Billion Dollar Love

by Sam Crescent

  “I missed you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I…” She falters and tugs a lock of her long, dark hair. “I’m trying to figure out how to apologize. I’ve had nine years, and I haven’t come up with a good method yet.”

  My guts clench, and I look away from her, to the abandoned church. I’ve been wanting this for so damn long.

  “You broke my heart.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “Fear.” Her delicate fingers brush my wrist, leaving a spark of warmth. “Money. You were going into a world I couldn’t ever fit into. Your Grandpa Hargrave made that clear. And you were going to West Point. You’d meet all those fancy debutantes, and I’d be stupid in comparison.” It always comes back to money. “It was just easier to take—”

  “I loved you,” I interrupt. Harper freezes, blinks, shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. Can it possibly be a surprise? She’d been everything to me.

  “I loved you, too. But I wanted to remember loving you, not learning to hate you. I thought if—”

  “Do you? Remember?”

  “Of course. Don’t be stupid. Everyone remembers their first love.”

  And their only. I keep my mouth shut on that reply. “So who was your second?”

  “Cade Martin. I met him at college. He broke up with me while I was recovering. I wrote it off as karma once I finished crying. It made sense, considering…”

  “He’s a fucking douche. You deserve better.” That makes her laugh, but I put a finger on her lips. “Seriously. I was his age, or younger, right? And I can tell you right now, I knew you were worth walking through fire for. If he didn’t, then he wasn’t worth your tears.”

  “Are you hitting on me, Jax?”

  “No. I wish I was.” My eyes linger on her lips, sweep lower to where her tank top shows her cleavage, and then I meet her gaze. “I thought about hitting on you all night. Maybe making a few propositions.”

  “What stopped you?” An excellent question.

  “You aren’t a fuck-toy, Harper.” I might wish otherwise, but she doesn’t fit in the same column as Serena or the other women I knew dated me for my cash. And what if she is just like them? My cynicism wonders as I watch her luminous eyes in the starlight. “I couldn’t pick you up and put you down two days from now.”

  “I might be crazy now, you consider that? What if you wake up tomorrow, and I’m talking to doll heads in the closet?”

  I grin. “If you were crazy, Margie wouldn’t have you working at the bar.”

  “So the playboy prince is afraid he’d be emotionally invested and get burned. Again. Because it happened once ten years ago.”

  That wipes the amusement out of my expression.

  “Harper…” My voice catches. I put my hand over hers on the ground. “I didn’t get a second love, sweetheart.”

  “You got married!” she harrumphs, and I chuckle.

  “Look how that worked out.” I draw a breath. Exhale. “And that’s fucking insane.”

  “Or romantic.”

  “You’re not charmed. You’re freaking out that I brought you out here to go psycho at you.”

  “The thought did occur.” Her fingers thread through mine, and she sits up. “But you’re a professional player these days. You’re pranking me to get back at the girl who bruised your ego, right?”

  “Yeah. Right.” I force a smile. “You got me.” What the fuck am I supposed to do? An hour with her, my useless heart is ten years back in time, ready to latch onto her and never let go. I should be screwing with her head for revenge. She’s right. Isn’t she?

  Maybe if I fuck her, I’ll get it out of my system?

  Or work the infection deeper.

  The smart course is getting up and running the hell out of here. Drop her at the bar, fly to LA in the morning, and fuck Serena senseless as an apology. Marry the broad, burn my old yearbooks, and swear off every memory still simmering in my head. Doesn’t have to be Serena. Any half-tolerable female would work. Empty sex and lots of it. That’s the prescription.

  “You really that mad at me, Jax?” She touches my cheek, and my eyes meet hers in the moonlight. Harper’s high cheekbones, full lips, pale skin look fey and otherworldly, but her touch is hesitant, her voice whispery-soft. Vulnerable. The combination is my kryptonite.

  “If I kiss you, I don’t think I can stop.”

