The Other Brother_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “That’s…that’s so good,” is all he says with a groan, grabbing my ass cheeks and urging me to go faster. And I do it, going as fast as he wants me to. The muscles in my legs feel like they’re burning, but I push through, bouncing up and down until both my mind and body simply quit on me.

  A powerful wave of ecstasy shakes me to my core, travelling from my nerve endings to my brain in the blink of an eye, and hitting me in full force. I scream so hard that I almost rupture my own eardrums, my blood boiling inside my veins.

  What I’m feeling right now is so intense that the world around me assumes a dreamlike state, making the colors brighter, and the sounds becoming more clear.

  But I’m not in a dream, and I know that because the pleasure I’m feeling is so raw and intense that it’d be impossible for this to be anything other than reality.

  “More,” I tell him when the strength returns to my vocal chords. “More,” I repeat, not even knowing what I mean by more. All I know is that I want it, and I want it right now.

  Climbing out of his body, I go on all fours right on the floor, wiggling my ass at him. He sits up, looking at me with an understanding look on his face.

  “You want more, you get more,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, and his hands hook on my hips.

  I swallow hard as he runs one finger between my ass cheeks, and then takes it down all the way to my pussy. He slides it in, moving it back and forth for a while, and then pushes one more finger inside, preparing me for what I really want in there.

  “So good,” I moan as he fingers me, but then he just pulls his fingers out.

  “No…But I’ll show you what’s really good,” he says, grabbing his cock and pressing its tip against my pussy.

  A shiver goes through me as he does it, and my skin prickles in a fraction of a second. Then, he feeds one inch into my pussy, and I can’t help but to moan. By the time his cock is all inside of my pussy, my moans have turned into a barely audible whisper of pleasure.

  “Much better, isn’t it?” He asks me; I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes out of it. Lucky for me, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

  Holding me by the hips, he starts to thrust, taking his time as he builds up the rhythm. His first thrusts are soft and gentle, but the fire in his movements starts growing and growing until he’s ravaging my pussy so fiercely that I just know there’ll be no avoiding the soreness.

  “So…fucking…good…” I moan, my vocal chords working again. My words only make him go harder and, at the same time, he takes one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit, rubbing it as fast as he’s thrusting.

  That raw violent energy starts to pool on my muscles, and they tense up like wire. My lungs strain against my ribcage, and my heart is pounding inside my chest so fiercely that it might burst any time soon.

  “Don’t stop, don’t – ” I don’t even have the time to finish what I was saying. I go down from my hands into my elbows, and I press my forehead against the floor as a thermonuclear explosion goes off inside my brain.

  Every single thought in its wake is destroyed and, for a moment, I don’t even remember where I am or who I am. All I know is that what I’m feeling is so good I’ve probably died and went to heaven.

  He’s about to pull his cock out of me when I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrist.

  “No,” I tell him, “all the way.”

  I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him.

  I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply comes inside of me.

  “Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock.

  We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity – but when he finally stops coming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost sad that it’s over.

  “Blake,” I say his name almost as if I wanted to hear the sound of my voice, eager to prove that this isn’t a dream. We sit on the touch together, my head resting on his chest, and I close my eyes as I try to catch my breath.

  Softly, he rests one hand on top of my head and laces his free arm on my waist. Holding me close, he keeps me pressed against his naked body as we both enjoy the silence, our bodies still exhausted.

  There’s no use denying it…I’m falling for Blake, and I’m falling hard.

  I’m trying to tell myself that’s not the case, but deep down I might be lying to myself. The way I feel right now – this closeness, this security –, it all points to something deeper than just physical attraction.

  Oh, it’s even silly to be talking about physical attraction now…that’s already a given. But knowing the way Blake sees me, looking through his eyes…that goes beyond the physical.

  Maybe I should run.

  After Dale, I can’t give my heart to anyone. Even if it’s to a man like Blake, a man that sees the real me. I just can’t do it. Sure, there’s this connection we have, but that makes this all the more dangerous. When Dale cheated on me, he left a vacant spot in my life. But if I surrender to Blake and he leaves…there’ll be a hole in my heart that no one will ever mend.

  But now’s not the time to think of that.

  Now I just want to…feel close to him.

  Blake

  Nothing can dampen my mood today, not even the rain I hear belting against my windows. The wind is grabbing the shutters and rattling them, threatening them, but they don’t give in.

  Storms have been raging all day.

  Nothing wrong with a good storm, storms in my opinion leave the world washed and refreshed. The air has a clean smell to it and world does look washed. Except for my windows. Rain tends to leave them looking a little streaked.

  I make a mental note to organize a window cleaner in the next few days, along with getting a new cleaner.

  Much to my disappointment, my cleaning lady informed me yesterday that she’s leaving.

  Camilla’s great. And I introduced Camilla to Katherine because I know the two will get along really well and most important of all, Katherine would not be jealous of Camilla.

