by Vivien Vale
Table of Contents
Come Back To Me
Also By Crimson Vixens
Dedication
Description
Table of Contents Instructions
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Author’s Note
The King's Surprise Bride
Burning Hearts
His To Protect
Mountain Man Baby Daddy
Second Chance Baby Daddy
Hard Pressed
Big Package
Come Back To Me
A Brother’s Best Friend Romance
By Vivien Vale & Gage Grayson
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Also By Crimson Vixens
Daphne Dawn
Double Dealing
3 Men of the House
Double Feature
Triple Pleasure
Caught On Tape
Goldicox
Double Stuffed
Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad
Triple Taught
The Other Brother
4 Men of the House
The Marriage Mistake
Triple Threat
Natalie Knight
Taste
Painting Her
Triple Pleasure
Caught On Tape
Double Stuffed
Wanted: Big Bad Single Dad
Wanted: Big Bad Brother
The Other Brother
4 Men of the House
The Marriage Mistake
The Proposal Problem
A Daddy For Mother’s Day
Vivien Vale
Hard Bargain
Hard Luck
Hard Pressed
Hard & Fast
Triple Taught
Mountain Man Baby Daddy
Wanted: Big Bad Brother
Big Package (A Dark Vixens Novella)
The Good Twin’s Baby
Spring Break Bride
His To Protect
Burning Hearts
Dedication
To Michelle
Description
After all this time,
I've finally come back.
And everything has changed…
I was gone for so long.
And now I'm a monster.
Anger. Pain. Memories.
They consume me.
But there's one thing that can save me.
Ruby. My best friend's little sister.
She's all grown up. And I need her.
She soothes may pain. Softens my memories.
But I can't have her. I'm damaged goods.
And she's off limits.
But the pull is too strong.
The connection we have.
It's what gets me through.
And now that I have her,
I won't let her go…
Table of Contents Instructions
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Vivien Vale & Gage Grayson
Chapter 1
Wyatt
The sun beats down on my toned, sweaty, tanning body as I throw a forceful fist against the passenger side of my car door.
My punches are hard, but my cock is harder as I watch the neighborhood women checking me out, practically throwing themselves at me, while walking their dogs.
As I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead with my muscular forearm, the intensity of the sun attempting to test the integrity of my SEAL trained body, a new little slice walks by, keeping my attention for longer than my usual following.
She’s got a tight waist, wide hips, and a stride that whispers fuck me. As I pull my eyes to her face, she has a gaze to match.
She’s pushing a stroller, and as she pushes her sunglasses down her nose to get a better look of this perfectly chiseled body, she mouths the words “‘Hey, Daddy”’ at me and winks before pushing them back up and strolling past.
My cock throbs hard in my dark blue, ripped up jeans. There’s a perfectly positioned hole in it where them I could push my cock through to bend that bitch over and fuck her right here on the hood of my car, leaving a whole new impression I’d have to beat out later.
I could have this girl screaming my name to the entire neighborhood, and having a new chick at my door every day, ready to bang, just from this one, spontaneous fuck.
But I don’t need it. Banging this broad, and all the others, is all in their heads; I don’t even want them.
My fist comes full force against the metal of the door, it bending against the shape of my knuckles, as I continue beating this fucking dent out.
While I like the attention day in and day out of these everyday hotties, I don’t know that if any of them can handle me for what it’s worth.
I’m built like a Greek god, but I’m troubled just the same. Fucking fantastic to look at, but I’m a damaged goods.
I take a break to crack open another beer and guzzle it down in one go.
Nursing a beer is for sissies. You open that fucker, and you suck that shit like it’s the clit of a gorgeous woman, and you don’t fucking stop until the job is done.
As much as I know and as fucking fantastic as I am with pleasing them, it’s almost a fucking crime that as these ladies stride by me. I flirt and show off, but only ever at a distance. I refuse to let any of them come up the driveway or into my house; I’d love the company, but I’m not hurting anyone.
Not after last time.
My time in the SEALs left an impact on me. I know impeccable survival tactics, strong conviction, and I have strength that mirrors an adrenaline rush in most people.
But the SEALs scarred me. It took a young, naive boy, and molded him into a man. It hardened me more than I could have ever imagined or wanted.
When I left the SEALs, I made a vow to myself and to those around me that I woul
dn’t let anyone down the way I did ever again. I would protect myself and others at all costs. And the price to pay for me is to not let anyone get too close.
