Kane (BBW Billionaire Romance) (7 page)

Oh, when he reached the top…

She sucked a deep breath in and exploded.

Her hips shot toward the ceiling, spasming. His hands dragged her back down the to mattress, his feasting no longer that of a master in control but a long famished man as he licked and sucked and gnawed at her pussy, the contractions filling his mouth with her juices.

He swallowed, kissed, slurped until Daniella’s eyes rolled up and she cried out.

“Please, mercy…oh…”

Trent swiftly sailed forward, his lips at her ear, his rough voice demanding she yield completely.

“Tell me you want my cock.”

“Yes,” she groaned. “I want your cock.”

“Filling that sweet pussy,” he demanded.

“Yes, yes,” she begged. “I need all of it in me, in my pussy, please, Trent, now.”

She threw her legs wide, her knees bent and pressing against his lean hips. He lifted up on his arms and looked down to where their bodies met. She stared with him, saw the cock thick and swollen with blood, pre-cum pearling at the tip, saw the tip disappear inside her, then felt the fat shaft as it stretched her pussy.

Trent began to rock against her with long, confident strokes. He caught her gaze, held it as he drove into her, her soft tissues swelling on the inside to make everything tighter, the ache so sweet she thought she would go blind from it.

“Dani…” He shifted so that his forearms pressed against the bed, his chest pushing at her tender breasts. He kissed her, repeated her name, then kissed her again, his tongue as insistent with its firm strokes as the cock battering her insides.

She couldn’t breathe, didn’t care. She was cresting again, a raw, keening moan scratching inside her throat. Trent’s hips started to grind, his breathing as erratic as Daniella’s.

He moaned her name, told her she was perfect, fucking perfect, and then they seized together, his cock jerking inside her, the thick jets it released flooding her pussy.

Minutes would pass before he pulled out, then more minutes as he gently cleaned her swollen, pulsing flesh before pulling the covers over them.

Cradled in his arms, Daniella fell asleep, never imagining she would wake to her world on fire and the hard slap of reality that Trent wasn’t the man she thought she had come to understand.

W
aking to an empty bed
, Daniella hurriedly put on her robe and went into the hall. Hearing the sound of Christine slurping on a bottle, she tiptoed down the hallway.

“You’re not as good at that as I am,” a deep baritone teased before she made it to the open door.

She stuck her head in the guest room to find Trent sitting in his big office chair, Christine dwarfed in his careful embrace.

“I thought you could use a chance to sleep in.”

“Thank you.” She blinked, her nose beginning to sting. The gesture was sweet as hell, but she was also sorry that she didn’t get to wake up next to him, maybe while he still slept so she would always have that memory.

“I’ll finish feeding her,” she said, stepping into the room. “She probably needs changed, too.”

He swiveled the chair, keeping the baby out of reach. “Already taken care of.”

She stopped, shocked and pleased at the same time. “You can change a diaper?”

“While it has a few similarities to defusing a bomb, it’s not as complicated,” he laughed. “My boss is very particular who he has guarding his daughter when a threat arises. Thankfully Mia had her potty trained early.”

“Oh,” Daniella laughed. “Like some kind of super nanny. Didn’t they make a movie about you with The Rock?”

He threw a mock glare in her direction. Putting the bottle down, he held Christine out.

“You can burp her,” he said. “I don’t think you would appreciate my jackhammer method any more than Mia did.”

Grinning so much her cheeks hurt, Daniella positioned Christine against her shoulder and began to lightly pat at the infant’s back. Trent stood and retrieved the bottle before planting a light kiss on Daniella’s cheek.

Stepping out off the room, he looked back. “I’ll clean this and get started on our breakfast. I was thinking crepes.”

She looked at him, eyes as big as her smile.

“You don’t like crepes?”

Daniella shook her head, realized that was the wrong answer and rushed to reassure him. “Oh, I love them. Thank you. As soon as I get her settled, I’ll change and meet you in the kitchen.”

His mouth made a funny little twist that set her body to tingling.

“I suppose clothes would be appropriate,” he teased, leaning across the threshold and claiming one last kiss before he disappeared down the hall.

Daniella toed the door shut, her entire body buzzing with joy. Christine was with her, safe and protected, and Trent was—well, he was amazing.

