The Billionaire’s Pet: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  * * *

  The next few months fly by and before I can blink, it’s been three months since I started living in Cameron’s house. I’m astonished at how quickly I adapted to life with Cameron Purcell after that first night with him, the night he asserted control over me in every single aspect. I’ve craved him ever since, even if sometimes, I feel ashamed that I do.

  But that evening, something changed between us and it’s shocking at how quickly the change took place. I had no idea what would happen after our first interlude in the study. I assumed I would be sent to my room for the night to sleep alone, but instead, I was swept into his embrace.

  The look in his eyes when I finally stopped shuddering in his arms was one of wonder. His arms were gentle under my limp, sated body as he carried me to the master suite. I slept peacefully and soundly that night, sinking into the softness of his mattress and the safety of his broad form. Cameron held me close to his body and we molded into each other. Our breathing synced while we slept. It was heavenly and while this man was a complete stranger, I had never felt so safe before in my life.

  Even more surprising, we were completely at ease with each other the next morning. At first, I made to scamper to my own room, but Cameron held me tight in those brawny arms and growled that my place was with him. As a result, I’ve never actually slept in the suite he gave me. I’ve spent every night in his arms, twisting and turning as he pleasures me over and over again.

  Plus, over the course of the three months, our relationship has changed. What started out as an “arrangement” has turned into something deeper and I often wonder if Cameron feels it, too. We make love nearly every night, some nights rough, some nights soft and gentle. The first night we made sweeter love was the night I surprised him by slinking into his office fully nude, with only a pair of silver high heels on. I expected a rough time up against his desk or even against the wall, but instead, it was romantic. He kissed my curves, worshiping them, and I came harder than I’ve ever come before.

  Tonight though, I can’t sleep. I woke about thirty minutes ago and checked the clock on my iPhone. It’s three in the morning. I put my phone back down on the nightstand on my side of the bed, and glance over at Cameron. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room, but thanks to the moonlight shining through the cracks of the window, I’m able to see his features.

  Cameron is such a handsome man, and sometimes it’s hard for me to comprehend that I get to be the one next to him in his bed. My eyes skim over his bare chest that’s exposed from the blanket lying across his lower abdomen and my fingers trace over the indentions from his beautiful, sculpted abs. The deep ridges of his gorgeous, bronzed skin reflect his frequent use of the gym but I’m curious to know how hard he goes at it to achieve this carved flesh.

  Meanwhile, Cameron looks relaxed in his sleep. His features are peaceful, but I frown a bit as I study him. There’s is an odd sensation rolling my stomach that’s kept me up for a few hours, and sighing, I flop over to stare at the ceiling blankly.

  What’s driving my unease? If it weren’t for Cameron, who knows what my life would be like now? If my dad hadn’t made the deal to practically sell me to this man, would we still be in the trailer park? Or would we be living in our car, or a shanty in the woods?

  So in a way, Cameron rescued me. There’s no doubt he knew the kind of trouble I was in, and he saved me from succumbing to my dad’s lazy habits. I owe Cameron much more than I’ll be able to give him and the more I watch him in the soft glow of the moonlight, the more I realize something heart-wrenching and yet absolutely awful.

  I’ve fallen in love with him.

  I’m not talking about an infatuation type of love where your attraction for someone is brief, fleeting, and ultimately, short-lived. I’m talking about love. Love in its purest form, deep and true. Come to think of it, I’ve never felt this kind of love before.

  After all, these last three months of living in Cameron’s home have been the best three months of my life. I’m able to swan about the house all day every day, reading books I always dreamed of reading or lounging by the pool, watching the newest documentaries on Netflix or Hulu. It’s occurred to me that I’ve learned much more about the world here, tucked away in a home, than I did outside working at the diner.