As I throw my fist into the car door one more time, I take a glance at the outside of the door, seeing that the metal is now almost perfectly even, leaving the imperfections invisible to the untrained eye.
When I brush my hands together, I realize I’m filthy with dirt and sweat—all product of a hard day’s work. Some days, I wear my stench like a badge—solid proof of the labor put in—but today, it’s hot as hell outside, and a shower is in my imminent future instead.
As I step in to the shower, water droplets rain down over my musky body, my scent melding the true marker of manhood with some Irish Spring soap. The smell of the soap takes over my whole body as I lather the sudsy mixture all over my sun-kissed skin.
My eyes close, letting the streams of water flow over me. I take in a deep breath, open my eyes, and gasp at the sight before me.
My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. I can’t keep my eyes on any one thing. There’s commotion everywhere.
I’m aboard a ship, and we’re under attack, as different booms and echoes travel across the air. Waves are crashing around the ship, rocking us from side to side, adding to the chaos.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
I wipe my face, and as I think hard, I get myself in the zone. I run across the ship, dodging various projectiles coming my way, and get to the emergency closet, grabbing all kinds of supplies for myself and my mates. As I take my weapon in hand, I snap.
And I’m back in my shower at home. My hands are shaking, my body’s perspiring again, and my breathing is shallow. Fuck.
If I could go a month without one of these fucking moments, I would be okay. I would be normal. Or at least closer to it.
It’s this kind of shit that makes me know I’m fucked up, and that anyone that’s around in one of my spells isn’t safe. They’re just so real. When I’m back in those places, it’s all like it’s just happening.
I don’t get to question how I get there, because I’ve always been there. I don’t get any warning when I slip in or out. I don’t get any reprieve when I come back to reality because I only ever fall back to the worst experiences of my life.
And there’s no one out there who can handle all of that anymore, anyway.
There’s one woman that’s stayed in my mind, but I’m afraid that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re not even the same people anymore, I think. I don’t even know how to reach out to her.
I splash the warm water against my face and rub it in, cleaning the scruff along my cheeks and chin. Some days, I like the look of my chiseled jaw making itself the defining feature of my face, but, today, I’m sticking with a gruff, bearded look. The ladies love it, and, like I said before, I like the attention.
As I rinse every concave and convex part of my defined body, I sigh. I reach out of the shower and lean my head out as I take a long and, much needed sip of Maker’s Mark on the rocks.
Nothin’ like a good whiskey to get you back into your right head.
Chapter 2
Ruby
I close Mr. Fentress’s door to muffle the sound of his girlfriend, Candi’s, powerful moans as he fucks her right there on his desk.
I roll my eyes before answering the phone with a cordial “hello”, only to be shrieked at by Mrs. Fentress, demanding to know her husband’s whereabouts.
I used to feel so nervous of her calls when I first started. I thought it was so immoral of Mr. Fentress to make me lie for him. But, now that we’ve had countless discussions about what a “harlot” I must be—despite my virginity still in my pocket—I’ve come to find that Mrs. Fentress is just as well off not knowing the truth.
But don’t get me wrong; she’s not the one in the wrong here. If he wasn’t always off banging some girl—and the list of names grows weekly—the missus and I might not be butting heads so frequently.
Honestly, it’s a time like right now, as Mrs. Fentress is chastising me over the phone, that I wish I was Candi back there, getting railed to her heart’s content by a hot, carefree, and rich lawyer in the comfort of his office.
But after just a couple of weeks of working for Mr. Fentress, he’s not the hot guy I’m wanting—not in a million years. He’s greasier than a fucking fast food fryer, and he’s the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met.
It took me a minute to catch on to his “proposals,” but once I did, I never saw him in the same light. After the fourth time he complimented my panty line, I grew a back bone and fired back at him.
Unfortunate for me, now he just thinks I’m playing hard to get.
When his little soundtrack becomes too much, I sit and close my eyes, imagining someone—a man that only exists in my own head—placing his hands on my tits and squeezing them as he makes out with me. He’ll force my legs open and grind his hard cock against my dripping panties right here at my desk, leaning over me, and holding me down against my office chair.
“Mrs. Fentress, I’m going to have to let you go. I’m getting a call on one of his pressing cases right now…I’ll have him call as soon as he returns…Yep. Yes, I won’t forget…Mrs. Fentress, I need to go.”