  “So don’t.” She leans in, and her lips find mine. I grab her shoulders, meaning to shove her away, but dragging her onto me instead. She tumbles forward, across my chest, and I roll while our tongues touch. I’m on top of her in an instant, my hand tangling in her hair, holding her still while I take control of the kiss. Her lips are fuller, her eyes darker when I finally pull away.

  “Harper, tell me to stop.” My hand’s on her full breast, squeezing the soft flesh to judge her responses. Harper rewards my exploration with a desperate, pleased sound. I tweak her nipple, even as my leg slides between hers.

  “You have a condom with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You clean, Jax?” Her fingers are at my belt, dragging it loose.

  “Yeah.”

  “You seeing anyone?”

  “No.” I’m fucking glad I gave Serena that reminder today. “You?”

  “Nope. I’ve been dreaming about this since you left, so it’s gonna have to be you that calls this off.”

  I may have growled. Some rough, instinctual sound comes out of me, and I stop her talking with kisses. Her tank top comes up, enough I could shove her bra down and free her tits, lick and suck and nip while I work her shorts off, and then I keep on. “These got bigger,” I tell her. “Hotter. Those hips too…”

  “You don’t prefer models?”

  I flex my hand on her right hip then draw back and leave a sharp slap on her backside. Harper squeals and wriggles, and my cock throbs. I can’t wait ‘til she’s doing that with me inside her. “I like women who make those sounds when I spank them.”

  “No marks,” she cautions.

  “What about sore nipples and pussy?” I work one finger along her wet slit.

  “That’s encouraged.”

  “If I’m rough tonight, I’ll lick you ‘til you can’t walk tomorrow.” I end the offer by circling her clit. “Remember the time I came in my shorts while I was tonguing you? I’ll be that thorough.”

  She whimpers and bucks her hips up for me. So I keep circling, pressing, rubbing harder then lighter, finding each pressure that makes her twitch and gasp.

  “W-who says … you’ll get a tomorrow?”

  “You will.” One finger slides into her tight pussy, and my thumb keeps teasing her. “You want more now?”

  At her weak nod, I add a second, then a third. I busy my mouth with her nipples, then her throat when she starts tightening. Moaning. She comes in a rush, and I don’t stop. One orgasm becomes two. Then I add my tongue and use one hand to pin her hips in place, leaving her to writhe and sob my name to the empty sky.

  I don’t free my aching cock and roll the condom on until she’s already panting and soaked to the thighs. Her pussy’s stretched enough to take me, and once I’m inside her with my first hard thrust, I can’t think of much but taking her. Hard. Making her feel every missed heartbeat in the last nine years. I pound her hips with mine, pull her legs up and find the limits of her pulsing heat while I keep one hand busy on her clit. She’s wailing pleas for more and screaming my name as another two climaxes drive her mad. I keep fucking her, using my full length, glad for the condom because I can’t stop. Don’t slow. She screams when I come, and I shout her name, shuddering with the force of it. Drained, elated, I fall to one side, only to find the problem when I reach down— the condom’s off.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” She groans, reaching for my hand. “That bad?”

  “No, baby. That good. But I think you, uh, pulled the condom off… You clenched pretty goddamn hard that last time.”

  “And you did
n’t notice?” She sits up, adrenaline replacing serotonin. Her hair’s a mess, and I reach out to smooth down the back.

  “Shh, chill out. I’ll grab you a Plan B in the morning.”

  “I…” Harper fumbles with her shirt, stares at me. “I need you to promise that. I c-can’t… I can’t afford any surprises right now. Mom’s meds are so expensive, and I—”

  “Baby, breathe.” Her shoulders shiver under my grip and I pull her into a hug. “I got you. Besides, you get knocked up with a billionaire’s kid, you get one hell of a—”

  “Shut. Up.” She pushes away. “That’s not funny, Jax. You don’t get to equate me to some gold-digger for laughs.”

  “That’s why I can make the joke, babe. You aren’t one of them. You never would be.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Truth is, with chemistry like ours, I don’t know right this second if I’d care if she did use it to her advantage. I stroke her shoulder, and steal her bra from her hands. She grabs for it, I pull back, and we end up rolling around on the blanket. “Come back to the house, Harper. I’ll take you to the store when it opens.”

