Sneak Peek: Knocked Up By the Billionaire
Chapter One
Brady
“Hey, Brady, check her out, over there.” Nick pointed to a blonde woman across the room. “She’s been eyeing you since we walked in the door.”
I barely heard my best friend’s comment, busy with a tall, big-breasted brunette who had walked over to our table, abruptly sat down on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted one on my lips. I didn’t know her, at least I don’t think I did. Did it matter? Not really. She made herself comfortable on my lap as I inhaled a combination of perfume and booze.
Well, how about that? Enjoying the buzz of my third or fourth Queimada—who was counting—I grinned lazily at the woman after she broke off the kiss.
“Do I know you?” I asked. I might have met her, but who could remember? I’d enjoyed so many one-night stands over the years it was impossible to recall them all. Big tits, little tits, it didn’t matter to me.
Nick said I was a chick-magnet, and I believed it. Completely. I had been told so many times that I was hot and that my hard body was to die for, and that my features reminded them of this movie star or that musician, so who was I to argue? I loved it. Not that I had a big head… at least not the one on top of my shoulders anyway. I didn’t do girlfriends… no, don’t go there, so this was fine with me. Free sex. I’d never had to pay for it, and I never would.
“No, but you can if you want to.” The brunette smiled, leaning closer to kiss me again.
The drink was supposed to provide mystical powers. Maybe it did. Then again, how many times had I also been told I had magic fingers? A well-honed skill, one that I practiced as often as I could. Nothing more distracting than having sex, no doubt about it.
One arm wrapped around the young woman’s shoulders, the other cupping and gently squeezing an ample breast, I tried to enjoy the moment. The large, steady thrum of the bass in the dance club in the basement next door to my hotel kept time with the pounding of my heartbeat. The techno-beat of the music nearly shook the walls as red, blue, and green strobe lights swirled over the dancing crowd, the popular nightclub packed to the brim.
I stared at the crowd, a surge of… of something different gnawing at my belly. My dick responded to the music and the woman in my lap, but my thoughts felt detached, observing and yet not joining in the abandon and joie de vivre expressed by the dancing couples on the floor or making out in their own half-shadowed booths.
I glanced at Nick. I knew why I’d come here, and it wasn’t only because Nick had encouraged me. Anything to stave off the growing boredom, this growing sense of disconnection. I frowned. Bored? How could I be bored? Spending every night with another woman, indulging in booze, the fast cars, the jet-setting around the globe. How could I be bored. And yet…
I grinned as the woman in my lap leaned closer and sucked on my earlobe, evoking goose bumps along my skin. Distracted, I chuckled and offered her my neck while my palm lightly rubbed against her breast. I felt her nipple harden through the fabric. So did my dick, lengthening along the inside of my jeans as she wiggled her ass against my groin.
“Brady!”
I laughed as Nick reached across the table and tapped my shoulder. “What’s the rush?”
“Maybe I’ll take my chance with her,” Nick said, raising his voice to be heard above the music as he gestured over his shoulder. “Come up for air, bro. I need five hundred Euros.”
“For what?”
“For some blow.” Nick shrugged, again tilting his head toward the woman staring at us from across the room. “An icebreaker.”
With a sigh, I let go of the woman’s breast and dug my hand into my left front pants pocket to pull out several bills. “Don’t spend it all,” I warned, then turned to grin at the beauty still grinding on my lap. “I plan on doing some entertaining myself.”
I didn’t do drugs like Nick. Didn’t like the way they made me feel. I drank, sometimes to extremes, but that too was gradually taking its toll. I was getting sick—literally—of waking up with throbbing headaches and fuzzy hangovers. At twenty-seven, I was just beginning to realize that I couldn’t party quite as hard as I had at twenty. I pushed the negative thoughts from my head and watched as Nick snatched the money from the table and pressed his way through the crowd to the other side of the room.
I momentarily ignored the woman on my lap, still gyrating, eyes closed, an ethereal smile lifting the corners of her mouth, imagining God only knew. I stared after my friend. Nick Calloway and I had been best friends and drinking buddies since high school. Originally from California, Nick was the quintessential typical surfer dude—tanned skin, unruly blond hair, and a happy-go-lucky, almost reckless attitude about life. All he wanted to do was surf, party, snort coke, and look for the next lay, and not necessarily in that order.
Unlike me, Nick didn’t come from a well-connected family. After a brief stint as a bartender, he had quit. He told me that he wanted to become an agent; to book bands in clubs like this one, but he didn’t seem to understand that his employment history, or lack of one, stood in the way of his dreams.
Over the past couple of years, Nick had often tagged along with me on my ‘vacations’— me footing the bill of course. Earlier this week, we had landed in Ibiza, Spain. For the briefest of moments as I watched Nick make a beeline for the attractive blonde across the room, I felt a surge of… annoyance? Dissatisfaction?
