BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE: The Unforgettable Billionaires: The Complete Collection Boxed Set 1-12 (Young Adult Rich Alpha Male Billionaire Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)

by Violet Walker

  "What do you want?" he grunted, hoping engaging with her would end this faster.

  "That's no way to greet your lost love," Emilie asked.

  Luthias rolled over, turning his back to her. He didn't need this. His feelings for Emilie confused him; he longed for the simplicity of Elizabeth's presence, her sweet taste, and her tight slit. The fact that Elizabeth had come from Emilie exemplified fate's cruel sense of humor.

  "Luthias..."

  Her soft request was followed by a long moan, deep like pain, yet steady as pleasure. Curious, he looked back towards his hallucination. He was startled to see she was changed—though she wore the same nightgown, it was now distorted by her bulging belly, large and round and tensing at the hem of the transparent fabric, which was also struggling to contain breasts that, though large before, had ballooned to distracting proportions and squeezed together against the revealing neckline. She leaned back against the windowsill, one hand gripping the ledge, the other on her monstrous stomach. Emilie looked just as she had days before giving birth to Avery, overburdened with the weight of a partling baby.

  "My," she whispered, surprising him with her smile. "How did I fit in anything?"

  He had thought that a woman's pregnant body would disgust him, but when he had seen how Emilie grew with his son, he was fascinated. Especially at this stage, when her body had been stuffed to its limit with the yield of his seed, the sight of her was uncomfortably arousing. He tried to look away now, but he couldn't.

  Emilie smiled, slowly releasing the windowsill to stand on her own. She ran her hands curiously over her enormous mounds, cupping them, though she had to lift them from her distended stomach to do so.

  "I forgot about these..."

  As she slowly massaged her nipples with her thumbs, peaks rising beneath the thin nightgown, Luthias tensed as an unwilling erection fought against his briefs. She looked up at him with her unmotherly, wanting smile, as her hands slid down her back to support herself.

  "Do you mind if I sit down?"

  He could only shake his head, sitting up. He watched her approach, those impossible breasts trembling with each step. Slowly she lowered herself to the edge of the bed, parting her legs so she could straddle the very corner of the mattress. A hand spread over the largest part of her stomach, the other slid down between her thighs, as she leaned back to lift her belly and make room for her own touch. Her fingers slid between her folds, and she moaned again, legs spreading further.

  "Sorry, Luthias," she murmured, as though he weren't watching her every move. "I'm just so horny..."

  Luthias regretted the tightness of his undergarments, which bulged now beyond explanation. He decided to peel them off, tossing them away before he seated himself behind her, sliding one arm beneath her breasts—they spilled across it like a shelf, so warm, swollen with milk—as his other hand slid down to touch her wrist, the one that wormed gently right and left as she coaxed fluids from her nethers. His cock had nowhere to go, and so it pressed uncomfortably between her cheeks, just teased by the accumulation of wetness. She knew he was there, of course, and squeezed her ass just to make him squirm—even as she made herself moan.

  "Gods...there's just so much pressure...like I'm about to burst..."

  She leaned back against his bare chest, eyes closed as the moans rolled forth—“ah, ah..."

  He was throbbing. He finally took hold of her breasts, one in each hand despite how much flesh spilled around his fingers, too much to contain. He needed to fuck her. His cock was demanding it. He was about to order her to submit when she pulled her nightgown over her head, leaving her naked. Luthias could grasp bare skin then, pressing briefly against the elasticity of her belly as he kissed her shoulder. She reached back, tangling her fingers up into his hair as she rose up, pressed back against him, then lowered herself right onto his stiffness. She folded her legs under her body, knees digging into the mattress as she pressed down, insides still needing to spread further to accommodate him, though he knew his child's descent would require so much more room.

  "Fill me up more, Luthias," she groaned, her still-narrow pelvis rocking back against him, both hands now supporting the oversized watermelon of a womb that stretched out before her. "Cram another inch inside..."

