Avalon: A Secret Billionaire Romance

by Skye Darrel

“No.” She gets wetter as I rub her clit with the pad of my thumb. “I never needed anyone.” But I do now. “Has a man touched you before?” I can’t fucking believe what I’m saying, what I’m doing to her, and I know it’s wrong, but what control I had over my twisted urges has all but gone. I want her like a dying man wants one more second of life. My hard cock leaks and throbs, and I feel like I’ll burst. “Answer me, Cheryl. Have you been with anyone before?”

  “I’ve never had sex,” she says in a tiny voice.

  “I didn’t ask if you ever had sex. I asked if anyone’s touched you before.” I can’t keep the jealousy out of my voice. Insane rage gnaws through my guts at the thought of another man laying a hand on her.

  “None of your business,” Cheryl snaps. She regains some composure. She pushes against my chest but licks her lips at the same time. The girl doesn't know how she tempts me.

  Her pussy juice coats my palm, and the hot knot of her clit pulses under my touch. I’ve had enough waiting. I scoop Cheryl up in my arms. She yelps and squirms, but I hold her firmly. She feels so small and soft against my body.

  I carry her to the bedroom cramped with moving boxes. Nothing else here but that shabby mattress. I lay her down and yank her panties off. I pry her thighs apart and plunge my tongue into her pussy, tasting her virgin membrane. Cheryl shudders, her legs shaking, while I lick up her nectar and lash my tongue against her hard clit. I get my hands under her ass and squeeze her plump cheeks.

  Cheryl starts to convulse, her hands balled under her chin.

  I move up, wedging my hips between her thighs, and I rub the underside my cock against her silky cunt, the feel of her soaked lips making me groan. I’m running on instinct. What I’m doing is beyond wrong, but I can’t stop. I have to possess her. I should plunge my cock into her pussy now, claim her now.

  Soon. After she’s nice and ready and flowing like a river. After I work my edge off so I can take my time taking her cherry.

  I grind the length of my cock against her pussy until my balls draw up and an arc of cum shoots out of me to splatter her belly. Panting for breath, I smear my seed into her burning skin. Then I curl my cum-coated fingers back into her pussy, rubbing around her velvet hot channel, and I flick her hard clit with my thumb. Cheryl arches as her walls ripple around my fingers. She cries out, bucking her hips, shaking from orgasm.

  Next time, I’ll make her cum first.

  Next time, I’ll control myself.

  Cheryl slumps back and holds her forehead, staring at the ceiling. She looks in shock. I climb to her chest and yank up her shirt. I get one tit in each hand and suckle her nipples, letting her taste mark my tongue as I mark her with my teeth.

  “Stop that,” she moans, but she grabs my hair and pulls me against her body. Her breaths are ragged and she won’t let go.

  Leaving her breasts, I kiss my way to her chin and twist my fingers through her hair. “Hush.”

  “You need to leave,” she says.

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “I’ll file a complaint.”

  I smile because she doesn’t say she’ll call the cops. “A complaint with whom?”

  She’s flustered and flushed all over. “The Better Business Bureau.”

  “I’ll spank you for that.”

  She gasps. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I imagine her over my lap, her round ass bent out and jiggling to my palm. My cock hardens again. I kiss her throat one more time before I roll away. The sight of her pussy has my mouth watering. I want to taste her, but Cheryl brings her thighs together and shakes her head.

  “No,” she says firmly.

  “No?”

  Her face is bright red. “I mean, not yet.” She’s shy and fucking adorable.

  We lie in bed side by side, Cheryl’s words the only thing stopping me from rolling on top and thrusting into her. My hungry cock, still leaking cum, stands hard between my legs, and my heart pounds like a hammer. Seconds pass like minutes and minutes like hours. My balls are boiling.

  “Can you just hold me?” she whispers.

