Autumn Rolls a Seven (Billionaire Baby Club Book 2)

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Fucking hell, babe.”

  “It was, yes,” I said. “It was fucking hell. After that, once I was sure she was gonna survive the cancer scare, I told her she was on her own. I wasn’t paying for anymore rehab, wasn’t babysitting her, wasn’t visiting her. Do what she wanted, I didn’t care. That conversation came when I discovered her, totally by accident, trying to trade sex for drugs on the side of the road. A month after getting the clean bill of health, almost fucking dying of breast cancer, getting both breasts cut off, round after round of chemo, she goes and tries to buy pills. She’d been off them for months at that point. She was dead sober, had been for, shit, nearly a year. Off of everything, I knew for a fact since I never left her alone for more than five minutes that whole time. I was like, what the fuck, Mom? You know what she told me? I like being high. That’s what she said. Being sober sucks. It’s boring. After that, I was like, fuck this, I’m out. You do you, Mom, I have to live my own life.”

  “Good for you.”

  I looked at him—no pity, just understanding. “Thanks.”

  It was scary, letting all of this out. I never talked about any of this, ever—let alone at the start of what was supposed to be a fun, romantic date. Yet… there it was, my whole fucked-up mess of a life, all word-vomited out to a man I barely knew.

  A man who listened. Sympathized. Didn’t pity, didn’t try to fix. And I guess that sucked me in. Made me…like him. I didn’t’ want to like him any more than I already did, because liking him would lead to catching feelings for him, and feelings were scary. Because I didn’t trust men. Anyone, really. But especially men. I didn’t open up. I didn’t let them in. They’d just abandon me, right. Like our fathers both had. Like Mom had.

  Yet here I was trusting Seven with my deepest, heaviest, darkest trauma.

  He seemed to be chewing on something as he drove, so I let the silence stand for the moment. Most people act shocked when I give them a snippet of the hell Zoe and I had been through as kids, or pity me, or try to sympathize. Seven did none of that. He just…listened.

  I liked that about him, and that in itself was scary. But…now that I’d told him all that and he wasn’t panicking and calling off the date…what did I have to lose?

  So, I would go along with this. See where it went, with Seven. Just go with it, as Zoe had suggested.

  He pulled off the PCH and wound his way along a bumpy little track that led down to the beach itself. “This is one of my favorite secrets,” he said, as he pulled to a stop where the trail gave out into sand. “A buddy of mine is a surfer, and he showed me this spot. Not the right time of year for surfing, so it’s usually deserted.” He shut off the engine, stuffed the keys in his pocket, and grabbed the picnic basket out of the backseat. “Come on, let’s find a spot.”

  I followed him, since he’d been here before. The beach was more of a hidden cove, hills and cliffs towering off in either direction, with just a little sliver of beach slashed into the rugged terrain. All around us, the sea crashed endlessly and restlessly against the shore, a constant susurrus of roaring waves. Seven set the picnic basket down, and when I turned in a circle to take in the view, I realized from where he’d chosen to set us up, you wouldn’t even know there was a road nearby, and we were at least mile or so from the actual PCH itself. Remote, private, and beautiful.

  By the time I’d absorbed the lush beauty of the scene, Seven had spread out an actual honest-to-god red-and-white checkered blanket on the sand. The wicker basket opened up from center-mounted hinges, and he was sitting on the blanket pulling out items. I lounged beside him, leaning back on my elbows while he produced deli sandwiches, a block of Colby cheese, a package of salami, a few apples, a tiny jar of honey, some sort of fancy crackers which seemed comprised of nuts and seeds rather than actual flour, a couple bars of expensive dark chocolate, a box of chocolate truffles, a quart of raspberries and another of strawberries, a jar of assorted nuts, and a big bottle of sparkling water.

  And one bottle of very, very expensive red wine, with a pair of glasses.

  “This is a hell of a spread, Mr. St. John.”

