Big Brother Billionaire (Part Two) (6 page)

Jake threw his head back and guffawed. “Company policy?” he cried so loudly that I was afraid the rest of the club would hear him over the music. “This isn’t some law firm, darling! I’m just giving you some free advice. You can take it or leave it.”

I left it right there in the office, turning on my heel and walking away from Jake’s twitches and claps. I remembered another piece of advice I’d gotten from someone I respected a lot more than Jake. Sally had told me to watch out for our boss whenever he was high, that he lied. What reason would he have for lying to me about Ron though? Did he know my mysterious admirer? Or was he just being vindictive, seeking to squash out a blossom of happiness from someone if he wasn’t getting any himself?

I didn’t have much time to puzzle over my employer’s strange behavior. My shift was over, and I had to get into something presentable for Ron. My heart fluttered at the thought. All notions of apprehension were tossed away the farther I got away from Jake. It dazzled me that I could meet someone as wonderful as Ron right here where I made my living. Everything was happening so fast, and I felt amazingly lucky to be a part of it, a witness to my own good luck for once. I’d been failing and scrambling just to get by for far too long. It meant everything to me to have things go right this time.

I peeled off my latex jumpsuit and pulled on the clothes I’d come to work in,  dark, wide-leg trousers and a plunging silk tank top, also dark. Starting off and really embracing my Parker persona had been a pain, at first, especially with the new dress code requirements I imposed on myself. There were some days when I woke up and I wished I could just show up to the club for work in jean shorts or pajama bottoms, as many of my fellow dancers did.

However, they all probably felt really foolish if they ever wanted to do something after their shifts ended at the club, and the only choices they had to wear were flannels and costumes. With my Parker dress code, I was prepared for any situation at all times, as long as it could be dealt with while looking fabulous.

Ron was waiting for me outside of the club after I left, just like he said he would be. When I trotted outside, jittery with nerves and excitement, part of me fully expected him to have not waited for me. It would make some sort of sense to me. I mean, I was just a dancer at a club, and he was this amazing human being. Maybe he was only being nice to me while I was giving him a private dance, boosting my self-esteem to make me believe I deserved something more than all of this.

But then, he rolled up, astride the motorcycle he told me about, the one that would make me feel things I’d never felt before while commuting across the city. “Hey, you,” he said, grinning at me. I couldn’t help but smile back—my persona’s no-smiling rule be damned. When a man as special as Ron smiled at me, I had to smile back. He’d made such an incredible effort to see me all of these days. He deserved a little something in return, especially since I was so flush in all of the cash he’d showered on me.

“Hey, yourself,” I said, eyeing the rumbling machine between his legs. “I guess I’m glad I wore pants today.”

“You’d have been fine in that latex number you were wearing,” he said. “Why’d you change?”

“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to be seen with me dressed like that?” I asked.

“Listen to me,” he said, taking my chin in between his thumb and pointer finger with a quiet intensity. “You are gorgeous, and I would ride this motorcycle through all of Miami with you on it in whatever you deigned to wear, proud as punch to even be seen with you. You understand?”

“Okay,” I said, a little frightened by the way his eyes glowed in the parking lot lights, the way he was so passionate when talking about me. I couldn’t help but draw another comparison with Marcus. Marcus had never been like this. I thought we’d both been all consumed with our love for each other, but more and more, I was realizing that what we’d had was only puppy love. This thing building between Ron and I…I could feel that it was going to be bigger and much more meaningful than anything that my stepbrother and I could’ve shared. For one, there was the relief that whatever relationship Ron and I were going to have together, it was going to be completely on the right side of morality. Even with my mom out of the picture at this point, I was at ease in knowing that my own beliefs would never be under fire by being with this man.

I felt so unbearably attracted to Ron that part of me just wanted to go find a dark alley and relieve some of the tension with him, pressed up against a brick wall. It had been long—far too long—since I’d enjoyed any sort of intimacy with anyone, and the last person I’d enjoyed such a time with had been my stepbrother. I was eager to wash away the memory of Marcus with new experiences, new feelings.

