Fated (BBW BWWM Billionaire Romance): A Second Chance Novella (Tied to Him: My BFF Book 1) (3 page)

If her car’s any indication, I’m almost terrified to find out for sure.

Maybe that’s it—maybe she’s just ashamed of her neighborhood. Maybe she doesn’t want me to see her heading toward me from some run-down place.

An image of a post-apocalyptic landscape suddenly overrun by escaped convicts pops in my head.

Maybe I’ll follow her home after dinner and see what’s up.

I
never really saw Nina as
a chick—that is, until she introduced me to some guy sniffing around her in college, and I suddenly got so possessive of her, I lost my mind.

When I thought about it later, I realized what I dick I was—how unfair it was to Nina that I took her like that without any commitment.

I hoped she’d forgive me one day and we’d be friends again, and I was eventually able to just let things be and wait for the universe to throw us together again and here we are.

Looking at Nina now, it’s as if the wind has been knocked out of me.

She is coming toward me in a flowing blue dress with her hair all done up and her makeup a bit more pronounced.

Somehow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember— her round face and the soft curves of her body more feminine and appealing than ever.

She has blossomed in adulthood, and I’m having a hard time seeing her as the Nina I’d known before. She has transformed into an alluring woman—a woman that a part of me is suddenly desiring to possess again.

It doesn’t help that her dress, conservative as it is, is emphasizing her generous boobs.

How greedy can I be?

I have all the lady company I could want; I can change it up every day if I wanted to. Well-bred,
always
impeccably made-up beauties of all heights and shades flock to me, yet all I can think right now is how much I want the one in front of me.

Is this one of those moments where I’m confusing a primal answer to a silent challenge for desire again?

“You look amazing,” I say almost breathlessly as I stand to greet her.

“Careful,” she says, sliding into our private booth. “That tone should not be used on friends.”

Pleasure surges through me at her admonishment.

What’s wrong with me—or rather, what is it that’s so different about her?

She’s not as bubbly and sweet as the girl I hung out with before, and there are obvious reasons for that—beyond me hurting her feelings, we’re deep into our twenties, and adult life is a different ballgame.

Innocence and optimism are chipped away slowly but surely once you finish schooling and hit the real world. Especially for women, I guess.

The change in her is a bit jarring, but mostly just interesting.

I’m intrigued that she’s a bit closed off now, and I guess that’s what’s making her alluring.

She also seems a bit more confident in some way—there’s a firmness to her boundaries.

Before, it seemed I could talk her into anything, but this Nina knows how to tell me no, and even where to shove it. And I like it.

Unfortunately for her, part of me accepts the challenge and wants to break her down to the point where she’s begging me to take her again.

The more I think about it, the more my cock grows in anticipation of sinking into her slick warmth once more.

“You didn’t hear a goddamned word I just said,” she says accusatorially.

Damned right, girl.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “My mind briefly wandered.”

“Yeah, your eyes also got lost between my tits.”

My cock twitches.

She has developed a bit of a dirty mouth, it seems.

Boobs
, she used to say. And forget about hearing her talk any dirtier than that.

Where the heck did she pick up this crassness from? I don’t imagine her fellow teachers are going on about tits and cock in the break room.

“Tits?” I repeat, making sure she knows I’m aware of her expanded vocabulary.

She has the decency to look a tiny bit embarrassed.

“I’ve been plowing through erotica these days,” she says with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m getting the real thing.”

My cock twitches again.

Does she have any idea how much we’re past friendship territory here?

She comes here with those boobs looking like that and talking about tits and erotica and getting some, and I’m supposed to hear it like it’s just a fellow bro speaking and not a beautiful, voluptuous woman my cock has had the pleasure of knowing before.

Watch it, my curvy buddy.

Luckily, our orders start to arrive.

She tries to hide how excited she is when the food comes out and fails miserably.