  Then when Cameron returns home in the evenings and sees me--he always finds me first thing when he walks through the door--we make love, multiple times, and it feels like heavenly bliss. When I’m with the alpha male, I feel safe. I feel protected, loved, nourished, and provided for. We eat dinner together, just the two of us, sometimes on the back patio overlooking the gardens or sometimes in the ornate dining room, and Cameron’s eyes are appreciative, his blue eyes burnishing me with love.

  It’s as if he sees me for who I am, and he’s the first person to ever truly do that. He sees me for what I could be and what I should have been in this world, instead of a girl who happened to get the short end of the stick when it came to the cards I was dealt by my father. Everything with Cameron is stimulating, including our conversations. We talk about everything: the highs and the lows, the simple and the complicated. The more I’m with him. the more I miss him when we’re apart, and when we’re together in bed … there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

  Giving up on sleep for the night, I gently slide from the bed, careful not to wake Cameron, and slip into a blush silk robe Cameron bought me. I push my feet in the matching blush furry slippers and take my phone from the nightstand before quietly exiting the room so as not to wake him from his sleep. Living in this house is like living in a beach hotel, entertainment center, and gym all in one. There are endless possibilities, but I always end up falling to my default: the library.

  The library is really a combination billiards-study room, but it’s so massive that it has thousands of books of all genres. It’s a long walk through the giant mansion, but I make the voyage anyways. The house is eerily quiet at night without the sounds of Cameron’s employees in the kitchen or the crunch of the gravel when the gardener brings his truck around to the back. And yet, this place is home now, and I’m totally at ease.

  Using the flashlight on my phone, I guide myself to the library where I turn on the desk lamp and settle onto a cream chaise lounge chair with a copy of my favorite classic, Pride and Prejudice. I’ve seen the movie starring Kiera Knightley as Elizabeth Bennett and I always wanted to read the book after watching the movie. I’m a sucker for a great love story and there’s something about the dynamic of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy that’s saucy yet romantic.

  I’m sitting in the chair when the screen of my phone lights up and vibrates. Who would be texting me at this hour? It’s completely dark outside, and I pick up my phone with curiosity. But the second my eyes see the notification, my body freezes. It’s not a text. It’s a notification from my period app, telling me I’ve yet to log my period that should have started already. An uneasy feeling presses in the bottom of my throat.

  I quickly unlock my phone and open up the app where I scan over the calendar that shows when I was supposed to start. How could I have missed this? How did I miss last month’s reminder too? I guess I was so caught up in my new situation, that I must have seen the notifications and then moved on and forgotten about them. When I realize that my period was supposed to start a week ago, my stomach sinks, and an indescribable feeling washes over me.

  My head snaps up as I try to remember the last time I had a period and suddenly, I’m extremely lightheaded. Surely my dates got messed up or I didn’t log something correctly, because I’d totally forgotten. I start to think it over some more, wondering how I could have forgotten the monthly ritual. Suddenly, nausea washes over me. In fact, I am going to hurl.

  My hands fly down to clench my stomach as I lunge off the chaise and barely make it to the small waste basket sitting beside Cameron’s desk. I vomit into the basket and empty my stomach as bile pulses up my throat and my body starts to tremble. There’s no way this is happening. I did no
tice a slight change in my breasts this last week as they became very tender to the touch, and my nose began picking up foul smells that left me feeling as if I were on the verge of passing out, but I just dismissed it as food poisoning. I never thought for a moment that I might be pregnant. Is that really the possibility I’m facing right now? Being pregnant with Cameron’s baby? There’s no way. This is just a dream.

  I sit on my knees with my shaky fingers clutching the rim of the basket while trying to calm my roiling stomach. After a few moments of sitting there, I stand on wobbly legs. My hands fly to the sides of my head as my mind reels with all of these bizarre thoughts. What do I do? Am I really pregnant with Cameron’s baby?

