Fated (BBW BWWM Billionaire Romance): A Second Chance Novella (Tied to Him: My BFF Book 1) (2 page)

I stopped thinking once he worked his shirt off and I was left to stare at his muscled torso and the tight, rippling abs leading my eyes down to his tented boxers.

Christ, it was all real.

His cock was hard and ready, and in a few minutes or less, he’d be pushing it inside me.

He crawled over me and my fear grew stronger as the momentous occasion neared—fear of what engaging in the act could mean for us.

If we made love to each other, there was no going back to the way things were.

I thought he was going to slip his dick inside me right away, but his lips sought mine again and I found myself relaxing with his gentle kiss, my hands coming up to cup his head while we explored each other’s mouths again.

Then his lips left mine to trail down my neck, and the sharp, tingling sensations kept up my distraction, making me twist and turn at the currents of electricity zipping through me.

My yearning pussy practically started begging for him, and I felt myself thrust against his pelvis as if to encourage him to get going and start plowing me.

But he kissed his way down my chest, holding on to my boobs as his tongue and lips skimmed my eager, desperate flesh all the way down my stomach.

Then he suddenly started nibbling at my inner thighs.

“You’re so wet,” he said before his mouth clasped my pussy, and I arched and probably yelped my pleasure loudly. Whatever sound escaped me was a little more than a moan, and I felt helpless to what he was doing to my body as he licked and pulled at my sensitive folds, his tongue darting between them and over them, and then making me almost lose my senses when it flickered over my oversensitive clit.

I was a brainless mush by the time he raised himself back up and guided the smooth head of his hard, long cock to my dripping entrance.

I could feel that reason and logic still had a few points to make, but desire had them bound and gagged, and when Brent leaned forward a little as he started pushing his thick cock into my tight, wet hole, everything but the need for more silenced.

“You’re mine,” Brent growled, his words almost distracting me from the sharp pain of his rigid penis forcing my tight walls apart as my heart soared.

Then he stopped moving, only partway in.

“Shit, you’re so tight, Nina,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve never…” His face suddenly contorted as it looked like something took over him and he pushed deeper inside with a little more force.

I thought he was all the way in until I chanced a glance downward and noticed he still had a bit to go.

I gritted my teeth against the ache inside me, and despite the discomfort, his thick cock filling me felt right, and my slick, eager pussy was soon yearning for more.

“Don’t stop,” I begged though I knew he wasn’t going to.

Instead of jamming the rest of his hard dick in, he started moving it in and out, and my body relaxed under the new sensation, appreciating the gentle cock massage.

Soon, I wanted him deeper, and I adjusted myself to wrap my legs around him and try to push him further inside.

His pace increased, and I felt him thrust deeper and deeper until our pelvises slammed against each other.

Pleasure overwhelmed me, and I matched his thrusts, greedily taking as much as I could get while still wanting more.

His cock fucking my needy pussy felt like the most natural thing in the world, and when he started moving even faster and more desperately it seemed, I instinctually knew he was close to the edge of orgasm.

Knowing he was about to come from the tight squeeze of my body on his engorged dick took me closer to the edge myself, and when his thumb suddenly reached my clit and started working it, massaging the oversensitive nub, I lost all control.

As he slammed against me in his finishing thrusts, I came loudly and unexpectedly, shocked by the initial paralyzing contraction and the pulsating aftershocks of my orgasm as he squeezed our bodies together with the final tightening of his firm ass as he came inside me, our bodies flooding each other with climatic juices.

I didn’t think about what that could mean then—I couldn’t think at all, still lost in the glittering emotions overtaking me—love, joy, and wonder.

Ecstasy.

Brent soon collapsed on top of me, and I relished the feel of our hearts beating hard and fast against our heated chests.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling like nothing could bring me down, grinning widely.

It took Brent long enough to come around, but there we were—college seniors soon to graduate, and we had finally taken an important leap forward in our relationship.

“I love you, Brent,” I said, the words escaping me in a breathless whisper, coasting on unadulterated affection.

Brent stiffened and then said one of the worst things he could say—a phrase that never showed up in any of my fantasies after making love to him at last, “I’m sorry, Nina. That shouldn’t have happened.”

