you there?”

  I remained quiet, hoping that she wouldn’t come down and find me.

  “Honey?”

  I held my breath and wished she’d give up and go back to bed but I knew she was as restless as I was.

  “Etta I can see you. You’ve been staring at the clock for the last two hours.”

  The smell of her cigarette drifted down the stairs. I looked up to see her silhouette on the landing, illuminated by the bathroom light behind her.

  “Sorry…” I said.

  It was the only thing I could think of.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “Watching the clock won’t bring him home,” she said.

  “Of course not…”

  She walked down, her bathrobe pulled tight around her as she tossed her cigarette end in the sink and crossed her arms across her chest.

  “This place is driving me nuts,” she said. “How could somewhere so glamorous be so toxic?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” I said.

  We both sat down at the table and mom pulled her lighter out her bathrobe and lit a candle. It sat between us, clearing the air with the scent of jasmine.

  “We’ve not talked a lot since we came here,” she said.

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  I thought for a second and watched the small flame dance in mom’s eyes.

  “Because we’ve been living inside our own heads,” I said. “Or least I have.”

  “Can’t forget about…”

  “Me neither.”

  “But we’re here now.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  She pressed her hands on the table and I saw that they were shaking.

  “Etta?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly as she tried not to cry. “When can we go home to Normont?”

  The candle light flickered on her cheeks, casting shapes around her eyes where new lines had started to form.

  “We can’t,” I said.

  “Of course we can.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  She sniffed and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes before letting out a slow, exhausted breath.

  “How could it all change so quickly?” she asked. “It all started with that car crash, you know. The one that…”

  “Made me meet Lincoln,” I finished.

  She pulled her hands away to reveal her bloodshot eyes. I’d never seen her look so old but at the same time, I could see so much of myself in her. It was like confronting the future.

  “Why did you never tell me about what he was like,” said mom. “Craig I mean. You were with him so long. Since you were kids. Was he always so…”

  “No,” I said. “He was a loser but he was never violent. If that’s what you mean.”

  She nodded, not really taking in the information.

  “So he just snapped?” she asked, disbelievingly.

  I’d been thinking the same thing for so long. All the years we were together he was just so… normal. Then he seemed to go downhill so fast. He became a monster but I suppose that side to him was always lying dormant. He’d done those things before to someone much younger than me. He had always been violent. I just assumed that for the time we were together, he became a master at hiding it.

  “You never told me about Lincoln either,” said mom. “I had to read about it in the papers. Gave me the shock of my life it did. Seeing you on the cover of some celebrity rag beside one of the world’s most famous billionaires.”

  “We were at the same hospital,” I said. “I suppose it was fate that we’d eventually meet.”

  She stared off into the distance. The candle flickered more as a cold breeze drifted in from outside. Her eyes looked so dead, so miserable.

  “Are you happy?” she asked. “I mean, happy with him?”

  “Of course I am!”

  But I wasn’t sure. We were happy. I still thought he was the most incredible person I’d ever met, the most gorgeous, the most intelligent. He was strong and proud and powerful and completely irresistible. He’d saved my life more than once and turned my life upside down. He gave me everything I could ever dream of, gave me luxury beyond comprehension and we were bonded by deadly secrets that could never separate us.

  But things had changed. Now when he touched me it felt as though he didn’t mean it, he was just doing what was expected of him. When he kissed me there was no passion. When he told me loved me it was now just a habit.

  Then I thought about what he’d accused me of. Did he really think I wanted to be with Berger? It was crazy, just pure paranoia.

  “Are you really happy?” asked mom, being as perceptive as ever.

  “Yes. I love him more than anything.”

  “I didn’t ask you that.”

  She stared behind me again, looking out toward the front door as though if she stared long enough he’d come home.

  “Where did that scrumptious detective go?”

  “Berger? Back up north. Apparently, he’s in love.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “In love…” she spat. “Good luck to him.”

  Her hands trembled as she reached for another cigarette, her parched lips smacking together as her worn-in lipstick feathered around her mouth.

  “I thought you were in love too. Whatever happened to that boy toy of yours? I thought the two of you were sailing into the sunset.”

  She leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling fan. The candle cast shadows across her throat like dancing ghosts.

  “Bastards,” she said. “All men are bastards.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and I noticed a brand new patch of gray that lay at her temples. She was aging before my eyes and it was breaking my heart.

  “Caught him kissing some waitress when we were in Antigua.Kinda ruined the mood. Came home early and… Well, you know the rest.”

  “Jesus, mom. I’m so sorry.”

  She waved a hand dismissively.

  “Just water off a duck’s back to an old fart like me.”

  “Don’t talk like that. I can see you’re hurting.”

  “It’s not because of him. It’s because of you.”r />
  She lunged across the table and grabbed my hands.

  “I’m fucking terrified for you, Etta. You’re so lost, so distant. You’re damaged.”

  Mom never used to swear. Neither did I. Now the two of us were hardened beyond our years, swearing like fishwives and drinking like sailors.

  “Don’t call me damaged,” I said and pulled my hands away. “I’m doing just fine.”

  “You’re not! I can see you’re struggling. When was the last time you slept? The last time you ate?”

  I didn’t know the answer to either of those questions.

  “I’m doing just fine,” I said again and stood up.

  Looking up at the clock, I saw it was almost one. I listened out for the cranky noise of Lincoln’s old beat up car hoping I’d hear it winding up the long drive, but I heard nothing but the crickets outside.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  “Please, stay.”

  “Goodnight, mom. Try and get some sleep.”

  I left her down there, walking up to my room with a sense of pure dread in my chest. Something was wrong with Lincoln. I could feel it. We may have had our problems but he’d never stayed out all night.

  As I lay on top of the bed, the full moon outside hanging pearlescent in the balmy night, I wondered if wherever he was, he felt the pale light on his skin. Rolling over, I wished his arms were around me and pulled the covers around my shoulders, imagining it was his embrace.

  Chapter Four

  LINCOLN

  Intense nausea.A thumping migraine.The sensation that the bed beneath me was swaying like a ship in a storm.

  I gripped the sheets to steady myself and felt they were soaked with sweat. There was heat from the sun streaming in the window, sinking into my clothes, causing shades of red to light up the inside of my eyelids.

  Somehow, I could sense I was alone. There was no scent of her in the room, no sound of her breathing or moving on the rickety bed. I tried to open my eyes but they were so heavy. Overcome with the need to wretch, I rolled over and gripped my stomach. It cramped beneath my hand and the smell of food wafting up from downstairs only increased my nausea.