  He tried to comply, hands on her hips as he helped his cock squeeze deeper, member pulsing, firm and long, prying apart folds that clutched him greedily, as though they hadn't already glutted her with his seed. She dripped all around him and he panted, until her toes dug into the bed and she screamed with delight, ass against his stomach as she nearly squatted to envelop him.

  "Gods it’s all been fucking worth it," she groaned, grabbing her sensitive tits. "This fucking parasite...f-fuck me..."

  Her orgasm came as milk trickled down from her engorged breasts—pushed to his own limit, his seed burst inside her so suddenly it hurt. His limp phallas slid free as he breathed deeply, allowing her to sit back properly against his chest. She let her legs hang over the side of the mattress, taking his arms and wrapping them as far around her body as they would go. The action felt...loving.

  "You promised to cherish him," she said, quieter. "This thing that came from me."

  "Avery," he whispered.

  "It wasn't easy," she said, tense. "Carrying him. Birthing him. I hoped he would know a better side of you than you showed me."

  "This is in the past," he said. "He's grown. He conducts himself well enough—why bring doubt to that?"

  "You and your bullshit..."

  She laced their fingers, squeezing his hand, then holding it loosely.

  "Treat hers better than you treated mine."

  With that, the apparition vanished. Luthias was alone at the edge of his bed, his hand coated in semen, which he begrudgingly wiped on his crumpled sheets. While he was grateful this never happened while Elizabeth shared his bed, the fact that this happened at all since finding Emilie's reincarnation didn't sit well with him. What did he have to do to satisfy his guilty conscience?

  He laid back, exhausted. He prayed for Elizabeth to recover soon.

  Chapter 1: With Child

  Elizabeth hid her condition from Luthias as well as she could, but within a few weeks, she was running out of options. The doctor had warned her that demon children were prone to growth spurts in the womb, which made the specifics of their development hazy. One such spurt came upon her very suddenly—one morning she had woken to find that, rather than the passable bloat she had gone to sleep with, her stomach now pushed out like she had swallowed a grapefruit. She managed to find a dress with an ill-defined waist, the skirt heavy enough to conceal the problem, but she didn't know how much longer she had before she woke up with a belly that nothing could explain away.

  Her options seemed limited. One, she could finally confess her pregnancy and tell Luthias it was his—which it very likely was—hoping to God that the baby who came out in seven-or-so months didn't have red hair. Two, she could tell him the truth, that this might be a Wolf's child, and then hope that he didn't look at her every day after that as though she were damaged goods—if he was even willing to keep her around. Three, she could avoid all of that by packing her things and heading straight back to Vegas, where she knew places that would pay her plenty for stripping while pregnant.

  Unfortunately, she had a habit of running from hard decisions. The afternoon she should have spent confronting her reality, she found herself standing on the shoreline a walk from the palace walls, gazing out over the restless sea. The waves frothed with foam that day, though it disintegrated before the tide could touch her feet. She wriggled her toes into the sand. A hermit crab scuttled past with a diagonal trajectory, as if to slyly avoid the oncoming wave. When the wave crashed into him regardless, knocking him halfway up the beach, Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh. For a moment, things were simpler.

  The wind tugged at her dress, blowing it back and wrapping the material tight around her middle. She looked down to see the impression her belly made, roundnes
s pressing out where it had never been before. As uncomfortable as the circumstances made her, she couldn't help a brimming fascination with the changes in her body. Thinking she was alone, she pressed her hands against the swell, exploring it as though it were something apart from her. The intrusion of Avery's voice struck her cold.

  "Father was asking after you."

  Elizabeth froze, as if that would somehow prevent Avery from seeing her. She could already feel his penetrating gaze on her body, particularly the incriminating way her hands cupped her swollen stomach. She knew she was caught. Though she quickly folded her arms over her chest, acknowledging the man who suddenly stood at her side, she could say nothing that would diffuse the tension that settled between them.