My heart didn’t shatter exactly—it felt more like someone had shoved a knife through it and then tore a path upward.

The feeling seemed astoundingly literal, the sudden searing chest pain leaving me speechless.

Brent couldn’t have possibly meant those words—not after knowing how I felt about him and after taking what he had from me.

He can’t possibly think he can just take it all back with an apology? That, with a snap of our fingers, it would be like it never happened? That things could ever be the same?

My throat started closing up and I fought hard against the tears I felt welling in my eyes, my mouth trembling with the effort, but I lost embarrassingly.

“Listen, this doesn’t mean I won’t see you again,” he said, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. “We’re friends—we’ve always been friends and it seems we’ll always be so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in pain, I probably would have wanted to punch him in the balls.

Well, that’s what I thought once sorrow gave way to anger—I don’t know if I would have actually been able to inflict physical pain on him like that, no matter how much I wanted him to feel a smidgen of what he’d made me feel.

Which brings me to today.

About five years have passed since that delicious deflowering ended so unceremoniously, and right now, I’m heading back to work from my lunch break.

My car suddenly starts jerking, and I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with it this time, but the highway’s not the best time for shit to happen.

My eyes go to the gas gauge and the needle’s at the halfway mark, so I’m not out of gas.

I flip on the hazard lights and start heading right, hoping to safely make it to the shoulder.

Lucky for me, I get there, and I try not to think about how late I’ll probably be. My eight-graders probably won’t be too mad, though.

I bought this car off Craigslist four years ago, once I had finally secured consistent work and decided public transportation wasn’t for me.

About seventy-five percent of my campus job earnings went toward my college fees in an attempt to pay them off sooner than later, and then the expenses after…oh boy.

Money was tight, so I figured it was easier to pay a lump sum and buy an old car rather than come up with money down and monthly car payments due over two to three years, because as far as I had gathered, I could own a car for the cost of that same money down plus just one or two monthly payments.

A better deal, I thought.

Ha!

Anyway, it’s broad daylight, so I’m not worried about leaving my car to check out the car’s exterior and see if the problem is something obvious, like a flat tire.

I’ve had a few of those, and the jerking I felt could be a variation on that theme.

I never got a flat tire while on a highway—it was always after cutting through some alley or during a drive down a residential street, so perhaps the difference in speed accounted for the slight difference in feel.

I hop out and check the driver’s side.

Both front and rear tires look fine, but I kick them anyway and they both hold firm.

I head to the other side as a gorgeous, sleek, expensive-looking black car zooms by, looking like it popped out of the future.

I turn my eyes away, checking the passenger’s side tires, giving them the same treatment as the others.

Tires firm, more than enough gas—what the hell else could it be? Please, don’t be the transmission.

Armed with a little more information, I call AAA.

I’m not really surprised something went wrong again—this car has had to have something major fixed at least once a year since I bought it.

Usually when I’m excited about having saved up a good chunk of money, not long afterward the car goes,
I’ll take that now!
and next thing I know, the head gasket has blown or the breaks have failed (luckily, that one happened as I was pulling out of the garage, so with a panicked pull-up of the emergency brake, I didn’t end up in a dangerous position).

Obviously the car is on its last legs—it was already fifteen years old when I got it and had a hundred and fifty miles on it. And it’s not exactly one of the reliable brands that you still see on the road here and there thirty years later, still going strong.

I sit and wait for the towing service.

To my utter surprise, I realize the sexy black car I’d seen is now also in the emergency lane, backing up toward me.

My heart starts to speed up.

Part of me feels a little assured that it’s an expensive-looking car instead of a white van with tinted windows, but criminals could lurk in either, and who knows what kind of psycho could be hiding behind such a sparkly, opulent appearance?

I immediately lock all doors, making sure the windows are turned up all the way.

I start digging around for the Mace I keep under the passenger’s seat, and for good measure make sure the heavy flashlight I keep inside is also within grabbing distance.

I type 911 on my phone, ready to hit dial as the black sports car backs right up to my car, mere inches from the front of it.

Then, trying to calm the fear passing wildly through me, I watch as the driver’s door opens and a leg covered in immaculate gray slacks and topped off by shiny black shoe emerges.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say softly as the rest of the body emerges, and the tall, broad, well-suited form of Brent Colton walks toward me with twinkling eyes and a slight smile, straightening his suit.