The ample-breasted brunette on my lap distracted me when she not so surreptitiously slid her hand between my legs and groped my balls. I glanced at her and noted her dilated pupils and knew she was high, drunk, maybe even both. She wanted it. She wanted me, and I was all too happy to oblige. I had just reached for her breast again, almost desperate for the distraction, when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone approaching the table. With a sigh, I turned, thinking it was Nick wanting more money.
Not Nick, but a gorgeous brunette nearly identical to the woman who sat on my lap. I did a double-take and then glanced between the two of them, an eyebrow raised.
“My twin sister, Maria. ” The woman on my lap smiled and beckoned her sister to join us.
I slid over, the brunette on my lap giggling softly as she leaned close to nibble at my earlobe again. I couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter. This must be my lucky day. I’d never had a threesome with twins before. This might be an interesting evening after all.
“Marta, let me have some fun,” Maria said, sending a pout toward her sister.
Marta released my earlobe as Maria threaded her fingers through my hair and turned my face toward her, pressing her lips against mine with as much as enthusiasm as her sister had moments before. At the same time, Marta traced the tip of her tongue down along the side of my neck and then nibbled my shoulder through my T-shirt. My dick throbbed in earnest now as Marta’s hand massaged my balls and stroked my hard-on through my jeans.
Maria, apparently not wanting to be undone by her sister, slid her hand underneath the bottom of my T-shirt and circled my nipples with a long fingernail. Her tongue dove deep into my mouth. Her lips caught my tongue and gently sucked.
God, I was going to explode right here. I doubted anyone would even notice if I—
I felt a vibration in my back pocket that had nothing to do with sex. Dammit! My phone. I couldn’t hear my distinctive ringtone ‘Custard Pie’ ringing over the pounding music but counted to five before the intermittent vibrations ceased. I knew who was probably trying to call me, but I was determined to ignore it. Wanted to ignore everything from back home in Texas, hence my presence in Ibiza.
An arm draped around each of the sisters, I pulled them closer and groped their breasts; Marta’s right one and Maria’s left one, wondering if because they were twins they would be the same size and fullness. To my delight, they were. I occupied myself tweaking their nipples into erect, hard pebbles as I—
The phone in my pocket buzzed again. Shit. With a sigh, I pulled away from both of them, untangled my arms from around their shoulders, and leaned forward to pull the phone from my back pocket. I glared at the phone screen, it’s blue glow stark against the blackness. I saw that I had missed two calls from Frederick Brunson, my father’s lawyer.
“Do you need to take that?” Marta said, leaning close to my ear, seductively tracing her tongue around its edges.
I shook my head. “You lovely ladies have my complete and total attention,” I lied. I passed my gaze over the crowd and lifted a hand toward a passing waiter to order a bottle of Cristal champagne. So, what if it cost a thousand Euros? The more I spent, the more I annoyed my father.
I turned to one twin then the other and grinned. “Now, where were we?”
“Right about here.” Marta giggled, her hand once again diving into my crotch.
I took turns kissing the girls, trying to determine which was the best kisser, but so far, the contest was tied. My blood surged, excitement burgeoning into a growing ball of fire from my—no pun intended—balls to my brain. I pushed all negative thoughts from my head, only having to slightly force myself to disappear into the sensations the lovely twins provided.
I barely noticed when the waiter returned with a bottle and only broke off the kiss with Maria long enough to tell the man to put it on my tab.
“Certainly, sir,” the waiter said.
The waiter hesitated briefly, glanced between the two women, breasts nearly spilling from their scanty dresses. He glanced down and saw where Marta’s hand had disappeared. He blinked, then straightened and moved off, slightly shaking his head. I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. Oh, to be handsome, young, and loaded. Did it really get any better?
The booth we sat in was shadowed in semi-darkness, so unless you were up close and personal like the waiter, no one could see what exactly was going on between the three of us. I felt tempted to slide my hand under the hem of Marta’s short dress. Was she bare under there? Was her pussy slick and wet, ready for some action?
I glanced around the throng in the room, the strobe lights briefly illuminating dancing couples, colors flashing, flesh bared, laughing faces, drinks held high by some as they gyrated and did their dirty dancing moves with one another. There must’ve been a couple hundred people in the club, but every couple was isolated in their own little bubble, paying no attention to anyone else around them.
I caught a glimpse of Nick at the other side of the room alone, leaning against a wall beneath the DJ, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slumped with obvious dejection. He’d struck out again. If I were feeling generous, I would’ve gestured my friend over to join us. I wasn’t feeling very generous at the moment.
I turned from one twin to the other and reached for the bottle of champagne on the table. “Ladies, what say we take this party to my suite at the hotel next door? We can continue the party there.”