  It’s not that my housekeeper wasn’t attractive. She is, and probably more so back in her day. At fifty-four, she’s still a stunner, just not someone I would be getting involved with. But now, she’s leaving. She’d said something about her daughter needing her to babysit.

  I put domestic thoughts aside. Camilla will still be here for another month. Maybe she’ll be able to help me get a replacement.

  I stroll into my studio to look at my collection of new paintings and I smile. I like them, no, I love them. They are better than anything I have created before. Ever.

  Part of me wants to call Katherine and get her to come and look at them. I really would want her to be the first person to see them, but that would go against my plan.

  I’ve come up with a special way to thank her. I owe her a lot, after all. I know she would not agree and she probably does not even realize how huge a role she’s been playing in my creative genius coming back to life.

  Before I make the call, I grab a pen and paper to make a list. I walk from painting to painting, jotting down possible titles, background notes and random twirls and doodles.

  Sometimes I think well in pictures and not so well in words.

  Words. It strikes me as almost an omen how right we are for each other. Katherine, a writer and me, an artist. We are meant to be together.

  After I’ve completed my list, I gather the works of art carefully and gingerly. I handle my pictures the way a mother cradles her baby. In a way, they are my babies.

  I need to make sure Katherine does not see these next time she comes over.

  It’s a great feeling knowing Kather
ine can just come and go as she pleases since I gave her a key to my place the other day.

  Her face was priceless, a mixture between overwrought, disbelief and pride.

  It is a big thing for me too. I’ve never given anyone else a key to my apartment.

  And not just the key, I made sure to select a special key ring to go with it. I wanted her to think of me each and every time the key was within her sight.

  It took an enormous amount of time. Silly really, but when I get an idea into my head I need to see it through.

  When I didn’t find anything close enough to what I had in mind at the local shops, I consulted the mighty World Wide Web. I wanted a painter palette and canvass. Eventually, several hours later, I found one in sterling silver.

  I ordered it instantly. I didn’t even flinch when the order form confirmed I had just paid two hundred and eighty five dollars for a key ring.

  And of course I had been rewarded several times over when i gave it to her.

  Not only was she totally touched by the gesture of the key, when she spotted the key ring, I swear a little tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  The kiss I got, and the sex, more than made up for the money spent on it.

  It takes me a few minutes to drape the stained cotton throw over the paintings. Maybe I better make it a little more difficult to get here by placing an easel in front of it.

  When I’m done I pick up the phone. Time to call my agent.

  “Hey Mateo, how are things?”

  I can’t hear a response. I stare at the screen. The clock is ticking so I know I’m connected.

  “Mateo, you there?”

  “Blake. Blake. My man, what’s happenin?” Mateo’s voice booms through the phone and I move the mobile a little further off my ear.

  “Mateo, I’ve been painting.”’ Maybe I should have invited him to come over instead of a phone call?

  There’s loud laughter. “You’re a painter Blake. What else would you have been doing?”

  Good old Mateo, always straight to the point.

  “No Mateo, this time it’s different. I’ve really been painting. I’ve been creating and…well, the paintings are good. Really fucking good.”

  “You never were modest, my friend.” Mateo replies dryly.

  I chuckle.

  “True. But wait till you see what I’ve been creating.”

  “Let me guess, nudes. How many of them have you been fucking this time? I hate to think of all the broken hearts.”

  “Mateo, they’re not nudes and I haven’t been fucking them as you say. I’ve met this woman. Katherine. She’s amazing. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy.”

  “And she’s a good root,” completes Mateo.

  “It’s different with her. I haven’t had another woman since I’ve met her. I can only think of her. I even dream of her. I want her all the time. She’s doing things with me no other woman has ever done before.”

  “She a witch?”

  Another chuckle from me.

  “Stop it, man. Anyway I want you to organize an exhibition. It’s going to be bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. I want you to spare no money. Invite anyone and everyone that matters. Alcohol, good food…wait, get the chefs from the Old Pearl to cater, they know what they are doing. Spare nothing. Go all out. And Mate…?”

  “Yes my friend?”

  “I don’t want Katherine to find out. She can’t know. Under any circumstances.”

  “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

  A noise makes me turn around. I see Katherine, her eyes looking hurt and confused.

  Katherine

  I love how I can just walk into the studio without an invitation. It’s got that feel of trust between us. I love that I can hear the sound of his voice anytime I want to; I could listen to him all day. I wonder who…oh, he’s talking on the phone.

  Did he just say – ? I stop to listen.

  I catch only those last words.

  “…Katherine’s not to know. Promise me. OK?”

  I am not to know what? Is this a red flag? Is this the time to back out? Had Dale been right all along? The fear that’s always just below the surface threatens to overwhelm me.

  Move, I tell myself. Part of me wonders if this is the time to turn and run. But where will I run to? I take a deep breath.