A lot has happened since our graduation, which came a month after our sexual encounter.

We didn’t keep in touch at all; in fact, his number soon changed and his social network pages eventually disappeared, so I pretty much had no way to reach him.

As far as I know, he and Stacey are still together, and the few times I came across her on campus, she shot me such dirty looks, I knew he told her about us.

I wonder how he painted our encounter? Did he make it seem like I was the aggressor? That I’d seduced him? Or did he come right out and say we had been friends so long, he was curious and had to get it out of his system? And now that it was out of the way, he was one hundred percent devoted to her? Are they married now?

I glance at his hand and notice no ring.

I didn’t really have a connection with any of his other friends, so I’ve been in the dark about his life. Maybe now I’ll get some answers to my questions; after all, now that we’ve crashed into each other again, there are some things I can no longer keep to myself.

Particularly the fact that he and I have a daughter.

I
wasn’t
sure it was Nina at first when I glanced at the stranded car in the emergency lane and caught a glimpse of her checking out her tires.

All I knew was that I had to find out if the familiar figure I had glimpsed was indeed her, and now, as her mouth drops open while I walk toward her, I have no doubt it is my dear old friend.

“Okay, now this is getting ridiculous,” I say as she lets down the window.

Her mouth is still hanging open a bit.

“You’re telling me,” she says dryly.

I wait for her usual radiant smile. I hadn’t seen it in over five years—not since I stupidly took advantage of her crush on me—and boy did I miss it.

I guess part of me felt that if she smiled at me right now, I’d know she has forgiven me after all this time, and a weight will lift off my shoulder.

I didn’t realize until this moment how much I needed that forgiveness.

But alas—no go; her face doesn’t move.

“Car trouble?” I prompt casually, stating the obvious.

“I’ve already called AAA, so nothing to see here,” she says, and I’m pretty sure her words are tinged with bitterness. “No big deal.”

“This looks like a very big deal,” I say. “This is the shittiest car I’ve seen in a while.”

That comment certainly didn’t bring a smile; in fact her face pinches into anger.

But it’s not like I was exaggerating.

The old dinosaur wasn’t all dented and busted necessarily—the windows and body are fairly intact—well, except for that cracked passenger side mirror—but the car is obviously a hunk of junk.

I wouldn’t be surprised if everything still operated manually. She might as well be using that Flintstones carriage.

“I’ll give you a ride,” I say.

I was on my way to a meeting, but it can wait. Plus, Nina couldn’t have been going all that far.

“That’s nice of you,” she says, a corner of her mouth turning up a bit, but it’s only a ghost of a partial smile—no warmth or sincerity in it at all.

I start feeling a bit frustrated; she’s got to be as happy to see me as I am to see her, despite what I’ve done. Our friendship spans decades for Christ’s sake.

I pull the door handle, but the car’s still locked so the door doesn’t open.

She opens it at last, and Jesus Christ, she really does pull the nob up manually.

She steps out and I can’t help myself—before she can close the door behind her, I pull her into a hug and find myself flooded with warm, gooey feelings I can’t really describe.

Relief, I guess. Happiness that I’m finally seeing my old friend again and feeling the familiarity of her soft curves against me.

I missed her when we went our separate ways, but I’ve been pretty distracted since then, making my dad proud—working with his companies and building up my own.

I feel Nina start to pull away and I let her do so reluctantly.

“I’m not accepting your ride—I just figured I should finally greet you properly. You go on—I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll call Uber or something if I need it—it’s fine.”

“Are you kidding?” I say. “I finally have the chance to save
your
ass and you want to deny me?”

I get rewarded by a small genuine-looking smile and my heart leaps.

“‘Bout time the tables turn,” she says lightly, and I hope that means she has accepted I’m planning to take her wherever she needs to go—even if I have to pick her up and jam her in my car myself.

There’s just no way I’m letting her get back in that death trap she calls a car.

She suddenly turns and watches a vehicle pass and I follow her gaze and realize it’s a tow truck.

“Yay!” she says quietly, obviously relieved at the sight.

“What are you going to do with this?” I ask, indicating her vehicle.

She shrugs. “I’m having them tow it to the nearest repair shop.”