“Well, baby?” Ron remarked, patting the seat that extended behind him. “You going to get on or what?”

He hadn’t finished his sentence before I was kicking a leg over the motorcycle, settling in against his body. We were now even closer than we’d been in the private dance area. I pressed my torso against his back, and I was thrilled over the sensation of the vibrating motorcycle between my legs. I knew exactly what Ron had been talking about now, how I’d feel things I’d never felt before, riding on a motorcycle through Miami. I was already feeling things, just idling here in the club’s parking lot.

“Where to?” he asked me, shouting as he revved the engine, sending curls of pleasure up into my belly. Back to Los Angeles, I wanted to say, or the very tip of South America. Where was the farthest place we could go, a place I wouldn’t mind ending up as long as I stayed astride this vehicle of pleasure?

“Anywhere you want,” I said, and we shot off into the night.

My Parker,

I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done to drive you away from me. Maybe there just wasn’t enough time for us to love each other. Maybe I wasn’t around enough.

Even after what was said, I still loved seeing you. You’ve always been so beautiful, and I know that the more time that passes, the more gorgeous you become. I’m not trying to flatter you. It’s the truth.

I don’t know at what point the parents’ poison worked its magic on your feelings for me. There’s nothing wrong with what we have together. I don’t feel that way, and you shouldn’t either. Don’t listen to what anyone says about us. I know how I feel, and you know how you feel.

If you want time apart, I’ll give it to you. If you want to see other people, then do it. Know that I’ll just keep loving you and keep writing letters to you whether you read them or not. I’m in the habit of writing letters to you.

I’m in the habit of loving you, Parker, and habits are hard for me to break.

At first, and for a long time, life with Ron was everything I’d hoped living with another human being I cared about would be. I dared to believe I’d finally found the happiness I imagined for Marcus and I when we finally shrugged off the yoke of judgment our parents had placed around our shoulders and moved on to start a life of our own.

I was beginning to suspect that life didn’t have to turn out the way I expected. For instance, I never thought that I’d want to be with anyone other than Marcus, and here I was, craving Ron every second of every day.

He was like a drug I couldn’t get a handle on, an addiction as real as Jake’s penchant for cocaine.

After that initial contact the first night we acknowledged each other, things took off at a sprint.

It made sense to me that, if I wanted to be around Ron all the time, we should move in together.

“I’d ask you to move in with me, but I’m something of a man without a home right now,” he told me as we lounged under an umbrella at the beach. “I’ve been traveling so much that it just hasn’t made sense to tie myself down to just one city.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “I’d tell you just to move in with me, but my place is awfully small. You know.”

Ron had been insisting on us sleeping there each night since the first night we’d officially gone out together. It embarrassed me to no end…this amazing guy with so much money virtually slumming it with me. I had nothing to offer him, so when he broached the subject about crashing at my place until we could get something different figured out, I thought that it was the least I could do.

Ron was always full of amazing ideas on how to really maximize on my crappy little apartment, too.

“You keep it clean enough, I guess,” he said, scratching at an old stain on the secondhand couch I’d scrimped and saved for as I winced. “But you could do a lot with a couch cover, a throw blanket, and think of how good a thick, plush rug would look, right there. Think of all the ways I’d ravish you on that rug.”

I could think of plenty. I filled my apartment with the things he requested of me, everything from a juicer to a wall of mirrors, and reaped my rewards with how much more excited he was to share that space with me. He was used to better things than I was, and I considered it both my responsibility to make my pared down life more comfortable for him and to take cues on how to be more elegant.

The one aspect of our relationship that didn’t require a single lesson on design or etiquette was our sex life. The energy between us was intense, electric. My body felt as if it were always primed to take Ron inside of it, quivering each time he glanced at me, shuddering at every touch.

It was strange to me that my life had changed from one of relative hermitage to constant, mind-blowing sex.

The sex was great. The sex was better than great. Ron was a generous lover, making sure to touch me everywhere until I was mewling and practically begging for him to put it in. He was understanding that I didn’t have much practice at the actual art of it.