Placing the baby in the crib, her relaxed body and shut eyes indicating she was asleep already, Daniella had to cup her hands over her own mouth to contain the delighted squeak that had been building in her chest with Trent’s last kiss.

Quietly, when she could lower her hands, she opened the dresser drawer. Seeing the dismal choice of clothes, she winced.

Maybe just the robe—and a quick shower—would be better?

Grinning, she tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door. She turned on the water, dropped the robe and drew her hair up into a messy bun. Five minutes under the shower head and another five drying off and applying a touch of cosmetics passed and then she was stepping into the kitchen, her cheeks burning from her uncharacteristic boldness.

The instant her gaze landed on Trent, the blood left her face, her rosy cheeks paling and turning cold. No breakfast was cooking and a solemn mask had settled over his face.

“Is someone hurt?”

Lips pressed together, he shook his head as he stepped toward her. His hands wrapped around her shoulders and he drew her against his chest.

“No one was hurt,” he started, his hand stroking at her hair. “But your house was burned down last night.”

She looked up, certain she had heard him incorrectly.

“It’s true. Reed just called me. The fire department was able to stop it before it spread to the neighbors, but there’s nothing left.”

He thumbed at one of the tears running down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Dani. I’ll have a recovery team sift through the ashes. Sometimes photo albums last longer and if you have any lock boxes.”

She shook her head. “The Marquardts weren’t one for taking pictures. And I have photos of Lynn on her Facebook and my phone, same for Christine.”

Her lips began to quiver. Trent cupped the sides of her face and lightly pressed his mouth to Daniella’s until her shaking subsided.

“Reed will have a clone for you tomorrow, all the pictures will still be there.”

She nodded. When Trent had her surrender her phone a second time at his office, she had thought he was being overly cautious. If he would have suggested then that Merl’s associates would burn down her house, she would have called him paranoid.

Now she was homeless.

“Here,” he said, guiding her down the hall toward his office. “You still need to eat. Rest in here and I’ll make breakfast.”

Numb, she settled into the visitor chair he had placed behind his desk now that his big leather chair was in the guest room. He gave her another kiss, tilting her chin up as his lips captured an errant tear on her cheek.

“You and Christine are safe here,” he promised.

Nodding, her brain unable to process Trent’s words, she watched him leave. Almost immediately, she wanted to call him back. He had said no one was hurt, but he didn’t say anything about arrests or witnesses or anything like that. Mr. Cobb had cameras on his property. That was how he had sent her the picture of the man she had shown Trent.

Pondering if she should go into the kitchen and ask him, her gaze landed on Trent’s laptop.

The screen was black.

She ran a fingertip across the touchpad.

A single icon appeared, the rest of the screen remaining black. Fortunately, the icon was for an internet browser. She clicked, then Googled her address. Zillow was the first result, a local news channel was the second.

She clicked the news link and started reading. The total annihilation of the house she had grown up in warranted four short paragraphs detailing when the fire was reported, what fire team showed up, how long the blaze lasted and that arson was suspected.

Ready to click back to Google, her finger froze as her gaze landed on one of those click bait type articles that populated the right menu on pretty much all commercial sites.

Kinky Billionaire Sex Ring Exposed

A few days ago, she would have rolled her eyes and continued on to real news. Hell, she would rather do her taxes than follow a click bait link. So, when she stabbed at the touchpad, it wasn’t the headline that made her do it.

It was the picture.

More accurately, it was the man in the picture—the same man who had cradled her in his arms the night before and was cooking her crepes at that very moment.

* * *

D
aniella stared
at the silver tray with its silver bowl of fresh fruit, the crystal glasses of orange juice, and the fine china plates with the fancy, dessert like breakfast. The man could cook and he could, and would, change diapers. His body, even with the scars, was carved perfection and he was smart, no doubt about that.

She didn’t want to think about how he was in bed. After reading the article on the anonymous sex club the press had nicknamed “Raleigh Rollers,” thinking about Kane in bed turned her stomach oily, the nauseating slickness quickly infecting her intestines.

Most of the article had been about a certain Marine Corps’ general who liked to make the trip inland while his wife stayed on the coast. But the write-up was quite clear on what all the males there did.

They paid for sex, usually sex that involved some sort of domination by one partner of the other.

Lynn’s battered face at the mortuary flashed inside Daniella’s head as she looked up at Kane.

