Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I have to forget him sooner or later, but it's not going to be easy. I'm going to suffer a broken heart first.

  By the time I collapse, exhausted in my little bed, I'm too dumb to think about anything at all.

  A banging sound wakes me up in the dead of night. I sit up in my bed and peer towards the door to my balcony.

  When it sounds again, I know it isn't a dream. I race to the door, too shocked to worry about the t-shirt and jeans I've fallen asleep in.

  Who cares what I'm wearing? He's back!

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, as soon as I push the door open.

  Chris smiles in the darkness, swings the screen open, and steps through into my room. He doesn't say anything – not with words.

  His hands lock around my waist, pulling me in, and my lips find his. Instant hunger.

  It's like the Vegas loving happened years ago. My body feels famished, insatiable. We stumble toward the bed and he pushes me down, hovering on top of me, just twirling his tongue against mine.

  Deep. Fast. Hungry.

  “Fucking shit. How can I miss your taste when it's barely been forty-eight hours?” He breaks the kiss, and I see the sheen of summer sweat lining his face.

  I'm feeling it too. An animal heat ignites my whole bloodstream, causing every nerve to tingle and glow. I thought I couldn't resist him in Vegas, but I've never wanted anything between my legs as badly as I do now.

  “Why did you come back? We made a promise.” I'm speaking like a surprised, reasonable girl, but deep down inside, I'm fucking thrilled.

  “Fuck the promise. I need my tongue on your clit, babe. I need to feel you clenching on my dick, everything I felt in Vegas and then some.” He stops, shoving his hand my jeans, my panties. I melt when his fingers find my clit, stroking too hard to ignore. “Don't give me that shit. You're not gonna get caught up on practicalities when I'm here with my fingers on your pussy.”

  I shake my head, feeling lust overpower all the wrong like it's some kind of lion attacking a gazelle.

  “No, no...Chris. We can't do this. We have to get over it.” So I say.

  “Get over fucking what, Delia?” His fingers sink deep into my pussy, finding the spot that always makes me squirm.

  Holy shit. I'm breathless. Again. Completely and utterly conquered by his touch, his scent, the rays in his eyes that say, it was over the minute I stepped in. We're fucking no matter what.

  His fingers piston in and out of my pussy so fast my mouth drops open, and I moan.

  “Exactly,” he growls, taking advantage of my creeping pleasure coma to start working off my clothes.

  I don't fight him anymore. I can't. It was stupid to begin with, when everything I'll ever want is right in front of me – or should I say between my legs?

  It's strange to have a man here, in my own bedroom, caught in our parent's house. I know Evie sleepwalks sometimes, and I haven't even seen the time, so we'll have to be careful. I'm not hearing any vacuuming or voices in the halls, so I'm assuming it's late, past time for the staff to go home.

  Chris bends me like a doll, undressing me, saving my panties for last. He rips them off in his trademark bestial way that sends fire up my spine. Everything below the waist tightens, anticipating his touch, his tongue, his manic, perfect cock.

  “Chris, we have to be careful. We can't be too loud,” I whimper, softly covering my mouth with my hand.

  It's all I can do not to groan like we did in Vegas when he starts kissing up my thighs. His tongue lashes hot, wild, leading me around in circles.

  “Stuff your knuckles in your mouth and bite down, baby. That shit always helps guys cracking up under fire.”

  That's all the warning he gives me, all I get, before his tongue plunges deep inside my pussy. My hips rise to meet him, and his hands catch my thighs. He pushes me down, pinning me to the mattress, growling as he takes control.

  I crack after about a second. I bite down hard, so rough I can feel my small teeth digging into my skin. It's all I can do to stop myself from crying out.

  He lashes me to the bed with his hands, sucking and fucking me with his tongue, stroking his way across my entire pussy in every lick. He pulls his tongue up from my slit, flutters it against my clit, a strange, teasing sensation that feeds the frenzy in slow motion.

  A minute later, I feel like I'm going to scream bloody murder.

  I'm panting, biting so hard I'll probably leave teeth marks the next day. My whole body heaves, begging for precious breath, every time he does those long, wicked strokes.

