Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  Instead, I was bought by a total dreamboat.

  A total dreamboat who is now totally taking off his lab coat.

  I mean, except for this fucking necklace, I’m already naked. So if he wants to join me, I’m not about to complain.

  I bet he’s got an eight-pack beneath his shirt, too.

  But to my dismay, he stops with the lab coat. He’s desperately trying not to look at me as he wraps it around my shoulders so that neither of us are naked anymore.

  Damn.

  Though I have to admit, I’m grateful for the warmth.

  I risk a glance down at myself. Not exactly an improvement on my previous state. It should be designer or nothing.

  “Look, I’m sorry for the mix-up,” he says, although he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’ll book you the next flight home.”

  It takes a second to register since, in my head, I’m unzipping his pants with my teeth.

  “Right,” I choke out after only a second’s hesitation, “that sounds good. LaGuardia. Private charter flight if they have it. If not, Delta will do.”

  He pulls out his phone, which conveniently has a flight app already installed. I watch his fingers dance over the screen. Obviously, he’s skilled with his hands.

  “There’s one in the morning,” he says. “At eight.”

  “First class?”

  He looks at me like I’ve grown horns. “Coach.”

  I swear to God, I nearly gag.

  “Coach,” I groan. “Do you know who I am?” This time my Mom impression is so good it almost scares me.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he says, having the nerve to match my tone. “You’re a spoiled little brat. Let’s not forget, though, you came here in a box.”

  I’ve never really understood what it meant to see red. In this moment though, it makes perfect sense. I’m seeing goddamn crimson—with an accent of blood orange!

  “That’s right,” I say. “I came here in a fucking box! Have you ever traveled by box? It fucking SUCKS! So, if you think I’m about to leave in anything less than first class, you’ve got another thing coming…Mister!”

  I emphasize the last with a couple of hard pokes to his chest. Holy shit, this guy is ripped. I look down at the floor, trying to hide my wince as pain shoots through my finger.

  At the same time, I’m fighting the urge to reach back up and tear the shirt from his body.

  When I feel ready to meet his eyes again, I find them brimming with anger.

  “Okay princess,” he says in an eerily calm voice. “First class it is.”

  “Good.” I decide to smother the triumphant smile that threatens to break across my face.

  Probably shouldn’t push my luck.

  He looks back at his phone, fingers again flying with an ease that makes my mind race. Oh, the possibilities.

  Less than a minute later, his attention’s back on me. I can’t say I like that mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Okay,” he says. “All set. First class all the way. Happy?”

  “Perfect! When do I leave?”

  He smiles broadly. “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? I can’t wait two weeks!”

  Now I understand the mischievous glint…and the shit-eating grin now spreading even wider across his face.

  “Oh, you can’t?” he asks with mock sincerity, “I can always downgrade you.”

  This stupid, sexy son of a bitch.

  I might have caved. I might have just given up right then. Probably would have in fact, if it weren’t for that grin. That smug, shit-eating grin.

  “Okay,” I say, letting the word hang in the air just long enough to foster false hope. “I’ll wait the two weeks. Where’s my room?”

  The look of utter confusion that comes across his face is almost worth the trip in that damn box.

  Almost.

  “Your room,” he repeats, deadpan.

  “Right. The room I’ll be staying in while I wait for my flight out,” I say, hugging the doctor’s coat around me and wandering around the foyer, gawking at the décor.

  It’s not bad, honestly. A little homey and a little too minimalist for my tastes—but whatever. I could get with this for two weeks.

  “What makes you think I’m putting you up for two weeks, princess?”

  “What made you think you could buy a kidnapping victim over the internet?” I shoot back. “I’ll also settle for the Hilton, but you can bet your ass I’ll be getting room service.”

  He laughs, yet there’s no humor in it. In fact, he looks annoyed. He shoves his phone back into his pocket.

  “I didn’t know you were a kidnapping victim when I bought you,” he reminds me. “And if you trash the place, I’m billing your sugar daddy.”

  Before I can respond, he’s moving, his long legs eating up the distance to the stairs.

  I furrow my brow. I don’t have a sugar daddy—I have a trust fund.

  “Hurry up,” he calls without looking back. “Before I decide to turn you in to the LAPD instead.”

  I think of telling him not to order me around. That I’m many things, but his bitch isn’t one of them…yet.

  I bite my tongue instead.

  If I’m going to be here for two weeks, I should probably start picking my battles. After all, I’ve already come away pretty victorious tonight.

  I follow him, hurrying to match his pace. This place is huge and, by the time he finally comes to a stop, I’m a little winded—and I do pilates, for fuck’s sake.

  Not that I’ll let him see that he’s already worn me out.

  “Here you go,” he says, pushing open the nearest door.

  I step into the room, eyes assessing the place.

  It’s fantastic! Four-poster bed, lush carpeting, gorgeous chandelier. Now this is a place I can relax.

  I turn to tell him so, but he isn’t there.

  I poke my head back out the door and catch him turning the corner, walking even faster now that he’s alone.

  I tamp down on the disappointment that threatens to bubble up. Sure, I kind of want to smack the guy, but part of me was hoping he might stick around for a while.