  I slip an arm around her shoulder and I could hold her forever. My dick wants other things. When I can’t stand it any longer, I guide her small hand to my erection. Cheryl’s innocent, but she knows what I want. She grips my cock and whimpers, realizing she can't close her fingers completely.

  Her breathing is heavy as she strokes me. “You’re out of control, Sawyer.”

  “You make me this way.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes,” I growl, my dick so hard it’s painful.

  She jerks me faster, and my hand tightens around her shoulder. I bite down my pleasure, wanting to make this moment last, but the sight of her face bent in concentration as her hand moves up and down my shaft is too much. My body bolts rigid as fresh cum spurts out of my cock, and my balls squeeze achingly as they empty. Cheryl gasps and snatches her hand away.

  “You ruined my sheets,” she says.

  “I’ll get you new ones.”

  My eyes drift around her small bedroom. A single lamp standing on the carpet throws out a dim, sallow light. Cardboard boxes have been stacked along the walls. Her closet is open and empty. There’s no other furniture.

  Then I spot a white plush toy sitting on one of the boxes. It’s a stuffed cat. My blood freezes, and I sit up as painful memories flood back. “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “The cat.”

  Cheryl pulls a sheet around her chest. “What cat?”

  I walk to the box and kneel beside the plushie. The toy looks exactly like the one Stacey had. “This thing. Where’d you get it?”

  “I’ve always had Pixie.”

  “Pixie?”

  Cheryl stares at me with a puzzled look. “I named her Pixie when I was little. I mean, really little.”

  My eyes burn. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry about what? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I walk back to the mattress and kiss her forehead and pull my pants up. “Good night, Cheryl.”

  Before she can reply, I leave her apartment.

  Chapter Three

  CHERYL

  I wake up in a daze. Last night feels like a dream, but his cum caked to my belly tells me it was no dream. I keep telling myself I’m not attracted to him and he’s no more than an incredibly sexy home invader. It’s not working.

  Pixie is still sitting on the box, her marble eyes forever bright.

  “Had a good sleep?" I walk over and hug her. So silly I know, but Pixie has been the one constant in my life. She's always been there for me, a silent friend over the years. I can’t remember exactly who gave her to me. It might’ve been a social worker, or it might've been my first foster mom, Julia. I think I was five at the time, but I can’t be sure. I’ve kept her no matter where I was moved.

  But I’m not a toddler anymore and I know Pixie is only a stuffed animal.

  I don’t get what spooked Sawyer so bad. Maybe he has a phobia of cats?

  There’s definitely something wrong with the guy. He barged in last night like he owned the place and did whatever he wanted. Not to mention the bizarre way he left. Okay, he does own the place, but this is my apartment. A normal person wouldn’t do what he did. A normal person . . .

  Heat rises in my belly when I remember his tongue down there. The feel of him. My orgasm that came so sudden and sharp. The way he came when I stroked his cock.

  How he left afterward. His cum stains my sheets and suddenly I feel mad. Who does he think he is?

  I check my phone. It’s almost seven. Crap. I have a job interview at eighty-thirty with this accountant five miles away. If I don’t get that job, I don’t know how I’ll pay for rent next month.

  I shower and try to freshen up, thoughts still muddled.

  My stomach’s grumbling, but there’s no food in the fridge and I’m sick of eating cup noodles. I need to get groceries. So many things to do. Grabbing my handbag, I take one more l
ook around the dingy department before I head out. I try not to think about the past. Not last night with Sawyer. Not the years I spent working at Bo Klein's diner. Not Robin and Greg Bridges, my foster parents who kicked me out the day I turned eighteen. I have to focus on the future.

  It’s a nice day outside.

  “Hey there!”

  The bubbly voice stops me in my step. I pull my key out of the lock and turn to see a cheerful girl about my age with a backpack on.

  She offers her hand. “Maria Flores. I’m your neighbor.”

  “Cheryl,” I say. Her smile catches me off-guard.

  “Just moved in?”

  “Yesterday.”

