Help Yourself (Billionaire Book Club 3)

by Nikky Kaye

  “A million hits on your last TED talk…” She trailed off as the waitress whisked our abandoned plates away. “Think of the children,” she joked.

  “Maybe they’d be better off with Doctor Seuss.”

  “Aw, come on! Think of your mother—she’d be so proud.”

  The toast sat like a dry lump in my stomach, and I reached for my water glass. I’d forgotten about the peanut butter smeared on my cuff until her hand darted out to touch me. The tip of her finger was cool against my wrist as she swiped it off.

  “You’ll ruin your shirt,” she said. My gaze followed her thumb as she casually took it in her mouth and licked off the peanut butter.

  Fuck.

  “What are you going to do to convince me?”

  She colored again. I didn’t remember her blushing like that in high school, but maybe she just had so much make-up caked on her that it was hard to notice. At the time I thought she was beautiful and glamorous, but now I couldn’t even visualize her.

  My memories of her were more sensory, like the taste of her lip balm and the way my teeth clinked against hers in an awkwardly enthusiastic kiss. The gleam of her skin above her strapless gown, in the yellow light streaming through my car windows. Her soft moan in my ear when I sucked on the pulse in her neck like a damn vampire.

  And, now I was hard. It was high school all over again, getting a chubby while sitting with the cheerleader who deigned to be my friend.

  Until she wasn’t.

  “What would it take to convince you?” she asked silkily.

  My eyes narrowed and I shifted in my seat. My high school self would have hidden my boner behind behind some books and done anything she asked. Now, I was wealthy and wise. Use or be used—that was my motto.

  “Marcus,” she sighed. “What would it take?”

  “To give the speech?”

  “That, too. I’d like—I’d like to be friends again.”

  Ah. She meant my forgiveness, as well.

  I leaned forward and motioned her closer. The noises of the diner faded around us as she tilted her head toward mine. Wispy blonde curls were escaping her ponytail, and I noticed flecks of hazel in her blue eyes. Her lips parted.

  “I want you,” I began. Pausing, I reached out to trace her lower lip. It quivered a little. Her eyes darkened. I thrilled at the realization that I still affected her as much as she did me. “I want you to go under the table, on your knees, and suck my big, rich, motivational cock.”

  Her head whipped back in shock. “What?”

  I sat back, my arms stretching out to rest on the back of the booth. If she came around to my side, she’d see the bulge in my slacks that I was taking no pains to hide. High school Marcus Blake had graduated, and she was a fool if she thought I’d fall at her feet just like that.

  Maybe she thought I was joking. Maybe she thought I was an asshole. Either way, her chest moved up and down with choppy breaths and her nipples still pressed against her shirt.

  I dropped my arms; reached for my wallet, in my uncomfortably tight slacks. She was still speechless as I pulled out some bills to cover breakfast plus a healthy tip.

  Then, I forced myself to unfold from the booth and stretch without shame or hesitation. My erection had gone down—slightly. I shoved my wallet back in my pocket, acutely aware of where her gaze had landed.

  I didn’t mind her knowing what she did to me. Hell, I wanted her to know. I wanted her to fucking ache with it. I imagined her going back to her old room in her old house and fingering herself on her teenage bed. It would serve her right.

  Suddenly, it hit me.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “But I want a do-over.”

  She tore her gaze away from my crotch, her cheeks red. “What?”

  “You. Me. Homecoming. In one week.”

  “As friends?”

  I tilted my head, considering it. There was an ugly, immature monster inside me, screaming, “Give her a taste of her own medicine!”

  “Friends,” I echoed. “Were we friends, really?”

  She looked like I’d just slapped her. I instantly regretted my words, but it was like I wasn’t in control of myself. I kept lashing out. It wasn’t like me. Serena Rossi had gotten deeper in my heart and head than any other woman I’d met. Clearly ten years hadn’t been enough time to debride the scar tissue around my ego.

  “You were my friend, Marcus. Whether you believe it or not.”

  At the time, I didn’t believe her. Now… I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to. I wanted to be the bigger person, here. But did I want to give her that power over me again—the power to reject me, to humiliate me?

  “I know I hurt you,” she said softly, “but I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry—so sorry. But I’m not a bad person.”

  “Then why do you need my forgiveness?”

  She stood up, shoving her arms into a chunky knit cardigan. Gave me a pitying look. “I don’t. It’s not for me, Marcus. It’s for you.”

  Chapter Four

  Serena

  The rest of the day, Marcus hovered on the edge of my thoughts. As I did laundry, as I went to the bank, as I went to the dollar store to get decorations for Homecoming, as I Googled him... The man had a Wikipedia page, for god’s sakes.

  It wasn’t until I was out at a movie with Michelle, that I realized my parents hadn’t crossed my mind all day. I even laughed at the movie—a silly romcom that made me feel lighter and lonelier at the same time.

  “So are you going to go with him?” Michelle asked me as we walked back to our cars.

  I shoved my hands into the pockets of my fleece jacket, noticing that it was definitely getting chillier at night. The moon hung low in the sky, its yellow light bouncing off the roof of my mom’s old SUV.