  I shut the door and lean back against it, taking in the room anew.

  I glance down, realizing I’ve still got his lab coat on. I shrug it off. I might have to stay in his house, but I damn sure don’t have to wear his clothes.

  After a moment’s thought, I hold the discarded garment to my face, deeply breathing in his lingering scent.

  Holy fuck… he smells good.

  I consider putting it down or throwing it away.

  But I can barely pull the lab coat away from my face. It’s like I don’t want to stop breathing in.

  When I breathe out again, it’s a sigh…

  Then, I smell the lab coat again and go right on basking in his manly, sexy scent.

  Kidnapping and threats of coach class aside…

  A girl could get used to this.

  Michael

  What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  I head to my bedroom after dumping that prissy woman off at my guest room. I need some distance from her. I need some fucking space.

  Sure, she’s gorgeous, but I can tell why she’s single just from the twenty minutes we were together.

  I mean, what do I really know about her? Aside from the fact that she has long, flowing blonde hair, blue eyes, and a great fucking bod? That’s where the dream ends, though.

  It’s not even the spunk—I can handle spunk. I like feisty women. No fun in fucking a doormat.

  What I dislike, though, are spoiled women who expect everything to be handed to them on a silver fucking platter.

  She’s obviously used to the finer things in life. She demanded a first class flight and a goddamn five-star hotel suite for Christ’s sake!

  I head straight to the bathroom and turn the water on. All I need is a nice hot shower to feel better. Stepping inside the shower, I let out a frustrated sigh.

  It
felt good to push her buttons and knock her down a peg or three. Sure, this isn’t an ideal situation, but it’s not like I grabbed her and dragged her home caveman-style, screaming, Me Tarzan, you Jane! the whole way.

  I’m trying to make this right. I really am. But that fucking mouth…that fucking mouth is a deal breaker.

  I can’t help wondering if I’m really going to be able to deal with this bullshit for the next two weeks. It’s day one, and I’m already dreading seeing her again.

  Scratch that. I don’t mind looking at her—as long as she keeps that trap shut.

  Lathering up my hair, my thoughts drift to her perky tits and perfectly shaved pussy. She said she intended to lose her V-card.

  I could make that happen. My dick is getting hard just imagining it.

  But then I think of her bitchy little mouth and, just like that, poof! Down, boy.

  The hot water feels good streaming down my body. It washes away some of my agitation, but I still feel on edge. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten in hours, not since before I went to surgery.

  Time to cook up that fat, juicy steak in the fridge just waiting for me to tear into it.

  I throw on my favorite Tom Ford jeans and a casual dress shirt, buttoning it halfway down and leaving my chest hair exposed.

  I’m tempted to tiptoe past her room so she doesn’t hear me, but I suppose I should at least feed the brat…

  Bride? Yeah, right. I’m nothing but a fucking babysitter at the moment.

  In the kitchen, I go right to work. I chop up some broccoli and yellow squash to go along with the T-bone that’s currently searing. Baked potatoes round off the meal with a healthy serving of sour cream.

  This body doesn’t come naturally after all. Baked potatoes round off the meal with a healthy serving of sour cream.

  I set two plates on the table and figure I better call Miss Prissy before she decides that this room service isn’t up to her standards. Feeling the irritation build up once again, I knock on the guest room door a little harder than I intended.

  She yanks open the door, and the sight takes my breath away for the second time today. She’s managed to make my doctor’s coat look fucking stylish with one of my ties belted around her waist to keep it closed.

  “What?” She says, her eyes lingering on my chest where my buttons are open.

  “Dinner.”

  “You cooked?”

  The astonishment is evident in her eyes, and I can’t help admiring just how stunning they are. They rival the waters of the Caribbean, and I find myself wondering how they’d look in the throes of ecstasy.

  I want to see them full of pleasurable tears and desire…but her attitude brings that fantasy to an abrupt end.

  “No private chefs here, sweetheart.” I scoff and walk off. “A man’s gotta eat.”

  She follows me to the table where I’ve set our plates across from each other. I hold her chair out, but she doesn’t say one word of thanks. Fucking brat.

  “Are you really a doctor?” she asks, eyeing the plate in front of her.

  “I’m not in the habit of lying. Yes, I am a doctor. What about you, what do you do? Besides get yourself kidnapped.”

  “That wasn’t intentional!” she snaps. She still hasn’t taken a bite of her food.

  “I would certainly hope not. But, who knows, maybe you just like the attention.”

  “Why shouldn’t I like the attention? I mean…look at me.”

  “Color me fucking surprised.” The sarcasm’s so thick I’m impressed I don’t choke on it. Instead, I take a sip of wine to wash down the bitter tension between us.

  “But I would never get myself kidnapped for attention! I’m Stella fucking Hensley. People pay money just to look at me, Dr. Dumbass. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Hensley? Why does that name sound so familiar? I feel as though I should know it, but I’m drawing a blank at the moment.

  “Anyway, if you really are a doctor, and you look like…” She gestures vaguely at my chest. “Then why are you so desperate for a woman that you have to order one online?”

  “I’m not desperate.”