I watch her exercise every bit of control she has and pretend she’s nonchalant about what’s in front of us, but I know how much she enjoys eating out—I took her to a few places I wanted to try out when I was in between girlfriends back in college, and it was a joy to watch her get so excited.

I guess the food—or maybe the alcoholic drink—finally loosens her up a bit because she finally starts filling me in on the past five years.

Outside of her parents dying in a plane crash on the way to their honeymoon trip to Thailand, sounds like life’s been pretty boring for her since college.

Apparently, she worked a couple of shitty jobs before getting a stint as a substitute teacher, then she ended up staying on when the woman who went on maternity leave never came back.

Teachers notoriously don’t get paid well, so I guess I can see how she ended up with that car.

I hope she’s really happy at this job because it doesn’t seem worth it to me to play a game of,
Will my car start today?

Maybe that’s how she keeps things exciting since it’s clearly not coming from anywhere else.

For me, excitement never stops, and as exhausting as work can be sometimes, when I take a break, it’s more than worth it to be able to do whatever the fuck I want with pretty much whomever I want.

Oddly enough, I do feel a small gap sometimes—like I’m missing something.

I don’t think I’ll fill it with the life my dad’s shoving me toward, but I have the strongest feeling that whatever hole this is, Nina’s got the key. Whenever I’m with her, I feel like everything’s right. Complete.

Well, except when it seems she’s interested in some other dude who can possibly take her away from me, because I know if she gets involved with someone, we won’t be as close and I don’t want to lose her; she belongs to me.

I know, I know; I’m a hypocrite. And selfish.

Still, I lost her once because I thought I wanted something beyond her, and now that she’s sitting here in front of me, I realize all I want is her, and not just to keep as a friend.

“What about you?” she says lightly, digging into dessert.

“Wait—you skipped the love life part,” I remind her.

I need to hear it; I need it pounded into me what a fool I’ve been. I need to remind myself how many times I’ve come close to losing her to some other guy so I don’t take her for granted again.

“Not much to tell. So what about you?” she says again, her voice flatter.

Okay, Nina. Once again—perhaps the last time—we do things your way.

“Must have been pretty easy for you to slide right into Daddy’s shoes,” she adds.

She said it casually, but I feel sort of insulted.

What’s she trying to say? Everything’s a breeze for me?

I won’t lie—to some degree it has been; being the son of a multimillionaire has its perks. But I busted my ass growing various divisions and our empire is now worth billions. That shit didn’t come to me—I had to go out there and grab it.

“Yeah, I started with one of Dad’s companies at first. Worked my way up. Heading several corporations now, and multiplied our family wealth twenty-fold at least. That answer your question?” I give her an accusatory glare. Then I soften my expression as I reach for her hand. I’m relieved she doesn’t pull it away.

“Listen, I was sort of a careless prick back then and I realize I must’ve come across like some trust fund douche, and that’s not entirely inaccurate—knowing what I had coming to me corrupted me a bit. It wasn’t like when I was a kid and didn’t realize how powerful my dad was. Although, come to think of it, he might have still approved of me getting my ass kicked by bullies.
Might as well get it out of the way early and help build character and drive,
he probably would have said. In a way, it did—I never wanted to feel powerless again, and as soon as I could, I started working toward that goal—having power and control.”

I don’t mention how powerless I feel when it comes to her sometimes—I become a slave to my emotions. Like that time she introduced her boyfriend to me and everything inside me went haywire.

I don’t bother bringing up that incident because we’ve been having a decent time so far—why point to that ugly mark on our history now?

She’s done with dessert, and my heart clutches as I feel the night coming to an end.

I really don’t want to scare her away, but she’s reapplying her lipstick now—a bewitching shade of red coloring and moistening her lips, and all I can think about is kissing them.

A battle begins inside me—one side telling me to calm the fuck down and take things slowly. Gain her trust and friendship back. The other side is egging me on to find an opportunity to kiss her and see if she feels anything like she once felt for me.

