Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  My guts churn when I pull up to the place, straight through the huge iron gate. I know the new rich cocksucker mom's hooked up with is loaded, but it's hard for me to believe just how rich this prick really is.

  There's a guardhouse and everything. The slim, prissy older man inside looks like he wants to search my truck for an improvised explosive. I flash my badge, and Jeeves looks closely at the name, giving me a sour nod and waving me through.

  Fucking prick. All of them.

  It's just a matter of time before mom flames out and hits rehab again, sending the executive running to his next trophy wife. He probably thinks he's hit the jackpot with a washed up Hollywood starlet, but he'll find out real soon what he's gotten himself into.

  I pass the keys to a servant playing valet when I pull up to the curb. The place is beautiful, high on the cliffs overlooking the roaring Pacific, probably even a sexy view of the entire Bay Area if I climb up to the bluffs.

  It's just a few miles down the road from the party I crashed last night. Good. Maybe I'll be able to hit Delia's pussy sooner if she lives in the same rich neighborhood.

  The house is more like a palace. My new stepdad has taste, I'll give the jackass that.

  I walk through the double door entrance and stop when I see the huge crystal chandelier and sprawling staircases. It's like walking onto one of mom's sets, or maybe one of those historic homes she used to drag me to as a kid for charity shit before she went off the rails.

  “Christopher!” I hear a squeal, and turn around just in time before she hits me. “Oh my God, I thought you'd never come home, darling. Let me show you to your room.”

  “Whatever,” I growl, pulling her off me after a quick squeeze. “Let's get this over with. There's something I've got planned tonight after dinner. I can't stay all evening.”

  “As long as you're planning on coming home. This is your home now, Chris. I want you here for the summer. Every night away from those nasty, spartan army cots does wonders for your posture.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I follow her upstairs. “I'm a Navy SEAL. Sleeping anywhere that's not a dusty shithole or scraggly rocks feels pretty damned good.”

  Her eyes narrow. She's probably scared my mouth's going to get me in trouble with sugar daddy. Fucking incredible seeing that worry from her, the woman who practically invented the modern bitch on the screen.

  Miss Evangeline Cleveland, everybody's favorite sharp-tongued TV witch, lost her magic forever the night she stole her ex's car and drove it into a damned pond. I'm wondering if she's already fighting with billionaire boy like she did the body builder she shacked up with in my early teens. I tried to stay the fuck out of it then, everything except the dude's home gym.

  “Here's your new stepsister's room,” mom says, giving the door furthest down the hall a shove. “She's downstairs right now with her father, waiting for us. Private bathroom inside, just like yours.”

  A feminine flowery smell hits me in the face. It's breezy and borderline familiar. My dick throbs, and I swear it was in the air last night when I had Delia against the wall, making her come on my cock through her beach shorts.

  It must be a popular perfume or some shit for women this summer. I hope she wears it tonight when I get a better whiff of her scent, shoving my face between her legs, owning the pussy I should've had all morning.

  “And this...well, it's not much yet, but I know how much you love to keep things simple.” I shake my head as mom shoves the door several steps away from rich girl's room wide open.

  Really? She just had to put us next to each other like we're both high school kids?

  Sometimes I wonder if the crap she did at all her parties scrambled up her brain forever. It's like she still sees me as a punk ass fifteen year old kid. Not a man who's in the most elite ranks his country has to offer, a man who's killed, bled, and suffered.

  I've done it all, and I know I'll end up doing it again, because I can't imagine anything less than a hard, fulfilling life. I see what happens when people get lazy, complacent, and spoiled – they end up like mom, acting out their fuckups and waiting for the next underpaid butler to wipe their asses.

  I walk in and take a look around. The dark cherry furniture is simple enough, a dresser, chair, and small desk. There's a big, Victorian looking bed with tall posts that almost make me laugh.

  Mainly because I'm thinking about using my belt to bind my next conquest to one post, grabbing her ass, and giving her the fucking of her life.

  The bed looks like it belongs in some cheesy romance flick. I want to defile it even more.