  I need to find a bathroom. I grab my phone and leave the room to wander the halls in search of the nearest bathroom. I know there’s one down the hall near Cameron’s official office, so I walk there as best as I can with wobbly steps. I close the door behind me and turn on the lights, jumping back slightly when I notice my appearance in the mirror. My skin is pale to the point where I look like a ghost and my lips are slightly crusty with the dried bile. I feel hot--probably from nerves and from throwing up--so I turn on the cold water to splash it on my face before grabbing the edges of the sink, another weird feeling washing over me.

  Oh no. Here it comes again.

  I quickly dart to the toilet and throw open the lid to release the contents of my stomach before flushing them down. A soft cry escapes my lips and I swear this is the lowest moment of my life. I sit on the ground beside the toilet and bring my knees up to my chest. What is happening to me? I’ve known Cameron for three months. Three months. While I’ve fallen in love with him, this pregnancy is unexpected. I’m not ready for this. Or am I?

  My head lifts from my knees and gently rests against the wall with exhaustion. If I am pregnant, I need to check and make sure. All this speculation with the nausea and the headache is doing me no good. A pregnancy test is in order.

  Slowly, I stand and stumble to the sink where I take a deep breath to try and steady myself before washing my mouth out with water. I need some medicine. Are over the counter drugs okay when you’re pregnant? I don’t know, but the killer headache I have needs to settle if I’m going to go about my day.

  I start to look through the drawers in the bathroom vanity but find nothing that will help. They’re mostly empty except for soap dispensers and washcloths. I’m on the verge of giving up hope when I decide to try the last drawer. Pulling it open, I freeze. There are packaged pregnancy tests already in here. I don’t know which part catches me off guard the most: the fact that Cameron actually keeps pregnancy tests lying around, or that I don’t know who they’re for. For me? For other women he’s bedded in the past?

  It makes my mind shoot to dark places. After all, Cameron is a virile alpha male with a long dating history. It makes sense for him to have tests on hand for situations like this. Yet, the thought of Cameron with another woman is enough to make me feel like I’m going to go crazy, so I try to dismiss it and focus on the present.

  Pulling out one of the packages, I tear it open like an animal and read the instructions before peeing on the stick and setting in on the counter to wait for the results. I’ve always heard girls say these are the longest five minutes of their lives, especially when they’re young and unsure, but I only have to wait two minutes before discovering my fate. My nerves get the best of me and even though I’m scared to check, I do, and what I see makes the blood rush from my face.

  I am definitely pregnant.

  Staring back at me are two vibrant blue lines which indicate a positive pregnancy. Oh my god. I’m going to be a mom! A groan escapes me and I crumple to the floor and bring my knees to my chest, shaking with shock. How did this happen? I know how it technically happened, but it’s taken me by surprise nonetheless. Of course, Cameron and I used protection but there were also occasions when the moment was so hot that we slipped and forgot. Oh God, what is he going to say when I tell him?

  My phone starts to light up and vibrate on the floor. I’m thankful for the quick distraction but when I see the number, my stomach sinks even lower. It’s my father. My fingers quickly slide across the screen to open the text:

  * * *

  Jess. It’s your daddy. You can come home now. I got a new job as a handyman at Mirabelle Resorts. Good money. Just mailed in the rent check last night.

  * * *

  My eyebrows scrunch together at this text. Is Randy delusional? He really thinks everything between us is fine, and that I’ll come home like a good girl after being sold to a billionaire? It doesn’t even matter that he has a new job because I know at some point in the near future, Randy’s just going to lose it. I’m honestly surprised he even thought to text me to tell me to come home. I would have figured he’d love the freedom of being on his own without my nagging presence.

  I stare at the screen and read Randy’s text multiple times. Suddenly, exhaustion overwhelms me. So much has happened in the last eight minutes that I’m astonished to be in this position. No part of me wants to go back to the trailer park, but what options do I have? Yes, I’ve completely fallen in love with Cameron but the odds of him loving me back are slim to none. I’m his playmate, his little toy every night that he enjoys without abandon. It’s why he has me prance around the house wearing skimpy lingerie, and why he expects me to wait on my knees for him in the evenings when he returns home. He’s not in love with me. He’s in love with the access to my body. He gives me food and a place to live in exchange for sex, and as much as it pains me to know my feelings will never be reciprocated, I know this to be true. Plus, with the baby, he’s going to be angry. There’s no room for a child in his life, especially when the mother is nothing more than a billionaire’s pet.