She told me she loved me once—that didn’t just go away, did it?

“You must let me drive you home, Nina. It’s torture to think of you at the mercy of some stranger.”

“Is that so?” she says dryly.

She regards me for a moment, as if trying to figure out how much bullshit I’m filled with, then she nods her head ever so slightly in agreement.

It’s like a stadium crowd just stood up and cheered inside me.

Progress.

O
kay
, now
this
is the worst idea in the world: letting Brent drive me home.

When Brent proposed dinner, and I agreed, I thought
that
was the worst.

The first thing I thought was,
Great, now I have to figure out a last-minute babysitter.
On a Friday night! Why the hell did I agree to this?

I could have, at the very least, postponed any sort of one-on-one till maybe Sunday.

Luckily, one of my usual babysitters was available.

I just told her something came up, but when she showed up and saw me all dressed up, she knew what was up.

“Oooh, hot date tonight?” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

I wasn’t in the mood to answer such a question so I shrugged and waited for the taxi to arrive, trying not to think about how much the date was costing me between the babysitter and the cab ride.

I remind myself to arrange a rental soon.

It didn’t take me long to get ready—it’s not like I have a huge wardrobe to sift through.

Heck, I was lucky to find this dress—I bought it two or three years ago as a gift to myself but never got an occasion to wear it. It’s pretty modest, but it’s deceptively conservative, giving just enough cleavage to almost be lewd, and the sheer arm material suggests vibrant sexual being rather than church lady.

Haha! What a lie.

My dating life has been pitiful.

So much so, that my daughter, Bianca, must have instinctually known nothing was going to happen the few times I’d gone out before, so she didn’t bother prying.

But tonight, she watched me with suspicious clear blue eyes, as if sensing something different. Was I that obvious in my nervousness? Could she tell how much more emotionally invested I was?

Watching her questioning face, it struck me again how little she looked like me.

The medical staff glanced at me all weird when she was born because she had those light eyes and pale skin.

I’m sure they’ve seen a brown-eyed, brown-skinned, dark-haired girl like me push out a white baby with hints of wispy blond hair before, but maybe it had been a while since the last time.

Bianca has darkened up since then, so the questions and silent queries have lessened, but she still raises a few eyebrows with those eyes.

Her hair is a sort of dirty blond too, even though her dad’s also dark-haired.

Anyway, I hated leaving her tonight—already we’re apart all day, and by the time I get home from school at four, we have a mere four to five hours before she’s in bed. I admit, it’s still a good chunk of time—especially when dealing with a kid young enough to have constant needs, but she’s a person now with questions and a unique working mind that intrigues me.

I never know what’s going to have her attention and what she’s going to ask about it. She makes me see things in different lights.

I haven’t yet told her about finding her father.

She asked me if she had a daddy once, and I gave her the dumbest answer.

I should have thought about it more before I responded, but once my throat opened back up again after the cry-ball dropped back down, I squeezed the words “Yes, but he went away” through it.

Of course, that only led to more questions. But what else was I supposed to tell her? That he was dead? That he threw me away, and in doing so, made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me? That chances were, he’d take off and leave both of us behind if he knew?

“Where’d he go?” she asked.

“He got lost,” I said lamely. “He’ll find us again someday, but guys aren’t very good with directions.”

I had to keep myself from giggling at my own stupid joke, nervousness making a fool of me.

Thankfully, she looked fairly satisfied with my answer and she hasn’t brought him up since.

Christ, I wonder if she ever shared the story I told her with anyone.

I imagine having picked her up one day, and the headmistress’s sympathetic gaze staying on our backs as we left, her mind running over the words the innocent girl had spoken lightly.

“My daddy got lost with the wrong directions, but he’ll be back someday,” Bianca might have said, and the teacher must have patted her head and thought,
Poor thing
, knowing we’d gotten ditched.

Except Brent didn’t exactly abandon us—he never had the chance to.