  He grinned. “It was all Sherri. Sometimes, if I ask her really nice, she’ll do things for me, personal assistant type stuff. Of course, I pay her out the ass for it, because she’s awesome and I love her and she and her husband are trying to save for retirement, but their grown-ass kid is a fuckup and keeps asking them for money. I think at some point, I’m gonna do something big for Sherri and Frank. Pay off their house or something. Send ’em to St. Barts for that sordid vacation, just with each other instead of me.”

  “So Sherri put this together? Thank her for me.”

  “I told her I wanted to take this girl I really like for a fancy picnic, a real-deal romantic picnic, and could she help me out. I gave her my card and she did this. That woman is a wonder.”

  “This girl you really like, huh?”

  He nodded. “Yup. I like her, like her. She’s cool as hell, and sexy as sin.”

  “She sounds fun. Does she put out?”

  He snorted. “I mean, we ain’t gotten there yet, but I can tell you she gives the best motherfuckin’ blowjobs on the planet. I’m ruined for all other mouths.”

  I grinned. “Wow. How’d you get so lucky?”

  He popped open the container of strawberries, pinched a big fat red strawberry by the leaves and put it to my lips. “Hell if I know. Half the time I’m around this girl, I’m wondering if I’m dreaming. Like, surely a girl that fine, that sexy, that classy has someone better to hang around than a big ol’ ox like me, with my cauliflower ears and no fuckin’ education.”

  I touched one of his ears, which were indeed boxer’s ears, scarred and deformed from taking so many hits for so many years. It only added to his air of invincibility, somehow. “Maybe the girl spends half the time she’s with you wondering something much the same.”

  “That’d be dumb as shit. She’s a classy, successful lady. I just punch people for a living. Or, used to. Now I put on a suit and talk about punching people for a living on TV.”

  “You’re underselling yourself, Seven.”

  He fed me another strawberry, and this time, my lips touched his fingers. “I am who I am. I’m cool with it. I like me. But I’m under no illusions as to being the kinda guy you take home for Christmas.”

  “Funny thing, Seven.” I fed him a strawberry, then, and his lips caressed my fingers. “I don’t have a home to take anyone to for Christmas. It’s just Zoe and me. We usually spend Christmas Eve with the girls, and hang out at her place or mine, alternating by year, for Christmas Day.”

  “Last couple years, I’ve spent it with my agent’s family. He’s a cool dude, has five kids. It’s a madhouse, but it’s fun.”

  “Nowhere to go for you, either?”

  “My dad, but we’re not close. We see each other around the holidays, but usually just for a beer the day after Christmas.”

  Silence.

  He heaved a sigh. “Fuck. That brings a conversation to a halt real fast, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not familiar with the feeling. Usually it’s my baggage train that brings conversation to a halt.”

  “Well, we both got baggage trains a mile long, don’t we?” He opened the jar of honey, smeared some on one of the crackers, cut a slice of cheese off the block, stacked it on the cracker, sliced the stem off a strawberry. “Open wide.”

  I snickered, but opened my mouth, and he put the whole thing in. “God,” I mumbled, after chewing for a minute, “that’s good.”

  I fed him the same thing, and for a while then, we took turns coming up with combinations of meat, cheese, fruit, honey, and crackers.

  “My point was,” I said, out of nowhere, “you keep saying you’re not the kind of guy anyone wants to bring home to mama. And I call bullshit on that. You’re a good person. You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re thoughtful. You care about Sherri a lot, I can tell. Sure, you use a lot of bad words, a
nd you’re more comfortable in a boxing ring than anywhere else, I’d imagine, but that doesn’t make you…I dunno. Bad?”

  “Nah, I know I’m not bad. I’m just…rough around the edges. I ain’t got a lot of polish.”

  I cackled. “Have you met me? I’m not exactly elegant or sophisticated myself.”

  “I disagree.” He touched the corner of my mouth, at a dab of honey. He popped that thumb into his mouth, his eyes on me. “I think you are.”

  “Well, gee, Seven. It seems like we each see more in each other than we see in ourselves.”

  “Sure does seem that way.”

  I indicated the wine. “You gonna pour that?”

  He grinned, wolfish. “On you, yeah.”

  “Don’t waste good wine like that,” I said. “You want to pour wine all over me, I’m game, but use the cheap stuff.”