  Truth is, I don't want a goddamned thing from mom or my new stepdad, much less this ridiculous antique bed.

  “Well? It's awesome, isn't it?” Mom already has disappointment in her eyes by the time I turn around.

  “It's all right.” The old Chris would've told her exactly how fucking stupid it is, but I'm determined not to rock the boat, anything to get me outta this castle and into Delia's pussy sooner. “We going downstairs to meet the others, or what? I don't have a lot of time.”

  Her face tightens up, but she doesn't say anything. Just turns around and leads me back out. I follow her downstairs and she leads me down a long corridor, where I can see early evening light streaming in.

  I see sugar daddy first, slouched in a leather chair with his phone. He takes one look at me and jumps to his feet, a tall, slender, graying man with spectacles. Too classy and flabby compared to every other husband I've seen mom burn through.

  “Christopher, I'm Bruce Burr, and it's an honor to finally have you here.” He smiles big and takes my hand.

  I squeeze it harder than I should, wondering how many jobs this bastard axed with those fingers, typing on his bullshit. The airline industry's a damned joke in this country. I went through BUD/S training listening to several guys talk about how their mechanic dads getting laid off nearly ruined them in their teens.

  “Good to meet you,” I tell him, chewing into my tongue the entire time. “Is dinner ready yet?”

  He laughs – way too cheery for my liking. “My, Evie told me you're a hungry young man. Yes, I believe it should all be laid out in the dining room soon. But first, I'd like you to meet my daughter. Cordelia! Don't be shy, come over here and meet your new stepbrother.”

  I stop dead in my tracks before I turn around.

  Cordelia? Delia? No fucking way.

  He steps aside and points toward the sofa. It's a huge room, and she's sitting awkwardly on it, staring at me like she's about to lose her damned mind.

  I'm not sure what hits first. The shot of adrenaline in my chest, or the lust ripping through my dick. I don't know whether to laugh or scream or just put my fist through the hand crafted wood lining one wall.

  Any ordinary man would've had a heart attack on the spot. Thank fuck for Navy discipline. Instead, I step away from Bruce and walk toward her, grinning though the shock like it's nothing.

  “Delia! Hot damn, you're cuter than I expected. It's so good to finally meet you.” I hold out a hand to her.

  She's staring like a deer in headlights, sitting on the couch. Her father clears his throat, reminding her to stand the hell up and meet her new stepbro like a good girl.

  If only he knew how crudely I'd taken her and made her come in her panties last night.

  A handshake or a hug ought to be nothing after what we started on the beach. Still, she bolts up shakily, takes my hand weakly.

  It's hot and clammy. I want to shake her fingers, move them lower, make them tighten around my dick.

  “It's really, uh, good to meet you too.” That little tremor in her voice reminds me of the sound.

  My dick springs up and I throw one arm around her back, jerking her close. From behind, I know it'll look like a friendly hug to our parents. Up close, it's almost the exact way I pinned her against the wall with my hands down her pants, forcing her to come so hard she nearly screamed.

  My hips pump forward, only for a second, enough
to sink toward the sweet spot in her belly. Right above her pussy. I want her to feel how hard I am, remind her the world might've suddenly dealt us a shit hand, but it didn't do shit to kill my need to have her under me.

  It's risky, it's mad, and I can't resist. When I feel her heat, inhale her scent, that ocean breezy perfume mingling with her pheromones, my balls churn fire.

  They blaze pure want. Need.

  “You hungry, sis?” I pull back and look at her after several long seconds, the hand behind her back roaming, dangerously close to her ass.

  “Starving. Yeah, let's eat.” Her voice sounds better, but when I look into those dark brown eyes, the only thing I see is a nervous, what the fuck?

  I let go and turn around. Bruce gives an approving nod. Mom's got her skinny hand in his, smiling at me like I've just brought her the damned moon.

  “Aw, Christopher. Very touching,” she purrs. Then her hands clap together. “Come! Let's go get to know each other better over food and wine. The risotto Bruce's head chef makes is simply amazing, you've both got to try it.”