And now, there was no way I was going to introduce her to him only for him to turn around and say, “Whoops, this shouldn’t have happened. I’m not ready to be a father” and take off. No way.

“Where are you going?” Bianca asked once the taxi arrived, staring up at me expectantly.

“Out, baby. I won’t be gone long. I’ll check in on you when I get back, but you better be asleep!”

That’s what I take comfort in as we head toward Brent’s car—at least she’ll be asleep when we arrive, and he has no chance of seeing her. She’s never up beyond ten.

W
hen I see
the car awaiting us, I wonder if Brent had always planned to convince me to let him drive me home. But perhaps he always rolls in stretch limos with enough room to fit a football team when he goes to dinner—I don’t know.

All I know is that once we’re inside, sitting in the limo with him feels far too intimate. It’s just him and me with no restaurant ambience, so it is entirely too quiet. I can concentrate on nothing but how handsome he looks in his suit and how good he smells.

His cologne is playing games with my head, and the way it seems he’s looking at me threatens to unravel me. He looks like he wants to eat me up!

What have I gotten myself into?

He is sitting across from me, just staring at me and it’s doing a number on me.

I don’t know what he’s thinking although I can guess—a burning gaze like that points in one particular direction.

Yet he doesn’t make a move to close the gap between us.

He just sits there, staring, making me wriggle as I look into his burning blue eyes then look away again while fiddling with my hands in my lap, trying not to think about the liquid pooling in my underwear as I try and fail to ignore how incredibly good-looking he is and the promise of mind-blowing sex he is beaming at me.

God, I want him. There’s no doubt about that.

Even if I hadn’t been going through a dry spell, I would still want him—he oozes sex appeal and all I want to do is see his hard, muscular form without that damned expensive-looking dark suit on.

I’ve seen his naked body before, but the years have added to his bulk, and I have to stop myself from drooling as I remember the look of his hard muscles, the rippling abs before and during taking me.

I try not to think about what he has going on lower than those abs.

Oh god, I’m going to leave a wet spot on these leather seats.

I need to get out of here—as spacious as this vehicle is, I’m starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

If he at least spoke, I would have something else to think about than his long, hard…

“So thanks for dinner tonight,” I say quickly. “I’ve never had that lamb dish before—it was amazing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says in a low, seductive tone, still staring at me unabashedly with unrelenting heat.

What the hell’s he trying to do to me?

I wonder how much longer I have till we finally pull up to my place.

“Are we there yet?” I eventually say with a nervous giggle, trying to laugh and smile away the tension.

“We will be,” he says in that same low, suggestive tone.

I keep my eyes on my hands until I feel the limo slow to a stop.

Am I supposed to wait for the driver to open the door or…?

Fuck it, I need to get out of here.

I scoot toward the handle and try to open it myself, but it doesn’t give.

“What’s the hurry?” Brent says, scooting toward me, and before I can panic properly, he pulls me close to him and his soft, probing lips are suddenly on mine sending trembles through me.

More heat and moisture gather between my legs as my traitorous mouth lets him in, and he starts exploring it with his wicked tongue.

He grazes the roof of my mouth with the tip of it and I actually shake a little, helpless against the shock and pleasure of the sensation.

He pulls me closer and I know I’m in trouble; there’s more than enough space back here to go all the way.

His large hands start roaming my body, exploring my curves, and I fight against the desire to help him out of his jacket.

His hands come back up to cup my face and such a small gesture—the gentle warmth of them—makes me feel safe.

I have completely forgotten who I’m dealing with—I’m not safe with this guy—the guy who took my virginity, said “whoops,” and then turned his back on our friendship a few months later.

Yet here I am, letting myself get guided backward until I’m lying on the seat.

What the hell am I doing? I can’t be that easy!

One date and I’m willing to give it up to him again after what he’d done to me?

“No,” I say, wrenching my mouth away and turning my head.

I hope he listens the first time because the feel of his thick, hard cock pressing against my needy center is chasing away all other words.