“You never said why you were at the hotel the day Lynn died. Was it company business?”

He tried to wave it off as he leaned closer for what looked like an intended kiss.

“I’m just glad I was there.”

She pulled back and saw the subtle change in his expression as he sensed danger.

Reaching over to the sleeping computer, she hit the enter key. The screen filled with shots of the club’s exterior. A quick flick of her finger scrolled so that a virtual wall of shame came into view, Kane’s picture among a dozen prominent males photographed in the two weeks the reporter had staked out the location.

Next to each name was identifying information, where available. Names, businesses, cities of residence.

Kane’s said, “Unknown. Stark International, Raleigh.”

“So it didn’t have anything to do with this?”

Beneath the olive-gold skin, she saw a flush of red. His jaw tightened at the same time and his nostrils flattened. She guessed he was mad.

Pissed, really.

At being caught by the press and paraded about? At her daring to question him?

Another click and a picture of a woman who identified herself as Trinity appeared. She was training, the woman said, to be a UFC fighter. She identified Kane as one of her customers. She didn’t know his name. She had to call him “Sir.” She knew and catalogued in great detail the things he had done to her body in the course of their single session.

Daniella pushed away from the desk, Kane capturing her by the wrist before she could get out of the chair.

“You don’t understand—”

“What I didn’t understand was why I was getting all this help for free,” she started, cheeks heating as a bitchy mask slid into place to hide all the hurt raging inside her.

“Don’t make it out like that, Dani.”

“Mr. Kane,” she said, shaking her head then glaring at him. “I understand you like to restrain women, but you will release my arm immediately.”

He dropped her like a fresh lava rock.

She stood and he shot up.

She headed for his office door.

He reached the door first.

“You are staying, Dani. Think about it, you don’t have a house to sell.”

She offered a curt, seething smile. “No, I have an insurance policy to file on instead, much quicker. Now move.”

“Only if you promise to stay,” he answered.

Was that panic dancing in his eyes?

He had a whole lot more to worry about than some charity case he picked up off the street. The story focused on the Marine general, but the reporter had asked his invisible audience a number of tantalizing questions that had to do with the general, national security, favors, possible bribes and blackmail.

Once Kane was identified as Stark International’s Chief Operating Officer, the questions could lead to a Congressional subpoena—and worse.

“I will leave,” he coaxed as she studied him. “Reed will come and show you how to change the access code. But you have to understand, Dani, these are the kind of men you’ll always have to be looking over your shoulder for, not because they value what you’re denying them—but because you denied them.”

He reached slowly for her shoulder and she jerked it away.

“Baby, please. It was dangerous yesterday, it’s so much worse now.”

She swallowed, trying to erase the little term of endearment he had thrown out in what sounded like a heartfelt tone.

She didn’t know the truth of Merl’s associates, but she had to agree that the present was so much worse than the day before. She had woken up to so much joy and now it was all ashes. It coated her skin, clogged her nostrils, caked her tongue.

“Were you at the hotel with a woman you were paying to…”

Tie up, abuse, discard. She didn’t know which word to throw at him. She did know that Trinity had said her anonymous “Sir” had a reputation at the club of never using the same woman twice.

Kane’s jaw tightened. It was clear he had no intention of dignifying her question with a response.

“Answer me or I’m leaving.”

His lips drew inward. She could see that he gnawed at the inside for a few seconds, his gaze darting angrily around her face as he studied the minutia of her expression.

“Just what is it that’s worth risking Christine’s safety?” he countered, his tone turning cold and calculating. “Your pride? Your integrity?”

Her face crumbled at his question. He wouldn’t answer. And she realized she wouldn’t leave—at least not immediately.

“I need to check on Christine,” she said, weakly gesturing at him to move aside. “And you need to pack a bag.”

He let Daniella pass, her head filled with answers to his ruthless question. Staying meant she was losing her heart, her optimism, her faith. But he was right about one thing. None of her feelings, none of her hurt, was worth endangering the child who had been placed in her care.

Christine was everything to her, and, somehow, Daniella would have to figure out how to live the next eighteen years without that dedication becoming a visible burden as it had been with the Marquardts.

At least, she thought, coming to a stop in front of the crib, any sacrifice would be made out of love.

Managing a faint smile, she stroked the baby’s cheek.

Made out of love and repaid with love.