  She laughs. “Did you get lost?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Billboard?”

  I blink before we share a knowing laugh. “Billboard,” I say.

  “Happens to everyone the first time they move here,” Maria says. “The street exit is a nightmare. I don’t think anyone could find this place without that billboard.”

  Maria pulls me aside like we’ve been friends for years. We slip into an easy conversation. Maria’s a senior at the University of Maryland five miles away. She asks if I’m a student too, and I say no. Maria doesn’t ask more. I’m starting to like her already. She tells me about the good restaurants nearby, where to shop on a budget, and the bars if that's my scene. It's not, I tell her. Maria laughs and says she understands. Calling her a ray of sunshine would be an understatement.

  “Meet anyone interesting?” she asks.

  “This guy yesterday. I think his name is Buck?”

  Maria waves her hand. “He’s the village prick, which really says something considering how many pricks we have around here. Did you meet Sawyer yet? Tall hunky guy. Hard to miss.”

  “He helped me move in. He—owns this place doesn’t he?”

  Maria nods. “Our landlord’s a sweet guy. He’ll help you with any problems.”

  My face gets warmer. “What’s the deal with him?”

  “Sawyer’s the silent type,” Maria says. “He comes off a little weird sometimes, but you get used to it. Seriously hot though, am I right?”

  “He’s okay I guess.” I swallow the lump in my throat.

  Maria says she has class in an hour and has a bus to catch. She’s impressed that I have a car, no matter how beat-up it is, but I don’t tell her it was paid for by a charity that helps orphans.

  “I’ll catch you later,” she says. “Got anything planned today?”

  “Job interview.”

  “Ooh, out in the real world already. Good luck!” And then she’s off, running for the staircase.

  I take a deep breath and head for my car.

  Chapter Four

  SAWYER

  “Careful with those boxes,” I say.

  I’m in Cheryl’s apartment overseeing the renovation. The place is a mess. The new fridge hasn’t been plugged in yet, and furniture is still coming in. There are two trucks parked outside, and a work crew hustles moving things up the stairwell into the apartment. I told the movers to be extra careful around Cheryl’s things, which isn't hard because she doesn’t have much. I wrapped her plushie cat Pixie in a bag and put it in the cabinet before the crew arrived. Both to keep the toy safe and so I don’t have to look at it.

  It’s almost five. Cheryl’s still not back.

  The leader of the work crew tells me it’ll be three days before they can finish everything.

  “I don’t care how long it takes,” I say. “Make it perfect.”

  I walk outside and spot Cheryl’s clunker roll into the parking lot. When she gets out, her shoulders are stooped, and she leans for a moment against the car. I keep my eyes on her as she walks through the courtyard, and I can tell she’s upset. She gets more upset when she comes up the stairs and sees me standing outside her open door.

  Cheryl rushes over, her expression angry. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and the same tank top from yesterday. Her sneakers are worn and scratched like her car. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m having your unit renovated.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need a nicer place,” I say.

  Cheryl looks from me to the open door. A workman shoulders past us lugging paint cans. Her expression gets no better. “You decided I need a nicer place?”

  “I wanted to give you a better place.”

  “Because of what happened last night, Sawyer? Is this your way of thanking me?”

  “I want to help you.”

  She walks to the railing and grabs it with both hands, leaning over and shaking her head. “This is just what I need. An insane landlord.”

  “Where were you today?”

  “How is that any of your business?”

  I step closer, holding her against the railing, and I don’t care if anyone sees. “Tell me.”

  “I had a job interview, okay?”

  “How’d it go?”

  “I didn’t get it!” she snaps. “All your fancy renovations are a waste. I’ll miss rent next month and then what? You’ll let me live here for free?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrow. “In exchange for what?”

  “Nothing. I want to help you. I like you, Cheryl.”

  She scoffs. “I would sue you if I had the money.”

  “How about dinner instead? You look hungry.” Her face is pale and there are shadows under her eyes.