“That makes it honestly better for me, baby,” he said, threading his fingers through mine as he drove forward slowly, entering me inch by inch as I bit my lip and tried to be patient, tried to resist urging him on. “I get to show you all the tricks now.”

However, I could never last; I was always driven to the edge by the sweet oblivion that orgasm granted. Worries of the day melted away. I forgot about aches and pains and concerns at the club. For several illusory moments, I even forgot about Marcus, forgot about wondering where he was and what he was doing. Each time I had sex with Ron, I got further and further away from the idea of being in love with my stepbrother. It was both frightening and encouraging. I’d gone for most of my adult life, up until this point, being in love with the idea of a man, the idea that it could, at some point, be acceptable to be with Marcus. Deep down, of course, I knew that it would never be all right. If anyone dared to guess the truth of the origin of our relationship, we’d be laughed out of whatever community where we tried to build a life.

It was such a relief to be with Ron, to be with someone normal. And he made me feel like I actually had a future, that I wasn’t simply drifting around listlessly in Miami, waiting for something to happen to me. The something that was going to happen was Ron, and I was so thankful he’d found me. Perhaps it was the whole reason I’d been led to start working at the club in the first place…to reach this point eventuality. To be with a man who fascinated me and made me feel things I didn’t think were possible anymore.

I always encouraged Ron to finish me off as fast as he could manage, favoring the quick release over the slow build, craving the immediate payoff, the instant gratification, the unbridled hedonism of knowing what I wanted and knowing that I was with someone who was all too willing to give it to me.

“Now,” I’d whisper, breathless, my thighs squeezing his waist. “Now, now, now. Please.”

“You’re going to turn me into a minuteman if you’re not careful,” he’d pant back, grinning. “You’re so fucking eager, Parker.” He’d always complain, good-naturedly, but he never failed to comply with my request. It was something I appreciated about Ron, that he never denied me from the things I asked of him.

Then, it would be a matter of him lifting my legs to his shoulders, pushing them back until my muscles and tendons screamed, and then hitting that sweet spot inside of me again and again until sweet nothing obliterated my brain and I became a being of pure feeling instead of a person who thought and hoped and cared and wondered.

Those were the moments I wanted, the ones I grew to need.

“Tell me about all the places you’ve been,” I said, refocusing back on Ron at the beach, trying to keep myself from getting too horny. I didn’t want to cut our nice day short. It was a rare platonic one after all. I turned on my stomach with a small grunt so I could look at him. He was so worldly. I felt like a student ready to soak in a guru’s knowledge. “I want to know everything.” The sun was just starting its creep toward the horizon, and people were packing up their towels and children and plastic toys. I was sure I’d gotten a burn. It was so rare to get out in the daytime for me since I worked at night. I once slept through the entire day, never seeing the sun at all.

“I’d only bore you,” he laughed, waving me off.

“You never bore me,” I protested, and it was true. I hung on every word that fell from his lips; I caught myself staring at him when we weren’t talking; and I basically watched my every move to make sure I impressed him as much as I could. I couldn’t really explain why I put him on such a pedestal, but his personality compelled me to do so. Ron seemed like the kind of person I’d always wanted to be. I didn’t want to question why I felt the way I did about him. I wanted to be him, and, short of that, I wanted to be with him at every second of every day.

“Tell me at least about the best place you’ve ever been,” I urged. “Your very favorite place.”

Ron made a sound in his throat and looked out to the ocean. It reflected beautifully on his sunglasses and would’ve made a lovely photo, but it also made him really hard to read.

“You really want to know my favorite place I’ve ever been?” he asked, turning back toward me. All I could see was my flushed face reflected in those sunglasses, my nose burned to resemble a cherry.

“Of course I do,” I said, easing the glasses off of his eyes and down over his own nose. I wanted to see his eyes; I craved wanting to know everything about him, his past travels especially. If I had the cash to travel everywhere, to range so far and wide that it didn’t make sense for me to have just one home in just one city, I probably wouldn’t ever shut up about it.