  “Don't keep me holding like this!” I pant, when his tongue gives me a second of rest. “You're killing me, Chris. Killing me. I need you on my clit.”

  He ignores the pleas for a few more seconds, driving me out of my mind. Then his mouth shifts up, and his fingers replace his tongue inside me, fucking with the same hard, alpha vigor we shared on our first night at the beach.

  Heaven help me.

  But there's nobody saving me from the climax that rises up and explodes all at once. My hips tighten up and I throw myself against his mouth like a madwoman, gasping and retching shrill little growls, coming on his face.

  Chris keeps tonguing me the whole way through it, gliding me through the molten white pleasure. He licks for what feels like forever, snarls and sends his thunder through my flesh. I can't believe how long I'm coming, and my body doesn't want to stop.

  It's built to be his and nothing else in this insane moment.

  I'm flushed, completely covered in sweat by the end of it. His naked skin rubs against mine, bringing me down to earth, and he slowly rolls me over.

  Then he's at my level, one hand jerking on my dark hair, pulling my ear to his lips. “We're not done yet, beautiful. Let's find out how hard we gotta fuck to break this fucking bed. Can't believe your old man doesn't get you anything nicer.”

  He's right. The bed isn't much – a mid-quality single – and squeaks more than it should. Before I can protest, Chris covers my mouth and sinks into me, silencing my fears forever.

  I can't let our parents hear! But I can't bring myself to care when his cock takes me from behind, slamming into me in harsh, overwhelming jerks. It's not like our last night in Vegas where every fuck came frantic, fast, and often, trying to get in as much as possible.

  He fucks me slow, but hard, his rhythm rising into a full on jackhammer sensation. My entire body shakes, and I can barely hold myself up on my hands and knees. The fist in my hair does the work too, and it's getting tighter all the time, pulling at the roots while he growls with each powerful thrust.

  Another ten strokes, and his balls are swinging up, slapping my clit with some insane pressure that's perfectly aligned to bring me down. I fall into another climax, crashing my head against the sheets, desperately kissing and biting at the bed to stifle the shrieks about to rip out of me.

  “Fuck!” I hear Chris cry out behind me and stiffen. That pushes me completely over the edge, off this fucking planet. I'm leaving this world and entering nirvana.

  We come together. The bed sounds like it's about to explode, and I can't stop. Not for one meager second as our hips collide, rutting like animals, drunk on the pleasure erupting in our own bodies.

  He swells, bursts, and floods my emptiness. Rope after rope of his hot come fills me, and my pussy tightens, greedily drawing it all in. It feels like he's about to rip the hair out of my head. The sheer, rough climax pulls me deeper than anything I've ever felt, so deep I don't ever want it to stop.

  I'm lost in flames, awash in him, transported to a world of nothing but sweat and sex where none of the crap between us matters. There's just Chris and I, free lovers, unbound by time or brutal obstacles.

  Our bodies, minds, and souls bond together on some higher plane I'm too drunk on sex to understand.

  After he pulls out, we lay together. He never keeps his hands off me, even when he's spent. He's got one hand on my ass and the other in my hair, keeping me wrapped around him, using his
magnificent chest for a pillow.

  “Why did you come back after Vegas? Seriously?” I ask him, running my fingers over his chest. It's nice to slow down and admire him. I brush my nails along the dragon and the trident on his torso, admiring all the little details, rich black ink as dark and dangerous as the rest of him.

  “Why do you think?” There's a sharp edge in his tone. “Jesus, Delia, don't you know? If you think I'd let pussy like this go without a fight, you're crazy.”

  “Oh?” I smile, raising my eyebrows. “So, you're just here for the sex? Thought you could get plenty of that outside base.”

  “Look at me, woman.” Shrugging, he grabs my chin, repositioning my head so it's perfectly level with his eyes. “I don't have a damned clue what kind of voodoo shit you've got going on, but I want more. I'm not an idiot. I know I shouldn't be in this house, much less in your bed, but I don't care. I'm running on instinct here, and my instincts are never wrong.”