  Avery regarded her with that discomforting smile she had often seen from afar. He had a marked resemblance to his father, despite a surprisingly youthful face—but unlike Lord Luthias, whose stern face offered fleeting kindness that only Elizabeth could coax forth, Avery offered his smile casually and without sincerity. His was the grin of a politician.

  "Why the long face?" he asked. "It looks like congratulations are in order."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You don't think I'm that stupid, do you?" he asked, his tone too smooth for the bite of his remark. "Feigning ill, doctors clocking in and out, you insisting on sleeping in your own bed again? I'm surprised Father hasn't noticed your little bun in the oven—surely he'll be delighted."

  "I..."

  Elizabeth struggled to think. Although understood now that she was Emilie, in a sense—the soul of Lord Luthias' parted mate recycled to her—and yet though Avery was Emilie's son, Elizabeth felt no kinship between them. Avery's presence had always been a lurking discomfort, the way he watched her distinctly cold. She felt that she needed to somehow bridge the distance between them, but he was more stranger to her than anyone else in the castle. She knew he wasn't someone to confide in. Somehow, she knew he would tell his father anything to make him doubt her.

  "Please, you can't tell Luthias," she begged.

  "Ah," Avery said, a brow raised. "So you are hiding something."

  She stared out across the ocean, as though refusing to acknowledge his accusation would lessen its reality. She heard him sigh, like someone trying to determine what to do with a stray dog who had wandered into their yard.

  "Is it not his?"

  "I don't know," she said, arms folded tight around herself. "I wasn't in my right mind, and now everything's upside down..."

  The confession was spilt against her will, leaving her at his mercy. Avery's resulting smirk deepened her dread; his shrug seemed the worst thing anyone had ever done to her.

  "Fine," he said.

  "Fine?" She was horrified.

  "I'll keep your secret," he said, "with your word that you’ll pack your things and leave."

  He turned on his heel, as if to leave her then, but he was courteous enough to await her answer. Her stomach curled and she stared after him, half-hoping he was teasing. But there was no levity to that cool smile. He wanted her gone; there was nothing else to it.

  Though her options before had been scarce, they were now reduced to nothing. Elizabeth's arms fell to her sides with the weight of surrender, though her response ended up sounding lighthearted, mind still detached from reality.

  "I'll start packing."

  Elizabeth had always taken the least confrontational path, escaping her problems through one self-sabotage after another. Why change now?

  Avery nodded with approval.

  "That would be wise."

  Then, she was alone again. Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to focus only on the distant caw of seagulls and the lapping of the waves. Her hands pressed against her belly, as her fingertips shook. It wasn’t enough for life to keep thrusting her from one new world to the next, from sex work to the seat of the Canine monarchy, into a pack of wild Wolves, into motherhood—apparently life also had to ensure that the transition between each was as traumatic as possible.

  That went well, Emilie's voice laughed.

  Elizabeth choked back a sob.

  Chapter 2: At the Threshold

  Elizabeth returned to her room immediately, unable to even manage greetings to the servants who bowed to her as she passed. In hindsight, she knew she should have spoken to them, since word of her behavior no doubt spread from them to the rest of the castle. Elizabeth had no official title, but she was still the Canine Lord's lover, making her one of the few people in the palace others paid attention to. When Kieran burst into her room, catching her in the act of stuffing modern clothes into a battered suitcase, Elizabeth couldn't speak fast enough to save herself.

  "Elizabeth," Kieran said, a mix of surprise and fury crinkling his brow, "The hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm not a prisoner,” Elizabeth managed. "I can leave when I want to, can't I?"

  "Yeah, shit, but..."

  Kieran fumbled for words. She noticed that his thick white hair was caught under the collar of his coat, which meant he had dressed and rushed over for the sole purpose of checking on her. Her heart broke to see the disappointment on his face, a bit of a fang revealed as he bit back his lip, cursing. Even so, she closed her suitcase with haste—if Kieran was worried, it was only a matter of time before his brother came knocking.