  I know what I have to do.

  It’s still very early in the morning, and quickly, I put the pregnancy test in the trash. Then I carefully cover it with crumpled tissue paper so that it’s hidden beneath what looks like trash. I slip quietly back upstairs and into the master suite. Cameron hasn’t moved a muscle since I’ve been gone, and he’s heart-wrenchingly gorgeous as my eyes eat him up. His bronzed chest is smooth and sculpted, and a lock of black hair falls over his forehead. His mouth is firm yet relaxed in sleep, tempting me even now.

  This is going to be painful, but I know what I have to do. I can’t stay. I can’t tell Cameron that I want to keep our child. He’ll be enraged, and will never agree. Quietly, I pack my humble duffel bag with only the things I brought, leaving all the skimpy lingerie behind. Then with quiet footsteps, I head to the door.

  Before leaving, I pause to steal one last glance at the man who’s captured my heart, but will never let me capture his. He’s gorgeous, tempting, and everything I’ve ever wanted, but I know I can never have him. With one last glance, I blow him a gentle kiss before leaving the room and making it out of the house to return to the trailer park where Randy waits. It’s where I belong.

  8

  Cameron

  * * *

  Sleeping next to Jessalyn is strangely peaceful, and something I don’t usually do with the women I date. Yes, I claim their bodies and make them scream with pleasure, but I don’t generally sleep with them in the same bed afterwards because I was never going to be with them in the way they wanted to be with me. I’ve never felt pulled to a woman. I’ve never felt the need to feel her body next to mine like I do with Jess. Jessalyn’s curvy form feels right curled up beside mine, and these days, I don’t sleep well when she’s not with me.

  I roll over in bed and groan while stretching. It’s Saturday, which means I have the day off work, and I planned on taking Jess to the lake on my boat. I can tell the sun is shining brightly by the way it’s lit the room and my arm reaches out to find Jess. Except she’s not here, and my arm hits the empty mattress.

  My eyes fly open and I sit up in bed, but then force myself to take it easy. She must be downstairs. I felt her tossing and turning last night and eventually gett
ing out of bed in the middle of the night. I hope she got a few hours of rest, at least. But knowing her generous spirit, she’s probably in the kitchen making breakfast and coffee. It’s a curse we’re so high up in the house that I can’t smell the freshly brewed grounds.

  Then again, being with Jess has proven to be an odd eye opener for me. When Randy first proposed this deal to me, I could hardly believe my ears. Paying for a woman? I don’t think so. I don’t need to pay for sex, and I wasn’t planning to start.

  But Randy made his daughter sound different. He said she was something special, and he was right about that. Jessalyn is curvy, sweet, sassy and breathtakingly intelligent. She calls me out on my shit, but in a way that makes me a better man. I certainly didn’t plan on falling in love with her. I had planned on making her life better, but I never thought that she’d do the same for me.

  Then again, Jessalyn is lush and giving, warm and loving, exciting and challenging, and I find myself completely in awe of her. I’ve never had the chance to tell her, but I plan on doing it soon because she deserves to know. I might even do it this morning.

  I slide out of the covers and pull a pair of grey sweatpants over my briefs. After a good stretch, I stroll out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen where Jess is probably puttering away. But when I round the corner, she’s not there. In fact, the kitchen is silent and still. There’s no breakfast on the counter, no coffee brewed, and there’s certainly no laughter or giggles coming from by the fridge.

  This doesn’t surprise me though, because maybe she’s in the library, her favorite room of the house. Sometimes I can’t keep her out of there and I have to remember that when she lived with her father, she didn’t have access to books, period. Well, at least I’ve satisfied that craving in my little bookworm.