I suppress a derisive chuckle. “Have them take it to the nearest junkyard and get it ready to be stripped for parts, you mean?”

She turns to me with wide eyes. “I can’t do that! It’s all I have!”

She says it so desperately that my heart stirs, and I don’t know what the hell’s come over me, but she and I need to catch up so I can find out what’s really going on in her life and why she can’s get a decent lease, at least. I’ve got to help her somehow; I’ve got to figure out why she’s on the verge of tears at the thought of losing this piece of shit.

I can’t imagine she’s been having a hard time with jobs and such—she’s so smart, personable, and resourceful; anywhere would be lucky to have her. Plus, she’s got a Bachelor’s at minimum, and from a great college. Things can’t possibly be that tough?

“Nina, think about it—whatever’s wrong with this car is probably going to cost more than it is worth. Granted, I haven’t taken a look, so I’m not sure what the problem is, but I still think that’s a pretty good guess.” Seriously—even if the repair’s a few hundred dollars, that’s too much to put into this car. “Let me guess—you’ve been fixing it up one issue at a time.”

“Shut up,” she says irritatedly, not looking at me.

I suppress a chuckle.

Then I deliberately widen my grin as I stare at her, waiting for her gaze to meet mine.

I’ve been told by colleagues that they can hear the sound of melting panties across miles whenever I whip this grin out.

“Come on,” I begin, lowering my voice almost seductively, “is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?”

What the hell did I say that for? I almost check my face to make sure it’s not bleeding from the laser look she sends to it.

I better watch my mouth; she’s obviously sensitive about a few things and I guess she has every right to be.

She’s clearly still mad at me, but she’s also avoiding my eyes a lot; she’s hiding something from me.

I figure she still has feelings for me, and by her lingering anger, perhaps it’s not just a jilted friend’s resentment; perhaps she’s still in love with me.

I watch her take care of business with the tow guy, and I overhear her plans—she’s still having the car taken to a repair shop.

Whatever. I’ll deal with that later.

Right now, as we head to my car, I’ll do as she instructs and follow her directions to her job.

“
S
o you did it
—you’re a teacher!” I say once we’ve settled into a proper speed. “Just as you planned.”

“And you’re obviously a big-shot businessman, just as you planned. Is this a company car?”

Boy, she really hasn’t been keeping up with me.

I’ve avoided media attention, sure, but surely we have a mutual acquaintance who would have filled her in a bit?

But now that I’m thinking about it, even if she had been keeping her eyes open for news about me, things didn’t really skyrocket for me until about two years ago, and by that time, she had probably long given up hear from or about me.

“It’s one of my personal toys,” I admit. “A little something to impress the ladies with.”

I smile wide as I glance at her, and again she gives me nothing.

I was joking, of course—I don’t need the car at all to impress chicks.

“Kidding,” I say and she shrugs like she doesn’t care.

I realize my light-hearted approach is not working, but I don’t know how to turn this mode off; I’ve never had to seriously address anything personal between us.

I’ve come to her with serious issues before, but they were always outside of her—girl problems, forgotten paper due imminently, conflicts with my exacting, overbearing father—Nina has talked me through all kinds of things.

And now that the problem involves the two of us this time and she’s all tight-lipped, I don’t know how to do this.

I let out a breath, all humor finally leaving me.

“My dear friend, Nina,” I begin, the heaviness of my voice surprising me. I’m unable to hide from her—or myself—how much I mean every word; she is indeed very dear to me. “I missed the hell out of you,” I finish.

Encouraged by the slight softening I detect in her demeanor, I continue, “I don’t know how to make up for what I did, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me how, but I would like to start somewhere in rebuilding our relationship. You mean a lot to me, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

I can feel her softening more, but she remains silent.

When we pull up to her school and I find a parking spot, I turn to her and say, “Agree to have dinner with me tonight—as friends obviously. We have a lot more catching up to do.”

I swear I hear her grumble, “You don’t know the half of it,” as she starts to exit my car.

“Fine,” she says before slamming the door shut. “But remember, I don’t have a clue how to reach you since you cut me off so completely.”

“How about this,” I say, an idea occurring to me. “You obviously need a ride from work—I can pick you up and take you home and perhaps wait for you there as you get ready. Then we can head…”

“That won’t be necessary,” she says.