  He laughed as he worked on uncorking the bottle. “I like that response.”

  “Also, we need to be near a shower for that, because anything involving food and you end up all sticky.”

  “Well shit, I don’t need food to make you sticky.”

  I whacked at his arm. “Nasty.”

  “Yep. But I feel like that shouldn’t be a shock at this point. You know I’m a horn dog.”

  I laughed, accepting the glass from him. “Well, yes, I’m aware. And I must admit, it intrigues me.”

  “It intrigues you, does it?”

  “Yeah. I’m curious as to what indecent but fun things your wicked mind can come up with. I feel like you’d be…very creative.”

  “Oh, I can be. But in general, my tastes are pretty straightforward.”

  “Oh yeah? Tell me about your tastes. What do you like, Seven?”

  He popped a raspberry onto his index finger and poked at my lips with it. “I like fucking. And steak.”

  I spluttered. “Is that it?”

  He touched my nose with the raspberry. “Pretty much.”

  “Fucking, and steak. That’s all of the things you like?”

  He leaned over me, and I lay back on the blanket. He followed me, braced on one elbow over me. “Well, no.” He hooked one finger under the hem of my shirt and pulled it upward; I lifted my back and then my shoulder blades, and then he had it off, setting it aside on the blanket, leaving me topless in the sunshine and sea breeze. “I like a few other things.”

  “I see. Such as?”

  He put the raspberry in my mouth, and then dipped a fingertip in the honey. Drizzled a tiny dollop in a spiral around my peaked pink nipple. “This,” he said, licking at my nipple. “I really like your nipples. They’re perky and cute and…” He licked more honey away. “Currently, very sweet.” Licked the other, sans honey. “Funny. No honey on this one, but it’s just as sweet.”

  I laughed breathlessly as he drizzled honey down between my breasts in a thin line, down to my navel. “I’m gonna be sticky!”

  “No, I’ll make sure you’re…mmm—” He licked along the line of honey, thoroughly tasting away any trace of honey. “I’ll make sure you’re plenty clean.”

  I traced circles on his scalp with my fingertips as he kissed and licked, drizzled honey here and there, licked it away, and the breeze on my damp skin was cool, making my skin pebble. “So. Fucking, steak, and my nipples. Quite a list, Mr. St. John. Anything else?”

  He unbuttoned my jeans, tugged them down, taking my underwear with them. Left them on one leg. Licked at my seam. “This. This pussy, I like it a whole fuckin’ lot.” He licked, and licked. “Tastes like honey and I ain’t even put any on there. Honey and sugar, and…and sunshine.”

  I was going to laugh, because how could I taste like sunshine? But his tongue was busy, and I was breathless, gasping, the sounds muffled by the roar of the waves.

  “That,” he muttered, between fat swipes of his tongue. “That sound you make when I’ve got you ridin’ the edge, seconds from coming all over my tongue? I fuckin’ love that sound.” He drew the sound in question out of me again, a whimpering, whining, breathless scream. “Fuck, Autumn. Hearin’ you make that sound while I’m down between your thighs? Just listening to you come makes me hard.”

  “Show me,” I gasped. “How hard are you?”

  He didn’t answer, not until I’d fallen screaming over the edge…twice.

  9

  “On a blanket on a beach ain’t the nicest place for our first time together,” he growled, big rough hands imprisoning my hips, holding me as he flicked his tongue over my quaking sex. “I had ideas about you, me, my bed, and a weekend alone.”

  “That does sound nice,” I said, pushing him away and then pulling him up my body. “But what if I don’t want nice?”

  “You deserve—”

  “Fuck that,” I cut in, reaching between our bodies for the fly of his jeans. “I deserve what I want, and that’s you.”

  “You got me, Autumn.” He rested his forehead on my chest, between my breasts, as I slowly lowered his zipper. “I just…I like you. It’s different with you. I want things to be different.”

  I slid my hand against his belly, under the elastic. Found him hard, hot, silky-soft. “Why does that have to mean you being nice? And what even is nice, anyway?”