  "I just need to go back home for a while,” she said. "Clear my head, after what happened with the Wolves. It's all been a bit much..."

  "Home? You were a fucking sex worker in Vegas," Kieran snapped. "This is your home, Elizabeth. If you want to travel, let me take you out, or let the asshole fly you back to the States for a weekend. You can't just...leave..."

  "I'm not Emilie," she said, perhaps too harshly. "You don't need to dote on me like you're my father."

  Kieran cringed.

  "You know it's not like that."

  "Then let me go."

  He lingered for a long moment, swaying wordlessly like she had broken him. But then he would step aside, turning his face from her. Elizabeth picked up her suitcase. Despite her welling grief, she would push past him into the hall.

  Her freedom was short-lived. No sooner had she turned the corner than her escape was stopped, her path blocked by the man she had hoped desperately not to see. Today he wore a high-collared shirt, four of the buttons undone to hint at the firmness of his shoulders and chest, trousers tailored for his long legs, boots that gleamed with a fresh polish—no doubt courtesy of one of his many loyal servants—and a long overcoat black Elizabeth knew only he could wear with such dignity. Piercing gold eyes regarded her and her suitcase with chilling displeasure, rage cooled and condensed like volcanic rock.

  "You're to unpack your bag and report to my study."

  She didn’t protest. Elizabeth turned and retreated without a word; only when she was at her door again did she hear his footsteps fading back down the hall.

  Kieran was still in her room, sitting on her bed with his head in his hands. When she entered, he stood abruptly.

  "You're not leaving?" he asked.

  Seeing the look on her face, however, he sighed.

  "Luthias?"

  She nodded. He smiled dully, gesturing her over.

  "I'll help you unpack."

  It took all her courage to visit Lord Luthias' study. She could hardly leave now, since doing so would be violating a direct request, which would lead to the very confrontation she had been trying to avoid. Besides, he had done so much to see that she was cared for that it felt wrong to leave without saying anything. And so, she stood outside the double doors in the east wing of the palace, frozen in place.

  You adorable coward, said the voice. Lived on raw meat and crickets with a pack of Wolves, but God forbid you need to look a man in the eye and tell him the truth.

  She held her head, paused by a few deep breaths. Sometimes that helped. When she was sure no foreign thoughts would disturb her, she pushed open the doors.

  Elizabeth had seen
Luthias' study only rarely, as most of their rendezvous happened in the bedroom or the gardens. Like his bedroom, decorations were sparse but tasteful: an unadorned fireplace burned steadily behind a wire screen, warming two chairs cozy enough for reading, though they were dusty from neglect. His desk was against the wall, its surface covered with documents and pens, an old-fashioned quill resting in an ink well along the far side.

  Luthias himself was by the window. He was still, observing the city of Canine Demons that stretched out below them, where Elizabeth had yet to venture. He must have heard her arrive, yet greeted her with silence.

  "...I'm here," she said.

  His eyes flickered towards her, lingered, then returned to the view.

  "The doors," he said.

  Swallowing hesitation, she would close herself in with him.

  "Has my hospitality not been enough for you?" he asked, with a tone that made her shudder. "You believe it courteous to walk out after sharing my home, my wealth, and my bed? After I tore apart a pack of demons to ensure your safety?"

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  At last, he faced her, revealing a wildness of emotion that she knew he resented. His jaw was tight, stare harsh beneath a creased brow, clawed nails of his right hand digging into his leg.

  "Explain yourself."

  Overcome, she pressed back against the doors, unable to think.

  "I just...needed to go."

  Her sudden movement must have captured his interest. She grew pale when his attention fell from her face to her middle, where her growing bulge was no longer entirely concealed by the looseness of her gown. Perhaps she might have claimed weight gain had the last few weeks not been spent in such secrecy, her constant nausea not been well-known, and her purposeful forging of corsets that castle custom demanded not already raised a red flag. He knew, then; she knew that he knew.