  I love how his skin feels against mine. It's almost like he's getting warmer, slowly and gradually heating up, as if there's a chemical reaction between our flesh.

  “Yeah? What's your instinct telling you now?”

  He grabs my hand and pushes it down to his thigh, then slowly drags it across to his cock. I gasp when I feel how hard he is again, ready to go. At least we had a good, five minute break.

  “Put your little lips on my dick and find out, sis.” It rushes out of his lips like a filthy curse, and something inside me tingles.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn't be doing this, sucking my stepbrother's cock in my own bed, much less getting wet when he calls me sis.

  I want to laugh in his face for acting like I'm the one with the love spell here – if it isn't just a fuck spell. But his cock feels so good when I wrap my fingers around his huge, throbbing length, and soon I can't ignore the urge to taste him.

  I crawl down the bed and get between his legs, blushing as his green eyes follow me. God, why does he make me feel so self-conscious, even after we've fucked so many times?

  He tells me I'm a natural at giving him pleasure, but I'm still not used to the spotlight. I've got to get over it if we're going to keep doing this, and tonight's a good time to start.

  I lick my lips slowly, watching his jaw clench, lowering my lips very, very slowly. He swears when I kiss the tip of his dick, oozing fresh pre-come.

  My fingers bob up and down. I'm going to give Mr. Badass Tease a taste of his own medicine.

  I'm smiling, ready to engulf him in the slowest blowjob a girl ever gave. The loud bang at my bedroom door makes me jump, and a second later, feeling him in my mouth is the last thing on my mind.

  “Honey? Are you up? We need to talk.” Dad's strained voice comes through the other side.

  Chris and I swap one agonizing look. He shoves a stiff finger against his lips and jumps up, grabbing his clothes. I stand up gently from the bed while dad knocks again.

  It's not soft. There's something urgent, frantic in his fist, like he's in trouble, but holding back so he doesn't worry me.

  “I'll slip outside and we'll catch up later. Find out what the fuck he wants,” Chris whispers, launching himself out onto the balcony before I can say anything.

  I watch him jump into a huge oak tree with a panther's grace, sliding down the trunk, into the sprawling garden below.

  “Honey?” Dad knocks again. His voice is cracking, and it's freaking me out. “Please.”

  Shit. I'm not even dressed. I scramble for my clothes, my ears pricked up the entire time. Whatever he wants, it can't be good since it's the middle of the night. I'm straightening my gown when I hear his footsteps turn, angrily padding down the hall.

  My heart keeps thumping like it's going to beat out of my ribs. I want to go after him, but I'm afraid of the reaction if I pop up in front of him, wide awake, after ignoring him for several minutes. Never mind the fact that I'm sweaty and smelling like pure sex.

  Thirty seconds later, it doesn't matter. He's back, this time beating furiously on the wood, screaming in a way I've never heard in my life.

  “Goddamn it, Cordelia! Wake up – please! I need your help. Help me!”

  That's it. I run over and tear the door open. Dad reaches through the frame and pulls me out into the hall, swirling me around so fast I almost blackout.

  “Whoa, dad! Calm down. What's going on?”

  He looks like hell. He's clammy, panicked. Dark circles surround his eyes, looking like bad smears of makeup. I've never seen my father like this, and it's scary as hell.

  “It's Evie, Delia. She's not breathing – she's not fucking breathing!” He spins angrily, slams his fist on the wall.

  Holy shit. I grab his shoulder, trying to calm him down, remembering all that emergency crap you always learn in school, but never pay attention because you don't ever expect to need it.

  “Call 9-1-1! Don't tell me you came to me first? What happened? Start at the beginning.”

  “I already did, they're on their way,” he snarls, grabbing me by the hand. This time, there's no stopping him, and he marches me toward the bedroom in a blinding storm of fury and terror. “Jesus Christ, it's bad. She was just like this when I found her, passed out, wheezing up a storm. I came upstairs after a late night, heard strange noises. I thought she was doing her yoga routine or something on the bed, but she was out cold. Then her lungs quit working...shit, we've got to do something!”