  His chest heaved as I caressed his length within the tight constraint of his jeans and underwear. “Shit, Autumn. The way you touch me. It drives me fuckin’ nuts.” He groaned, and his mouth lapped at my breasts as if he couldn’t help himself any longer. “My whole life, since I discovered sex, I’ve just…taken what I wanted. Always with girls who wanted it, who said as much. I don’t mean take like that. But I’m…I’m not nice about it. I’m not gentle. I can be, but it’s…shit—shit, that feels good. Too good.” He flexed his hips, grinding his erection into my touch. “You’re different, Autumn. You’re not a conquest. You’re not a weekend hookup. You’re not a fling, you’re not a one-night stand. You’re more, and you’re not makin’ it easy to be better than the kinda guy I usually am.”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” I said, gasping as his mouth laved at one breast, the other, and then lower. “I want you. I don’t care how, Seven.”

  “I do—I care how. You deserve satin sheets and candles, not a quickie in the sand.”

  “Sand now, satin later?”

  He growled, pulling away, moving to sit on his knees. Fly open, jeans tugged partway down, his erection protruded from the elastic of his underwear. I sat up, naked, kicking the last of my clothes off, heedless of anything else but my need to feel him, to touch him, to hold him in my hands and feel him heave, hear him groan, my need to feel him inside me, to be filled by him. To be closer to him. Skin to skin, breath to breath. I had no other thought, no other care.

  He reached for me, but I caught his wrist and held it—he let me, as if I was the stronger of us.

  “My turn,” I said.

  “Autumn—”

  I grabbed a strawberry from the container and put it into his mouth, stem and all. “My turn.”

  He chewed, eyes narrowing, jaw flexing. His hand dropped. “Anyone could decide to try the surf here. It’s my secret, but it ain’t actually secret, or private.”

  “I don’t care,” I whispered. “Let them watch. I want you.”

  “I want you more,” he muttered. “So fuckin’ bad.”

  “So quit being nice, then, Seven. I don’t want nice. I’ve had it up to my goddamn eyeballs with nice. I picked nice my whole life, because nice was safe. Nice is every guy I’ve ever been with, except one. And I’m not counting you, because you’re beyond nice or anything else. I want you, Seven. You. I want all the rough and bad and quick and hard you’ve got. I want to know what it feels like when you show me how you want me and you don’t hold back.”

  “Playin’ with fire, telling me that, Autumn.”

  “Then I get burned.”

  “The one who wasn’t nice, that’s the heavy.”

  I nodded. “But I’m not talking about that. Not now. I’ll tell you, if you stop holding ba
ck.”

  He pierced my gaze with his, held my eyes. “Let me get this straight. You’re bargaining with me?”

  I swallowed hard. Fear hammered at me, but need hammered harder. And not just sexual need. Something deeper, something hotter, something wilder. Something from within the deepest depths of my soul.

  “Yes.” I held his gaze, and tried to look, feel, and be open; after a lifetime of being closed, it was an effort. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Nothing held back. Just bare it all. Demons, shadows, everything?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And in return, you want…what, from me, exactly?”

  I struggled to put it into words. “Everything you’ve ever been. All of you in return. Everything, even all the stuff you’ve kept back because you thought it was too much. Too rough, too scary, too hard.”

  “And you want this right here, on this beach?”

  “Yes.”

  He toppled into me and his body pressed me into the sand. He cupped my cheek and jaw in a huge rough paw, the other under my back, tugging me against himself. “This may sound dorky or stupid, but here it goes. I’ve always thought of the real, true me as this dragon living in a cave deep inside my chest. It’s big, it’s angry, it’s…not evil, but it sure as fuck ain’t nice. It wants. It needs. It’s seen some dark shit, some evil shit. Done some dark, evil shit, too. Been through hell, and the kind I think you of anyone could understand. That dragon, the only time I ever let it out is when I’m in the ring. It’s the only safe way I can give that dragon freedom. It ain’t about violence, exactly.” He swallowed hard, and I saw the dragon’s fire in his eyes. “You’re tellin’ me you want me to let it loose, take the chains off it and show it all to you?”

  I held his eyes. I saw the darkness there, but I’d come out of darkness of my own, and I wasn’t afraid. “Yes.”