  She’d ambushed me before we even bought popcorn, wanting to know what the deal was with “Mrs. Blake’s asshole son.” I told her a little of the story, and now she’d gotten this idea in her head that we were some kind of second-chance Romeo and Juliet story.

  Yeah… that all turned out fine and dandy for them, didn’t it?

  My fingers pressed into the keys in my pocket. “Maybe.”

  “He’s pretty hot, for a giant prick. Wait! Does he have a giant prick?”

  Thankfully, she couldn’t see my blush in the gaps between the streetlights. “I’m not telling you that!”

  “You want to go, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “I owe him.”

  “Screw that. If you want to go, let it be because you want to go,” Michelle said. “Life’s too short for all that guilt.”

  She was right, but I wanted to make it up to him. I wanted to make a better memory, for both of us. However, I didn’t plan to start by blowing him under a restaurant table—although that might be how most prom dates began or ended these days.

  Marcus’s suggestion—proposition?—had shocked me. It was so direct, so carnal, so degrading. And it made my panties damp with sudden arousal. I’d discovered over breakfast that my body was still hypersensitive around him, my hormones like a homing beacon zeroing in on him.

  It all left me driving home in the dark in a confused funk. I couldn't change the past, but I still felt sorry for him. Wanted him. Hated him. He still mystified me, as Heathcliff did Cathy. Ten years hadn’t changed much in Marcus Blake, except making him even more intense. More dangerous to my equilibrium.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost tripped over him by my front door.

  “What the—?”

  He was perched on the top step, his head in his hands. His face was hidden, masked by shadows and his fingers, and a shock of blue-black hair fell over his forehead. He wore the same stark black shirt and pants from earlier, only now covered by a black leather jacket.

  “Marcus?”

  “She doesn’t remember me.” His voice was muffled, but the pain in it was as crisp and clear as the autumn night air.

  Oh. I squatted down, my jeans cold against my legs. “Not a good day today, huh?” His mothe
r’s good days were becoming fewer and fewer.

  “I thought… last night, she was…”

  “I know. She was.”

  He dropped his hands and stared at them, then scrubbed them over his face again, like he was washing them in the moonlight. His sigh was heavy and redolent with…

  “Have you been drinking?” I frowned, looking around for his fancy sports car.

  “No, I’ve been playing tennis.” He shot me a dirty look.

  I grew hot with rage. My parents had been killed by a drunk driver, and now he—

  “Don’t worry, Serena. I walked. All I’ve been doing for the last hour is walking. I honestly don’t know if I’m still drunk, or if I’m just tired—so fucking tired.” He hunched his shoulders over under his jacket.

  “Come on. I’ll get you some coffee or an Uber or something.”

  He let me pull him into the house, and I threw a couple of pods into my instant coffee maker despite the late hour.

  “Did you eat?” I asked him as I took off my jacket and shoes. I was still full of popcorn.

  He shrugged his coat off, letting the expensive leather drape over the back of the kitchen chair he’d fallen into. “Sort of.”

  I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ I pulled out an apple and some string cheese from the fridge and put them on the kitchen table before him. Then leaned against the counter, watching him.

  “Is this my after school snack?”

  His quiet joke reminded me of the times we’d studied together after school. In my room. With the door closed.

  Oh god.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart jumping with the memory of his lean body on top of mine.

  They say you never forget your first. It was so true. I just wished…

  “Are you in your old room?” he asked, his eyes flashing with shared memories.

  I simply nodded. He stood slowly, approached me silently. I held my breath, until he reached around me and tossed his garbage in the bin under the sink. Then I let it out in a long, shaky sigh.

  But Marcus didn’t move back. His hands went to the counter on either side of me, trapping me. He smelled like leather and soap and a little bit of whiskey. His face was shadowed with beard growth, and his silvery eyes focused on my lips.

  “Do you remember—?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lip.

  He glanced down, his mouth curving into a smile. “You wore jeans like this in high school. I remember the pockets.”

  A gasp escaped me as he dipped his hands into my front pockets, the backs of his fingers pressing against my pelvic bone. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his skin, and his breath on my face.

  “About that do-over…”

  “Yes?” Instinctively I tilted my head back, opening myself up to him. Wanting. Waiting.

  “It begins now.” His voice was rough, but his kiss was rougher. There was no shyness, no hesitation—none of the tentative touches I remember from our teenage days.

  Marcus Blake helped himself.

  And god help me, I melted in his arms. The rasp of his stubble on my skin as he made his way down my neck made me shiver. My arms went around him, pulling him closer.

  “Oh...”

  His hands went from my front pockets to my back pockets, squeezing my ass through the denim and tugging me away from the counter. I had nothing to brace myself against, except for him—and I wasn’t totally sure that he wouldn’t let me fall.

  “Do you remember this?” he demanded hotly against my jaw, my cheekbone, my ear.

  “No,” I panted. “It was never like this.”

  “It should have been.” He covered my mouth again, pulling me across the kitchen floor at the same time as reaching for the zipper on my jeans.

  This was insane. Was I really going to let him—

  “Ungh!” A high-pitched moan burst from my chest as he thrust his hand into my jeans and one long, hot finger into me.