  My belly tightens up when he talks about the noises in the night. He's probably too shocked by what's happening to pin down Chris and I fucking, but later?

  Stop it, I tell myself. This is no time to get selfish. We have to make sure this woman doesn't die.

  Yeah. Something about having Evie around the house as a ghost, forever, makes me want to move into the crappiest high rent apartment the Bay Area has to offer if it's the only way out of here.

  Dad tears himself away and runs over to the small, limp shape on the bed. Evie looks like a rumpled mess, the blankets slung off her, dressed in what looks like a cocktail dress.

  “Come on, dammit. Come the fuck on!” Dad's cracking up.

  He never swears like this, never shows such harsh, bright tears in his eyes.

  He's covering her mouth with his, pouring every drop of oxygen he has into her, pumping his hands on her chest so hard I think he's going to break her ribs. It won't take much. I swear she's lost even more weight during the week I've been away. She looks like a mummy with one too many plastic surgeries.

  “Dad, get her on the floor! Maybe it'll help,” I suggest, walking up.

  He stands and gives me an angry wave. I grab her feet and we lift her. She's just as light as I feared. Her head rolls like she's already dead, and that's when I notice the crap coming out of her mouth, something foamy, unnatural.

  I don't know what a drug overdose looks like, but I have an awful feeling. Dad hits the floor again, blinded by his tears, shaking her tiny body as he pounds her chest again and again.

  I'm so hooked on the freak show happening in front of me that I don't see Chris. The door bursts open so hard it whacks against the wall, and then he's in, pushing my dad aside.

  I watch my stepbrother secret lover take over where my father left off. He works with more precision than dad, timing his CPR perfectly, an eerie calm lining his face.

  Dad's jaw clenches so hard it looks like his teeth are going to break. I'm holding his hand, trying to keep him out of it so Chris can do his thing.

  “Are you sure you know what you're doing, son?” dad growls, his brow furrowed. “Where the fuck are those paramedics?”

  He looks at me. I give him my best sympathetic look, trying to stay positive. Truthfully, I have no clue what's about to happen.

  Chris doesn't answer. He just keeps working on his mother, shirtless and heroic, more like a force of nature than a man trying to save another human being's life.

  Evie's face has gone completely white – well, whiter than usual, I mean. She's downright ghost
ly, and her ankles are swollen too. I found out when I helped guide her to the floor.

  If she lives, she's going to be a wreck. I tell myself I don't want her to die, even though it would simplify so much. But it's not worth leaving my poor father a broken shell of a man.

  “Dad? Why don't you come with me. Let Chris do his thing...”

  I try to guide him away, but his grip is so limp, so far gone.

  He's not even angry or scared anymore. He looks like he's a million miles away, haunted as though he's already seen his wife die in front of him.

  For all anybody knows, he has, and that makes me want to strangle the stupid, suicidal bitch all over again.

  Dad won't move beyond the bedroom. We stop several feet away, watching as Chris works frantically. The muscles on his back ripple like moving stones, masculine and powerful. If anyone can save her, it's going to be the son she's treated like absolute crap all along.

  How ironic

  And it is a second later, when Evie jerks, so sudden and sharp I almost go through the ceiling. Dad rushes forward while he's coughing and spluttering. He hits the floor and catches her, holding her up when her frail body buckles again.

  “Oh, baby. Oh, Christ. You're going to be okay, honey. Help's on the way. Remember, long, slow, deep breaths.” Dad holds her so tenderly it makes me sad and angry all at once.

  He cares so fucking much – and she almost offed herself without giving a damn. I wonder if we'll find out what kind of junk she has screwing up her system?

  Chris backs away, stands up, and gives me a sharp look. I'm about to say something when our doorbell chime blasts through the house, announcing the paramedics.

  “Come on, Delia. Let's make sure they get in okay.”

  I can't remember the last time I caught up on sleep. Sometime before Vegas. Hell, maybe sometime before Mister Badass SEAL walked into my life, dragging his psycho mother behind him.

  It's morning, and I'm exhausted. Evie was stabilized by the time the medics hauled her away, with dad right behind them.