  “And then?” Her voice quavers ever so slightly. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “I find a reason you should hang out with me tomorrow night.” I grip her thigh, run my fingers over the sticky mess and cup her pussy. “Just thinking about coming inside you all weekend is getting me hard again, Harper. That felt so goddamn good, didn’t it? I haven’t felt that rush in so long…”

  “You say that to every chick you hit bareback.”

  “No.” I sit up this time, and reach for my shirt. Her tank top has a strap missing so I hand my button-down to her, even though it’s covered in grass stains. “Bareback feels good, but that… Does it feel like that for you, sweetheart? Was this all just the same as every other time, every other guy?”

  She takes the shirt, staring at it. “It should. It’s not like I’ve had a ton of shit partners. But…”

  “Get the shirt on. Leave the bra off, or I’ll have to replace that too in the morning.” Getting my pants fastened and my jacket on is easy enough, but I have to help her with the buttons, and that just ends up with me distracted and teasing her breasts, then fingering her. Harper squirms and whimpers, and creams her already ruined panties.

  “You can’t really want to do it again tonight.”

  “Gorgeous, sweet baby girl, if you can walk tomorrow, I’ll be amazed. That’s how bad I want you.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and her smile is so slow and soft I have to kiss her.

  Harper

  I wake up to bright sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains my mother would never own. The heavy duvet and extra high thread count sheets aren’t familiar either, but the ache between my legs and the soreness in my thighs definitely sparks some recollection.

  I forgot how big Jax is. And I had no idea how much he was into female climaxes. Sure, he’d been good at getting me off in high school—his diligence about that set a high bar for my expectations with partners since—but I was pretty sure I’d pulled a vaginal muscle by the end of it. Sitting up, I look around for him, there’s no sign whatsoever aside from his discarded pants on a chair by the empty walk-in closet. He’d dragged me into his old room, but Alma must have remodeled it since I was here last. I’d forgotten what it was like to live in a house that got updated. My hand lingers on the ridiculous sheets, and I swallow hard.

  “Jackson?” I call softly, warily. No answer. I get up, moving slowly, but my shorts are back on and my bra fastened before the door cracks open. Only then do I realize the straps on my tank top are ripped. There’s a dresser in the room, but I can’t tell if this is still his or just a spare. Reasoning I can apologize later, I open up the middle drawer and paw through the contents—whoever unpacked for him had included a massive array of white t-shirts, so I take one and shrug it on. My burgundy bra shows through, but I have my jacket from last night and that’ll get me decent enough to get back to the bar and grab my car.

  “Finally woke up?” Jax asks as he pushes the door open. Daylight does him all kinds of favors, and I reach up to finger-comb my hair in a fit of sudden anxiety. Jax is a sculptor’s dream—he could have come straight from a Hollywood casting call. I’m a kinda pudgy, frizzy-haired bartender in an oversized t-shirt and last night’s eyeliner. All those workouts I never have time for anymore look at me from the back of my mind and scream “told you so” until I turn away from him. Why should my thighs be so upsetting this morning when he spent all night between them? It’s not like he didn’t notice my body when he was fucking me in ten different positions. But my mixed-up brain doesn’t care about logic. That was then; this is now, and now we are going to freak out. I clutch my jacket to my stomach like it will hide something and try to remember what he just said.

  “Someone exhausted me after work last night. And didn’t wake me up.”

  “You needed the rest. I was worried I might have broken you.”

  I’m suddenly very aware of my nipples and the heat building in my blood. I can almost feel his hands on me, playing with me. His lips. I bite my cheek and sit down on the bed to yank on my sandals. “Yeah. That was, uh, intense. Thanks. I guess I … needed a break in more ways than one.”

  “Harper.” He says my name so softly as he crosses the hardwood floor. I don’t know if I dare to look at him. “I promised to take you to the store.”