Her eyes had grown the size of saucers and she’s trying to hide her alarm now, acting like she hadn’t just looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Why the heck did the idea of me going to her place worry her so? Did she think I’d try to seduce her again?

Then another possible reason made its way to the front of my mind.

I feel a familiar resentment start to grow in me as I figure it must be a man she’s worried about. Does she live with someone?

“I just…I have a few other things I need to take care of and I need way more time to get myself together, and I don’t feel comfortable…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, holding up a hand to halt her babbling. “So it’s not an ideal plan for you right now, but I’m not letting us drift apart again, Nina; I must see you again. Very soon.”

“Don’t you have a Stacey or Becka or someone to be more concerned about? How would they feel about you going to dinner with…with…?”

She’s obviously struggling with the words she wants to say.
Someone I fucked
, is it, dear Nina?

“Nina, I have no such obligation at this time.” Heck, I don’t even remember the last time I was in a serious relationship though my dad’s been pressuring me to find some high-society girl and get married and start making heirs.

Guess who’s not interested in that plan at all?

I can’t imagine willingly entering a marriage like the one between him and Mom—there was more distance between them than the top of Mt. Everest and the ground.

What a nightmare.

I mean, sure—both came from wealthy families, so they both lived the good life I guess, but something about the whole thing looked so empty and unappealing.

I want more than they had—I want it all. I have far more money than I’ll ever need in a lifetime, and I want someone I can share the big and small with. I want a life filled with warmth and laughter, not stiff parties and smiles.

I can’t recall a single time I looked into either of my parents’ eyes and saw true joy.

Well, that’s not completely true, I guess—I recently visited Mom at the house, and there was something different about her. When some dude stopped by supposedly for a repair, I figured it out immediately—she was having an affair with him and clearly enjoying it.

All I could think was, good for her! Because god knows Dad’s in a constant state of affairs.

I don’t know if she really loves that repair guy or not, but she’s finally having fun.

I used to wonder if Dad has her in some kind of contract that prevents her from leaving because it seems she could be so much better off outside of their sham of a marriage. Like, why doesn’t she just leave?

“So. Nine o’clock tonight?” I offer Nina.

It’s Friday; I’m guessing she doesn’t work tomorrow.

“That should give me enough time,” she says. “I can’t stay out too long, though.”

I want to ask why, but I just know some ‘tude will make an appearance.

I’m aware I don’t necessarily have a right to all the corners of her life, but old habits are hard to break—we used to talk about pretty much anything and I still want us to.

But I guess I’ll exercise a bit of patience and do things on her terms for now.

“Great. I’ll pick you up eight,” I say, getting ready to get her address from her.

Since I don’t know where she lives, I don’t know how far she’ll be from the place I have in mind, but I know how women go—in any case, I’ll need at least a fifteen-minute buffer.

“Coming,” she’ll say when I pull up, then go on to tweak her makeup and check her hair and shit for the next ten minutes or so, perhaps even reconsidering the pair of shoes she chose and try on a different pair.

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll meet you there—at whatever restaurant you choose.”

“That’s just not happening,” I say before I can reconsider my choice of words or soften them.

“Then I guess this meeting or date or whatever the hell you want to call it isn’t happening.”

She stares at me with a challenge in her eyes.

Fuck.

Okay, so she has a bit of leverage right now; after all, I can’t force her to go out with me.

How the hell’s she gonna get there, though? Is she really gonna take a cab?

This is such bullshit.

“Is your boyfriend dropping you off?” I ask. I regret not being able to hide how much I hate the idea.

I really don’t know where this green-eyed monster comes from whenever I’m faced with the possibility of someone being with Nina.

I didn’t have to think about it while I went about my business after graduation, but now that she’s in front of me, I’m feeling possessive again.

“Is that any of your business?” she says with an edge to her voice.

“If you’re going out with me, yes it is.”

“Not when I’m meeting up with you as a friend, Brent.”

So does she have someone or not?

Fine, she wants to play coy, I’ll wait until dinner.

Guess I’ll find out everything about the past few years and what she’s got going on right now tonight.

All of her secrecy is making me unbearably curious—I really want to see where she lives and who, if anyone, she’s got waiting at home for her.