  “Really? You order a woman online to be your wife, and you don’t think you’re desperate?”

  She laughs. Not the good kind of laugh either. A condescending fucking laugh that resonates with me as well as nails going down a chalkboard.

  “Eat up.” I gesture to the plate, eager to get this meal over with.

  “I don’t like vegetables, and I prefer champagne over wine. Taste of Diamonds is the best brand.”

  Of course it fucking is; it only costs millions per bottle.

  “Grocery store’s about five miles away. If you start walking now, you’ll make it by the time they open tomorrow.” At this point I’m not even kidding.

  I’m seething inside. I’m just trying to get to know her better, and all she does is ruin dinner. Is there no limit to her bitchiness?

  That gets her goat, apparently.

  “You expect me to go out like this? What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Problem? Really? You have the balls to ask me what my fucking problem is?” I furrow my brow and slide my tongue over my lower lip, ready to let loose on her. “My problem is that there’s a spoiled fucking princess sitting across from me who can’t even be appreciative of a damn meal.”

  I’ve had it. I grab my plate, ready to call it a night and get as far away from Stella as possible.

  “What about dessert?”

  Dessert? Is she for fucking real?

  “What are you, fucking five?!” I slam my fist on the table and stalk around to the other side of the table where she’s sitting. “Fine, you want dessert? I’ve got your fucking dessert.”

  I pull her chair out and turn it so she’s facing me. Her eyes go wide for a minute before she regains composure.

  “What the fuck—”

  I am not giving her the satisfaction. I reach down and yank her up by the waist.

  In one swift motion, I press my lips to hers. Hard.

  If she’s not going to shut up, I’m gonna shut her up. I’m giving her something so sweet she’ll never think of asking for dessert again.

  Stella

  His tongue in my mouth may be one of the best things I’ve ever felt. He’s holding me hard. His hands seem to find parts of my body I didn’t know existed.

  Every nerve I possess is on high alert, screaming for more.

  I feel his cock pressing against me. I knew he was big but fuck. The sheer knowledge of what he’s packing makes me moan.

  This guy is enormous.

  His hands find their way to the tie at my waist, tugging roughly. This small piece of fabric represents the only thing that really stands between me and partial nudity. I’m thrilled to watch it fall to the floor.

  His hands come up to my shoulders, easily sliding the shirt from my body now that it’s not held in place.

  He’s seen me naked before. Well, wearing nothing but packing peanuts anyway. Still, I hear his sharp intake of breath as the shirt pools around my bare feet.

  A sound crawls from his mouth.

  It’s primal, almost a growl.

  It sends chills racing through my body. My pussy responds in kind. I’m wetter than I thought possible.

  I reach for him next, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, decisive movements, savoring each inch of skin I reveal. When all of the buttons have been undone, I see that even my fantasies didn’t quite measure up to the man in front of me.

  I was definitely right about the eight-pack though.

  This fucking guy really does look like a god.

  He’s perfect, every inch of him is sharply cut muscle; his skin is sun-kissed and glowing. I want to run my hands over every last inch of him.

  He bends down and takes one of my hard nipples into his mouth. His hand finds the other at the same time. I feel like a fool for never knowing just how amazing it could feel to have your nipples sucked.

  A surge of energy races
through my body, pooling between my legs.

  He pulls back, and my nipple leaves his mouth with an audible pop.

  My head is spinning. I open my mouth to say something, anything.

  Okay, yeah. I have a little habit of talking when I’m overwhelmed. Some people find it adorable—maybe not most but some.

  He’s clearly not one of the few, however. The moment he sees me opening my mouth to speak his hands are at my waist, spinning me in place.

  Next thing I know, I’m bent over the kitchen table, mind racing and mouth firmly shut.

  I’m admittedly new to this kind of thing, so I’m not exactly sure what he’ll do next.

  The last thing I’m expecting is the sudden sting of his hand smacking hard against my bare ass.

  “Hey!” I yelp.

  His only response is a chuckle. Fucking asshole.

  “Don’t you dare—”

  WHACK!

  He spanks me again.

  I’m more surprised than anyone when the next sound to come from me is a moan.

  “Were you gonna say something?” he asks.

  All I can do is shake my head.

  Sure, I’d love to say that I’m the kind of girl who’s super above being spanked by a man. In fact, up until this very moment I was certain that I was. As his hand comes in for a third swat however, I’m quite sure I was mistaken.

  WHACK!

  I can practically feel the red mark forming on that one.

  It only makes me moan louder.

  By this point, I’m practically dripping wet. My nails are damn near digging grooves into his expensive kitchen table.

  So when I feel him drop to his knees behind me, I nearly lose it with the knowledge of what’s to come.

  I feel his hands rubbing across my ass, irritating the already sore skin in a way that makes me crazy.

  Then, suddenly I feel his teeth.

  If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve just discovered my affinity for spanking, I would never believe that I’d enjoy being bitten. As it stands now though, nothing would surprise me, so I moan loudly as his teeth practically embed themselves in my flawless skin.

  FUCK.

  His hands snake around to again grasp me by the hips. A moment later, I feel his tongue. It slides into me, massaging, searching.