  “I remember. We can run out there, then you can drop me back by my car?”

  Jax settles on the bed beside me and puts a hand on my leg, then catches my shaky hand as I’m fumbling with the ankle strap. Stupid leather. Stupid sandals. Stupid emotions.

  “What are you up to today?”

  “W-what do you mean?” My eyes meet his, and I freeze. He’s not a soft person, and the military didn’t help. Jax is all iron jawline and growling voice. His artfully shaggy hair and the perfect fit of his half-buttoned shirt look urbane, but the scars on his knuckles tell a different tale. And all that intensity is focused on me.

  “I mean I want to … spend some time with you.”

  “Well, my vagina is closed for the day, so…” I push my hair over my shoulder, putting a curtain of it between me and his odd gaze while I finish fastening my sandal.

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Gee, thanks for the enthusiastic review.”

  “Fucking hell, Harper!” He got to his feet, stomping around the edge of the bed, then coming back. “Last night … that was … amazing. I want you. Like teenage hormones turn back on. Too much. I thought last night might exorcise the ghost. But this morning I woke up with you, and it felt…” He stops, staring at me. His gaze weighs on me even before I look at his face. His lips are twisted on one side. Pain? Humor? Both?

  “I was asleep at the time so if you’re looking for a vocabulary boost, I can’t help.” I stand up and grab my coat off a chair.

  “You’re fucking exhausting, Harper.”

  “Yet you’re awake. Let’s just go get stuff done.”

  Jax

  She wants to fucking ghost me again, I can see it. Even now. The only woman who doesn’t give a damn about my money doesn’t give a damn about me either. Harper brushes past me and out of the bedroom without looking back. I follow her down the front stairs.

  “At least get something to eat before we head out,” I suggest. To my shock she stops and looks at me over her shoulder. I stop, too, and wait.

  “I guess… Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Instead of hostility, I just read confusion. Wariness. I back off a step to give her space. Maybe she’s not used to morning after routines. Carl said he hadn’t seen her with anyone.

  She doesn’t need me to guide her—she remembers the layout of the house, so I shadow her footsteps and make my plans. I don’t want her to go home. I haven’t got the time to coax her back out again.

  In the massive kitchen, she accepts coffee and a protein bar. I watch her graceful fingers curve around the cup handle, the line of h
er arm as she raises it to her lips. Harper has this fluid quality to her movements—I forgot how much I liked just watching her. Not just in bed, or because my dick said to. I just … admired her. I used to watch her put on her makeup. I hadn’t thought of that in ages, but I recall it now. The tilt of her head to check her blending, the dark lashes against her cheek when she applied shadow. I never really cared what she put on, clothes or makeup. I’d even cuddled her after she spent an hour throwing up cherry vodka.

  “I need to comb my hair.”

  I used to do that for her, too, sometimes. But that’s a level of intimacy we lost a long time ago. I can process fucking her senseless, grabbing extra contraceptives, but not playing with her hair or helping her get dressed.

  My psychiatrist was right. I’m screwed up.

  “Will this work?” I grab a spare comb from the small powder room off the kitchen and hand it over.

  “Thanks.”

  I start making pancakes just to avoid the sight of her hair coming untangled, the way her clever fingers work through the strands. The way mine flex and ache to follow her lead, sweep through all that dark silk…

  “Isn’t it late for breakfast?”

  “You just got up. That’s time for pancakes.” I pause. “Unless you’re gluten free or—”

  “No. I try not to hit extra carbs, but … today’s a cheat day.” Her smile is sweet. Charming. All I can think of is the way she screamed my name the last time she came. I’d had her hair in my hand, keeping her head pulled back. She loves that. Revels in being a little submissive.

  “Good because my repertoire stops sharp at bacon and pancakes.” I might have told her she doesn’t need to worry about diets, but I keep my silence on that. I want her to feel as hot as she is. Granted, one night in and I’ve got one hell of a preference for her ass like it is. And her breasts. Okay, her thighs, too. Shit, I have got to get my head out of her panties or I’ll mess this up.