  We head for the dining room. It's huge, spacious, more like a cozy medieval war room in a castle than anything that belongs in a modern house. There's a massive fireplace behind the table, which looks like it's a hand-me-down from some mafia kingpin.

  I take the seat right next to Delia, while mom and Bruce sit across from us, making goo-goo eyes at each other. If it wasn't for the shock and awe sitting next to me, my stomach would've soured a couple times over by now at their shit.

  We watch a single sharp dressed man playing servant. He plates up our food and pours wine. Everybody tucks into their salad and drinks – except for poor Delia, who picks at her grub like a damned bird.

  “You're a busy lady, aren't you? Journalism?” I say, remembering the one thing I've heard about my new sis. “You really should shovel that down. Keep up your strength.”

  She gives me that wide-eyed look of pain and disbelief again. “I'm kinda on a diet. Too many bad influences, distractions. You know how it can be. The last thing a girl needs is her own body turning on her.”

  “Nah, no fucking way,” I growl, stabbing down my fork. I reach underneath the table with my other hand, catch her thigh, and squeeze. “Everybody needs their fun. Don't you have a boyfriend or something to help blow off the steam?”

  Mom coughs. I look at her over the table, while Delia shoots one hand down, desperately trying to slap me away without alerting our parents.

  Yeah, I'm a jackass. But I can't resist. It's too much fun getting her hot and bothered, and as fucked up as it is, I'd still like nothing better than to slide between these silky thighs, shove her cunt on my face and lick her clit over and over 'til she explodes.

  “I'm afraid my girl's always been very shy with the boys,” Bruce says, staring awkwardly at his risotto.

  “Dad!” she chirps, loud and whiny. “Can we not talk about that?”

  More heat flows through Delia's skin. Now, she's hot, bothered, and pissed.

  Looks like I'm not the only bastard at the table shaming her. One more pinch ratcheting up the pressure, and I tear my hand away, lifting it over the table to grab some bread.

  “She'll catch on sooner or later,” I say, giving Bruce a wink. “Or somebody's gonna catch onto her. I can't believe she's not engaged to some college kid yet.”

  Her ignorant daddy chuckles. “Ah, yes, plenty of time for all that. She's a very good student. Her last semester's coming up soon, and she's picking at her thesis this summer.”

  “Thesis, huh? What's the subject?”

  “I haven't decided,” she snaps, taking an angry sip of wine. “It'll be something exciting. My professor's a real hard ass. It takes a lot to impress him, but I'm going to manage. His connections go far. I need to find something amazing, something tragic, something that tugs on the heartstrings.”

  I can't help it. I roll my eyes, even as mom gives me a horrified look.

  “I see you're already talking like a true reporter. Maybe you should give your subjects some more thought. It's not always fun being on the receiving end of some gangly, embedded jackoff who doesn't think twice about tweeting sensitive info from a war zone.”

  “Chris!” Mom's turn to scream. Her silverware clatters on the china bowl. “I apologize for my son's mouth, Cordelia. He's a military man, very sensitive about these things.”

  She flips her long dark hair back over one shoulder and shakes her head. “It's okay. Really. I shouldn't have sounded so stressed out myself.”

  The fire blazing out my eyes, falling all over her skin, must finally get her attention. She looks at me, cocks her head, and polishes off another sip of wine before speaking.

  “So, what are you? Some kind of sailor? A marine?”

  “He's a SEAL,” mom answers for me. “You're not the only one who likes to hold her cards close to her chest. My son's very shy about admitting it, or maybe the government keeps his lips sewed shut, or something.”

  Or something. The only thing worse than the asshole reporters I dealt with in Iraq and Afghanistan are mom's loose lips. My commanding officer wrung my neck the first month I joined the SEALs after she squawked to a tabloid while she was drunk.

  Thankfully, the asshole printing up the story refused to drop it, but only after she shelled out some serious money. Maybe she thought marrying her new sugar daddy gave her a new license to blab about my business again, but hell if I was having it.

  “A SEAL?” Delia actually sounds impressed. “Wow. You must be awfully good at what you do to get inducted into the special forces. So elite.”