  “I don’t get you, Sawyer. First you—did what you did last night. Now this? You don’t know me. We just met yesterday. Why do you want to help me?”

  I rub against her. We’re standing close enough that my cock gets hard. I can smell her shampoo and a flowery perfume, but underneath is another scent. The essence of her, fragrant and feminine, lovelier than any smell manufactured in bottles. It stirs the animal in me, a red lust clawing through my guts. “I want you,” I growl. “I want you. What’s so fucking hard to understand?”

  “Plenty.” Cheryl keeps shaking her head. “When can I get back in my apartment?”

  “At least three days.”

  “And where should I sleep until then?”

  “I can pay for you to stay at a hotel, but I’m not going to.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’ll sleep at my unit.”

  “Oh that’s rich. What makes you think I’ll do that?”

  I stroke her hair, and she doesn’t stop me. “Have dinner with me first. Then you can decide.”

  “I agree to dinner.”

  “Good girl.”

  A flush spreads across her face. "I agree to dinner because I'm starving. Then you’re going to pay for my three-day stay at a hotel.”

  “We’ll see. Do you have a blouse or dress you can put on? Some heels?”

  ”Why?”

  “The restaurant has a dress code.”

  “What you see is what you get,” she says. “If I had a freaking dress I would’ve worn it to my interview.”

  “No problem. Let’s go.”

  When we get to my car, parked in a private lot at the back of the building, Cheryl gives me a look. The car’s a two-seat roadster that cost nearly two hundred grand. There’s no logo on the hood.

  “Kinda small,” she says after a while.

  “It’s an electric.”

  “I thought you’d drive a pickup truck.”

  “Interesting thought.” I open the door for her. “Get in.”

  ◆◆◆

  On the drive to Le Miroir, Cheryl starts to notice why my car cost two hundred grand. The cabin is nearly silent, and the custom suspension gives you the feeling of gliding on air. Leather seating, GPS, and every display is digital. She looks around and runs her fingers over the polished dashboard. And even though it’s a two-seater, the seats are spacious, even for my long legs.

  “Okay,” she says. “This is a nice car. What is it? One of those fancy Teslas?”

  “No, I built it. It’s one of a kind.”

  “Y
ou build cars?”

  “I designed it and had it built.”

  Cheryl stars at me from the corner of my vision. “If you think that’s supposed to impress me—”

  “I’m answering your questions.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Where are you from, Cheryl?” I already know the facts from my look-up yesterday, but facts alone never tell you the whole story.

  “Cumberland. Small town, middle of nowhere.” Her voice tightens. “At least I was born there. It’s not my home, life moves me around and I’m used to it. Where are we going?”

  “Le Miroir. It’s a good restaurant. Do you want to talk about last night?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry if I was inappropriate,” I say.

  “I just said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I like you.”

  She scoffs. “You told me already.” After a while she says, “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  “You should get out more, Sawyer. I’m sure there are plenty of girls you’d ‘just’ like.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  She frowns as if she can’t decide whether I’m joking. I’m not. “You’ll be mine,” I say. “I decided that yesterday.”

  “You’re very forward aren’t you?”

  “I know what I want.”

  She bites her lip, then looks out the window. “Last night didn’t mean anything to me,” she says.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Stop acting like you can read my mind!” she shouts. “You don’t own me. You—you’re not my boyfriend.”

  I pull over to the curb and stare at her. She stares right back. I look down at her thighs sheathed in that skirt, and my cock aches in my pants. “Pull your skirt up.”

  She blushes. “Excuse me?”

  “Pull your skirt up so I can see what’s under it.”

  Cheryl’s eyes flick from my face to the tent between my legs, and she huffs. Then slowly, she hitches up the hem of her skirt until it’s bunched at her hips. Her panties are blue today, trimmed with tiny hearts.

  “You wore that to a job interview?”

  “I wasn’t expecting to show people my underwear, Sawyer.”