I keep my eyes away from him, focusing them on the empty seat opposite us.

I know I can’t look at him—if I do, I’ll get lost in those simmering blue eyes and forget what the hell I’m protesting.

Thankfully, I feel him pulling away.

Phew!

If he had listened to me like this the very first time around, we might not have gone through the past five years the way we have.

Then again, I wouldn’t have had Bianca. But perhaps we would have at least stayed friends all this time and who knows where things could have gone? Maybe we would have gotten closer naturally and I still would have had Bianca, and we wouldn’t have lived so much time without each other.

I let out a breath.

The way things worked out was probably for the best.

We both had to grow as individuals in various ways, and it’s probably a good thing we did it apart.

What am I saying? I’m acting as if we’re headed toward being together as a couple now.

Sure, he’ll probably have to be in my life more once I tell him about Bianca, but it doesn’t mean we’ll be
together
together—just tied to each other in a way.

Once his body has completely raised off of mine and he backs away a little, I sit up, still avoiding his eyes.

“You can come now,” I hear him say, sounding kind of far away. I assume he spoke the words into some secret compartment that beamed the command to the front of the limo because I still don’t look up.

Then he says, “I’m not done with you, Nina,” his voice sounding closer to me.

I keep my eyes away from him the whole time I wait for the driver to arrive, and straight through the door opening and me climbing out.

I flash the driver a smile before taking off toward my door, and I don’t look back once.

B
rent calls
me to make sure I’ve gotten in safely, then asks what I’m doing the next day.

I tell him I’m busy—best to give ourselves a little time to cool off, I think. Plus, I have plans with Bianca and I don’t want to have an impending date with Brent hanging over me while I hang out with her.

“How about Sunday?” he says. “I’d like to take you for a ride.”

I hear undercurrents to his voice, so why the hell am I about to agree to go out with him again? Clearly there’s not a friendly atmosphere to our meet-ups at all.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

I think about his proposition some more.

I need to keep my wits about me, and in very little time, Brent has me tripping over myself.

Time alone with him made me feel like I’d had a couple of Cosmos and Long Island Iced Teas; I couldn’t think straight.

So far, I’ve done a pretty good job of remaining logical.

It’s still too early to tell him about Bianca because I really didn’t know what kind of man I’m dealing with and meeting up with him should shed some light on that.

On the other hand, spending more time with him means I’ll be putting my ability to reason in danger.

Still, how could I possibly get to know Brent and find out what he’s made of if I don’t spend time with him? How will I ever know when or even
if
the time is right to tell him he’s a father?

I have to give him a chance to show me he isn’t a dick. Or
just
a dick.

“Okay,” I say, stopping myself right before mentioning having to find a babysitter again.

I
’m not
sure if I made things worse going a whole day without him, because once Sunday arrives, my eagerness to see him has heightened tremendously. I even let him pick me up from home though I make sure to meet him outside and instruct the babysitter to make sure to keep Bianca away from the window.

Brent shows up in his toy instead of the limo, and he wasn’t kidding about the joy ride.

We curve around mountains, fly down on stretches of road that seem made for his sports car and its insane speeds.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble?” I ask at some point, thinking about a lurking traffic cop waiting to take down a speed demon.

“They won’t bother me,” he says with a confidence that leaves no room for doubt.

I decide to question his rule-breaking no longer.

Exhilaration fills me as we zoom along, watching stretches of ocean on scenic routes.

The exhilaration doesn’t abate until I realize he’s pulling up to a residential area—specifically to an estate fit for royalty.

I remember what he said about his fortune and realize it’s probably his own mansion.

Excitement fills me, and this time, fear comes along for the ride.

“What is this?” I say. “Where are we?”

“I want to show you my home, Nina.”

I try to make sense of the occasion.

Does this mean anything?

No, of course not—friends take friends home all the time! Where can you take a friend if not home?

But something feels off—this isn’t a meaningless tour.