  “Hey Blake, I heard you talking to someone just now. What am I not supposed to know?”

  “Hey baby.”

  I study his face carefully. There’s not a hint of guilt in it.

  “It’s a surprise. My lips are sealed.” As if to underline his point he points to his lips, which he has pulled into a thin line.

  “Look Blake,” I hesitate. “I’m not that big on surprises. I find they are highly overrated.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want to make too much of this. But I really don’t like surprises.

  Surprises are great when you’re a kid, like you got your first bicycle, or when the man in the red suit brought you your favorite Barbie doll. But grown up girls don’t always take to guy surprises, particularly if they are in the form of the ex-boyfriend in bed with another woman.

  “Hey,” he says and comes toward me.

  He’s looking right at me with a hungry expression, like he really wants me, like he’s almost begging me. I can see right into his eyes. If there was anything hidden surely I would see it there.

  “Hey, c’mon,” he repeats and strokes my cheek. “How can I surprise you if you already know what I’m talking about?”

  He advances on me like something wild. How does he do that? I’m just frozen as this wild hunk approaches me like some lethal tiger. That pleading voice and that soft dangerous stride toward me make me melt.

  “The thing about surprises is, they are a surprise.”

  He runs his finger down my nose, slowly over my lip and down my chin, his touch light as a whisper. I try not to shudder as he traces his finger along my shoulder and down

  I feel my skin tingling. I want this touch. I want him to go lower. I feel tight and loose all at once. His finger dances around my hips and I feel his hand stop at my waist.

  His other hand goes under my chin and to lift it. He dips in closer and I wait for his kiss. His lip brushes on mine ever so softly.

  Now I feel the slight pressure of his hand on my back and I fall in against him. I want more of him. I want his mouth open. I want the feel of his tongue. I want his hand lower.

  I run my hands around his back and feel the taut pillar of his body. He feels firm and warm, smooth and round and I want to let my hands go down to his buttocks and to pull him in tighter to me.

  I can feel myself melting; all of my worries are slipping away. I want nothing more than for him to takes his hands lower.

  His upper hand leaves my chin. He runs it slowly luxuriously, over my neck and collarbone until he finds my breasts. He slides it under my arm and drops it suddenly. Both of his hands are now spread over my butt and he draws me in.

  This is out of control. I’m frantic with desire.

  We have to stop.

  “As I recall,”’ I start but his lips shut me up. This time his tongue finds mine instantly.

  His hands leave their position and make their back up toward my breasts.

  “I thought we were going to do some work.” I manage to say but my own voice is lacking conviction. Sure, I came in here to pose for him so that he finishes the painting, but now…

  “I am working,” he mutters.

  I throw my head back, giggling.

  “There’s a distinct lack of paint brush.” I point out.

  Blake stops. He moves his hands off my breasts.

  My body aches for his touch. Please don’t stop I want to beg but I don’t. If this painting is to be finished Blake needs to keep painting.

  “I thought the painting was of a nude.”

  I know Blake plays havoc with my thoughts but I’m not following.

  Registering the confusion on my face Blake starts ki
ssing my face and neck, his mouth moving down to my breasts.

  “I’m just helping you undress and get into the mood.” He says between bites.

  It is difficult to form any coherent thought.

  ‘“I don’t think this is going to work.” I make another attempt at getting Blake to focus on his painting. As much as I want this, I know he wants to finish this artwork too. And I’d very much like to see the finished painting.

  Blake stops again. My skin burns with desire where his lips had been.

  I feel him look at me.

  “I know your body so well, Katherine; I don’t need you to pose. I can finish the painting from the memory. Each and every part of your body is etched into my mind forever.”

  He kisses me again and his hands resume their wandering.

  Before I give in I try one last time to be the sensible one.

  “So you’re not going to paint me today?”

  His lips are near my ear, nibbling on my ear lobe.

  “Right now I’ve got more important things to do. Right now, I just want to be inside you.”

  Katherine

  My lips become his, and his lips become mine. Our mouth and tongues become one, and I close my eyes and surrender to desire.

  He grabs harshly on my skirt, tugs on the fabric and pushes it down. I sway my hips from side to side, just enough for the skirt to slide down my legs. The skirt taken care off, his hands dart straight to my blouse and he pulls it over my head, forcing me to raise my arms up in the air.

  “You look perfect,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost feel him peeling off my bra and thong with his eyes.

  He then lets his mouth roam to the valley between my breasts, my skin tracing the rising curve of both my breasts. As he does it, he takes his hands to my shoulder blades; the moment he finds the clasp of my bra, he undoes it.

  The cups of the bra droop over my breasts, revealing both nipples, and he holds his breath as he watches them fall down. Then, impatience suddenly taking over him, he reaches for one cup with his hand and simply yanks the whole thing off my body. I yelp as he does it, my nipples becoming even harder than before.