  “Whatever. I'm good at everything I do.” I look her in the eyes and watch her eyes skip down. My confidence scares her, and I fucking love it. “I've got my duties and I take them seriously. That's all anybody at this table really needs to know. So, Bruce, while we're talking secrets, tell us about the big merger coming up with your company.”

  I've got a feeling the soft, rich boy has a narcissistic streak as well. And I'm right when his face lights up, and he begins prattling on about all these high level corporate details, legalese, and how it's all but guaranteed to make him even richer.

  He's as shameless as I expected – maybe a little more so. What a fucking joke.

  After about five minutes of listening to him while I'm chomping on my main dish, a seared steak with a lobster tail and glazed asparagus, I hit my beer hard. Mom gives me the stink eye while I lift my tall glass and down the entire thing in one fluid movement.

  It's like she doesn't know I'm doing her a favor. Something's gotta take the edge off here. Getting a nice buzz is definitely the lesser evil compared to shoving my hand under the table again, and this time I won't stop at Delia's thigh.

  I'll feel her hot pussy again, shove my fingers straight up her wetness, drag my fingers back to her mouth and finally taste what I've had on my mind all fucking night.

  She won't even look at me now, picking at her food more aggressively, occasionally lifting her head to look at our parents and murmur her interest. Fuck, that pisses me off.

  I'm used to laying low. Secrets are my life in the force, and so is handling life or death, possibly for millions when our missions go critical to prevent bigger wars and terrorist attacks.

  But being ignored by the girl I was guaranteed to sink my dick into up until this dinner? Fuck everything about it.

  “Christopher, no one else has your expertise. Why don't you see what Bruce has to offer next time you're up for re-enlistment?” Mom's staring intently at me, and I don't even know what turn the conversation's taken after thinking about all the ways I'd rip off my stepsister's dress and fuck her. “I worry about you sometimes. Being over there, doing God only knows what...”

  She mimics concern. Bruce holds her hand, giving me a warm, approving look, like he wants to interview me today for some boring bullshit designed to turn my muscles into fat office goo.

  Maybe he cares, but I know better than to mistake anything mom says
. I'll never believe her again, not after she leaned on me in my late teens, turning me into the rock I never asked to be.

  It's a miracle I survived. Mom nearly ruined me before I found my discipline and purpose in the Navy. She's been trying to slither back into my life ever since, bringing her venom, her drama, her brutal flaws.

  “No,” I growl, blotting at my lips with a tablecloth. “I don't do office crap, you know that. I'm happy where I'm at. I can handle the danger. I know every single day what I signed up for, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

  Now, I'm feeling the heat. Delia's anxious eyes are on me, but I don't give a damn about that. It's feeling mom's gaze digging into me, pleading, trying to bend me like clay to be her perfect trophy boy again.

  “But Christopher, look.” She pauses, grabs Bruce's hand, and runs a hand over her tired face. “We can all start over. It's not too late. Look at me. I've sorted out my life and I'm ready to love again. You've given a lot to this country, and you've got to draw the line somewhere. I didn't want it all to come out like this, but I –“

  I throw my cloth napkin down on my plate and bang my empty beer glass so hard Delia jumps next to me. “You what? Is that what you really brought me here to talk about, mom? I should've known there was an ambush here somewhere in between the grand tour and hanging out with your perfect new family.”

  Bruce puts a hand up, timid and unsure. “Your mother's concerned for you, Chris. She talks about you every single day. I never served like you did, but I've had plenty of colleagues who did, and I know how dangerous it can be. The pay's pretty terrible for everything they put you through. I follow the news, and I know what might happen now that this situation with North Korea's heating up. Nobody in this house wants to see you get hurt.”

  How the fuck does this guy manage a billion dollar company? He's such a worm. He can't even look me in the eye for more than three seconds at a time, but I guess looking like I'm about to tear his head off has something to do with it.

  “I didn't come here to get berated and bitched at. I'm a grown man, mom, and I had to do most of the growing up myself. If it's taken you a lot longer than me, too fucking bad. I'll suffer for my job. I won't suffer for you. Any of you.”