  “You were always wet for me, weren’t you?” He leaned me back against his forearm, while his other hand cupped my pussy, the heel of his palm ground against my long-neglected clit.

  Marcus never spoke like that in high school. His kisses then were silent, all his hot words unspoken and echoing only in my imagination. It was… different, but I liked it. The sound of his voice and the urging of his hands held me over a precipice, where I felt as if I would fly and plummet in equal measure.

  “Oh my god.”

  My body was hot from arousal and embarrassment, and I closed my eyes against his wicked scrutiny. It had been so long since I’d been touched like thi—no.

  No, I’d never been touched like this.

  I reached out for him, my hands sliding over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was inside me, yet I felt like he was holding me at a distance.

  My eyes flew open as he began steering me into the living room and over to the stairs. I whined as he withdrew his hand from my panties, then swallowed hard as he licked my arousal off his fingers.

  Over my shoulder, he looked up the stairs. His jaw flexed. “No,” he decided firmly. “Too far.”

  He ripped open my blouse, filling his hands with my aching breasts. With his fingers he teased my nipples to hard points, then pinched them mercilessly until I gasped.

  My head spun, my body and brain rotating on the axis of my arousal until all my common sense flew to the edge with centrifugal force. My shaking hands pulled his shirt out of his waistband, and reached for the hot, hard length beneath his zipper.

  “Fuck, your hand,” he groaned. “Wrap your hand around me, please.”

  I found him.

  “Yes!” His hiss rang in my ears, filling me with feminine pride.

  Somehow we found ourselves on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, our limbs entwined. He leaned over me awkwardly to suck my lace-clad nipples into his greedy mouth. The silky steel of his erection filled my hand as I squeezed him, pumping up and down in a choppy rhythm. My jeans had been tugged down over my hips so he could plunge his fingers back into me.

  I wanted to scream. My arm ached from the awkward position, and my belly fluttered with the threat of my orgasm.

  “You’re going to come on my hand, Serena. You can’t help it, can you? You’re on fire, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I could see how he’d found success as a motivational speaker.

  “Marcus!” I began spasming.

  With a swift movement and an impatient grunt, he pulled his hand out and spread me open on the floor. My core throbbed with the climax that had just been yanked out of my reach.

  It was then that I saw the vestiges of adolescence in him, as he held himself over me and ground his pelvis into mine.

  It was an epic dry humping, worthy of any horny seventeen year-old. He drove against me once, twice… three times before I shattered.

  “Shit, Serena!” His body went rigid against mine. Through my panties, I felt more heat pooling between us as he shuddered.

  He burrowed his face into my neck. My fingers played with the ends of his hair, and I felt the brush of his eyelashes against my skin as he blinked.

  What had just happened? What now?

  “Well, um, that escalated quickly,” I said. A splinter of guilt and grief twisted in my chest as I remembered just where and when and how we lay there. “I guess this is what happens when my parents don’t come home.”

  Chapter Five

  Marcus

  I probably owed Serena another apology. Not just her, in fact. Hell, after my behavior at Serena’s house the night before, I felt compelled to apologize to myself.

  ‘I’m sorry, brain. I shouldn’t have fucked with you. You too, heart. And you, you loyal, handsome nine-inch dick—you shouldn’t have been dragged to the party. I blame my pride and ego for… well, everything.’

  I definitely owed Serena an apology for my speedy getaway.

  After I’d come in my pants like a fucking teenager, I’d rolled onto my back beside her. My mind
raced.

  What should I do now? What should I say?

  I stared at the ceiling, cognitive dissonance overwhelming me. I felt like a teenager in a man’s body—as opposed to the last time I was in this house, when I thought of myself as a man in a teenager’s body.

  It didn’t startle me when she wriggled close to me on the floor and snuggled her head into my arm. It did startle me that I liked it. We must have fallen asleep, because I suddenly became aware that our limbs were all tangled, like we’d fallen down the stairs together.

  My phone was ringing in my jacket pocket. With Serena’s bare chest rising and falling beside me, I was fully prepared to ignore it. Until it rang again. And again.

  Serena rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. Her tits swayed before me; above them, her neck and cheeks were pink and blotchy. A furrow appeared between her eyebrows.

  “It might be the home,” she pointed out.

  Shit. Mom had definitely seen better days. My frustration and despair after my visit earlier was what led me here to Serena in the first place. With a grimace I zipped my pants back up and went to retrieve my phone.

  A few minutes later I was getting into a nearby Uber, to hitch a ride back to my car. I hadn’t even given her an explanation—partly because I wasn’t exactly sure what to tell her, and what I did know infuriated and embarrassed me.

  Now I sat in my car in the middle of the night, with a crotch full of dried jizz, wanting to pound my head on the steering wheel.

  Waiting for Silas fucking Warner in Atlantic City.

  Fuck my life.

  My phone dinged. I looked at it, sighing, then thumbed in my location. I tilted my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

  Things with Serena had gone from mostly cordial to complicated in just a few hours. I didn’t regret it, but now I was more confused than ever, and afraid I was halfway to letting her break my heart again.