Ron took my hand and instant butterflies filled my stomach. I didn’t think that my physical reaction to him touching me would ever end.

“I’ve been to places you’ve only seen in movies, all around the world, for my entire life,” he said. “But my very favorite place is Miami, but only since I’ve met you.”

I blinked at him a couple of times, studying those intense blue eyes, before I snorted.

“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “You’ve been to crazy places, and I’m in your favorite place? You can stop making fun of me right now, please.”

“Parker, I’m serious,” he said, his hand tightening around mine. “You can see the most amazing places in the world—the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower—but they don’t mean anything if your heart isn’t there with you. Maybe I’d be able to pick a better place than Miami, but Miami has my heart right now. It has the heart of the woman I love.”

My mouth dropped open as tears sprung to my eyes. How could I have found this beautiful, beautiful man? He meant so much to me, and he was never afraid to tell me what I meant to him.

“I love you,” I breathed, certain of it as I brushed his lips with my own. “I would do anything for you.”

“Someday, I want to take you to all the places I’ve been before,” he said. “I want to open the world up to you, Parker, and to rediscover with you through your eyes.”

Every one of his words made me swoon, and we saw the sun sink down with our passionate kisses.

That night, in the apartment I had been tailoring so carefully to be worthy of the man I’d fallen in love with, we slowly undressed each other, not caring that our sandy swimsuits were befouling the soft, shaggy rug I’d spent so much money on, not caring that our skin tasted like salt and faintly of the limes we’d squeezed in our beers, not caring that our hair was still damp as we did a slow slide onto the couch, our mouths connected, breathing one breath for each other.

We took our time, at first, but the inevitable drumbeat in my chest quickened. I needed that release. It was a physical necessity.

“Please, Ron,” I said, squeezing his wrist as he palmed me between my legs, leisurely making my back arch and my thighs tremble.

“Please, what?” he asked, placid, even though he was more than aware of exactly what I wanted.

“Make me come,” I all but whined, pushing impatiently against his hand, willing it to give me the release I craved.

“Oh, that’s what you want?” he said casually, as if I’d asked him to pass the salt. I knew he had to be flirting with me, teasing me, but I was beyond that point. I’d seen the place where I wanted to be, and I salivated over it. I didn’t want any obstacles to my goal.

“Yes, that’s what I fucking want,” I snapped, angry only because it was something I wanted so badly. My climax was a very real drug for me, and Ron was its facilitator.

Something changed in his face at my tone of voice, and I suddenly found myself pinned roughly to the couch, my hands over my head.

“Is this what you fucking want?” Ron growled, right in my face. Flustered, all I could do was blink at him. I felt like I had a whiplash from the feelings I was experiencing. I’d been close to getting what I wanted, just minutes away from the release I always sought, and now I was looking up into the very threatening face of the man I loved. I didn’t know what to say as an understatement.

“Answer me!” he demanded, flecks of spittle landing on my face, making me flinch.

I swallowed and flexed my fingers a little. His tight grip on my wrists was beginning to make my hands fall asleep, slowing the circulation of blood to them.

“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, afraid to hold my silence, afraid of what he would say to that admission. This wasn’t making sense to me whatsoever. In our time together, Ron hadn’t given me any indication that he was capable of this kind of instant vehemence. It was shocking in its suddenness, as if some other person, a stranger I didn’t know, slipped into Ron’s body for a moment and occupied it with extreme prejudice.

The intensity on Ron’s face relaxed at my words, and his grip on my wrists released. I brought my hands back down and crossed them awkwardly over my chest, my fingers tingling.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his voice sincerely apologetic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

My heart was still thudding in my chest. “What were you trying to do?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, quiet.

“I was trying something a little different, that’s all,” he said, shrugging.

“You were threatening toward me,” I pointed out.

“It’s a sex thing,” he said, shrugging. “I’m sorry. It’s just…at the beach, you said you loved me, that you’d do anything for me.”