It takes four different ways of saying goodbye before I can actually hang up every time she calls. Six months of practice means I’ve gotten it down to a science.
Just as I end the call, I hear loud screams coming from his office. They must be finishing their meeting. It’s almost three o’ clock.
I sigh as I shake my computer’s mouse along the mouse pad to wake the machine back up.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t fantasize about losing my virginity to Mr. Fentress for a short period of time, but it’s happily more of a passing, super dirty thought than a dream. While he’s an attractive man on the outside, I’ve had it in my sights to love the man I lose my V-card to. And Mr. Fentress just is not the caring guy I want to make that memory with—not by a long shot.
In fact, the thought of it now makes me gag in my mouth. What a fucking slime ball.
It’s just so hard to work here. Day in, day out, listening to the two of them going to town at least once a day…God...not to mention Bridgett, Svetlana, and Irene, who all come by once or twice a week to get theirs.
As I get logged into the computer, Mr. Fentress opens his office door. Candi struts out in a loose-hipped, I-just-got-fucked walk, in her Christian Lou Boutins. Mr. Fentress follows her, giving her a generous smack on the ass as he sees her off.
“Goodbye, beautiful. See you tomorrow,” he says, giving her a full kiss on the mouth before closing the door between them. “What a woman.”
“She sure is, sir,” I mutter, facetiously. “I do have a message for you when you’re ready for it.”
“Go ahead, Ruby. I’m listening,” he says, adjusting his tie in the mirror hanging in my office.
“Mrs. Fentress was on the phone a few moments ago and demanded a call. I told her you were in a business lunch, and you would return it at your earliest convenience,” I divulge.
“Ah, the missus. Thank you, Ruby. I’ll be in my office, speaking with her. Do you need anything from me before I do? Perhaps a more personal show of my gratitude?” he proposes.
I keep my head low, hiding behind my monitor and rolling my eyes. I put on my fakest smile before pulling my head up.
“Oh, my, Mr. Fentress. You are quite the entertainer,” I return. “But, no, thank you. I have a few files to finish up before my vacation. Don’t forget, I am leaving at three fifteen today and won’t be back until Tuesday.”
“Ah, right. What a shame. I won’t be leaving to that gorgeous smile today. That radiant face makes me get through the weekend, little miss,” he continues to push.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it through somehow,” I kid back. “I think I’ll be just fine, though. I’m inputting these last few files, and making my great escape.”
“Well, alright, Ms. Wat
son. I’ll be in my office if you need me. Please, don’t hesitate to come see me for anything.”
Fucking gross.
As he walks into his office and closes the door, I grab a case file. Three to go. I open it, but I can’t really concentrate on what I’m typing; I’m too busy thinking about the vacation.
I haven’t been to the lake house in years. In fact, that was our last family trip at all. My brother, Jake, and I went out on a canoe with his best friend, Wyatt—shit, Wyatt actually swam me to shore since I didn’t know how to swim.
Gosh, just thinking about that trip gives me goosebumps. I don’t think Jake ever knew, but I had the biggest, most ridiculous crush on Wyatt. And after Wyatt pulled me from the lake, I found out he had one on me, too, and we shared our one and only kiss when he pretended to give me CPR along the lakeside.
That moment ignited something fierce inside me. It made me decide, then and there, that Wyatt would be my first. But with Wyatt just having enlisted and getting sent off, I never got my chance.
In my moment of reminiscing, I realize I have my old vacation journal packed in my suitcase. I finish typing the first case file, not even sure that I’ve done it all correctly. I jam the other two in my desk’s drawer and walk over to the hall closet in the lobby.
I grab my suitcase for vacation and set it next to me, unzipping it quietly and casually to fish out the small broken-spined book. I feel around, get a hold of it and pull it out.
I zip my luggage back up and open the journal to the middle, aiming for the last vacation we had. I skim, still looking for where the last trip began, pretending to finish my work, as Mr. Fentress calms his aggressive, suspicious wife over the phone in the next room.
As I flip the pages, I hear small attempts to comfort her like “Baby, listen,” and “Oh, honey.” It’s actually pretty comical when you’re not the one on the other line.
And I find it. Our last trip to the lake house.
I keep an ear out as I take myself back down memory lane, my thoughts and feelings about Wyatt Lawrence on display before me.
My heart races as I begin reading.