Chapter Two
Dana
“If we look at some macroscopic animals and plants, we can discover that many have microscopic juvenile stages, which…”
I tried really hard to concentrate in class, my eyelids heavy and feeling like sandpaper. I counted the minutes before I could escape the most boring drone of the professor at the front of the room. Ugh. Ten more minutes. It seemed like forever.
Normally, when bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I tolerated the professor—not that I had any control—but I’d been up late the night before studying. I’d fallen asleep around four o’clock this morning without shutting my bedroom window. That after a full day of classes and a pick-up shift at the diner on the corner. After falling asleep on the bed surrounded by my textbooks, I’d woken at seven o’clock with stiff joints and a throbbing headache. I grimaced as I clambered out of bed over my books and made a mad dash for my bathroom. I couldn’t be late for class again.
The bathroom was tiny, and that was being generous. Barely enough room for the camper-sized shower stall, a chipped and stained porcelain sink jutting from the wall, and beside that, an equally dinged porcelain toilet. Muttering, I reached into the shower and turned on the faucets, knowing exactly how far to turn each one to get the temperature I wanted—if I were lucky.
The piping made a groaning sound and shuddered inside the wall before the showerhead spurted unsteady bursts of water until pressure stabilized. I quickly pulled my T-shirt over my head and pulled off my sweatpants, naked underneath, and stepped under the running water. I inhaled sharply as cool water pelted my skin and then gradually warmed up. If no one on my floor flushed a toilet, which usually resulted in a sudden drop in not only water pressure but temperature, I’d count my blessings.
I was in and out of the shower in less than five minutes, probably a world record for me. I quickly yanked the towel from the rack and towel-dried as I stepped into the studio, scanning the clothes strewn on the floor, looking for something relatively clean.
The morning had gone downhill from there. I’d barely made it to my microbiology class, dull and challenging under the best of circumstances, but with lack of sleep and my pounding headache, I was barely able to concentrate. Spring finals were coming up, and I needed to focus. I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and made a conscious effort to sit straighter and to listen to the monotone drone of my professor, who, if possible, made microbiology even more mind-numbing than it already was.
I glanced up at the clock again. Thank God, five more minutes of this torture and I could escape, at least for twenty minutes before my next classes—Fundamentals of Patient Care followed by Developmental Psychology.
The phone in my back pocket vibrated. I ignored it at first. Probably Charlie, my brother. At twenty-one, Charlie was one year younger than me, although most of the time, he acted like an adolescent teen. I loved him dearly, but he could be challenging, especially after the death—
I surreptitiously slipped the phone out of my pocket, glanced down at the screen, and frowned. Not Charlie. I didn’t recognize the number. I never took calls from numbers I didn’t recognize. If it was important, they’d leave a voicemail. I slid the phone back into my pocket, quickly jotted down the assignment the professor wrote on the board, heavy-handed with his chalk, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms. He did that on purpose. Likely his own brand of revenge on his class full of uninterested students.
I headed out of class without speaking to anyone, not that I usually did. I had often been told that I was anti-social, but I wasn’t. Not really. I was friendly and liked socializing. I make friends easily, but truth be told, I’m just too busy. Besides, I don’t like the melodrama of which many of my peers seemed to thrive. If they only knew how petty their whining about stupid things was compared to the really tragic things that could happen in life… Anyway, between studying and my crappy job at the diner just around the corner from my studio apartment, and trying to keep track of Charlie, I barely had enough time for myself, let alone friends.
I stepped onto the quad and stood for several moments bathed in warm sunshine, heaving a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, I didn’t have classes all day today. The phone in my pocket vibrated again. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the screen. A text message. I opened it.
This is Mercy West Hospital. Charlie Sommer requested that we notify you that he has been admitted following an accident. Please contact hospital for information.
My heart skipped a beat. A cold chill swept down my spine despite the warmth of the morning. Charlie! “Oh Lord, what now?” I headed for the south side of campus where the buses stopped regularly, but a quick glance at my watch made me pause. A bus going in that direction wouldn’t be coming along for another twenty minutes. With a breathy curse, I turned around and headed for the quad again. I couldn’t wait for a bus. I would have to take a taxi. An expense that I rarely indulged in, but this was an emergency.
I half-walked, half-ran through the quad and toward the nearest corner along University Avenue. Traffic was steady, but after a few moments, I spotted a yellow cab and lifted my arm and waved. The cab merged with traffic on the street and pulled to the curb.
I opened the door and clambered inside. “Dallas University Hospital!”
I barely sat down before the taxi took off, meter running. Keeping one eye on the meter and the other on the street, I couldn’t help but imagine the worst. What happened? Had Charlie been hit by a car? How bad was he hurt? And, although I was ashamed to admit it, how much was this going to cost?
Heart pounding in dread, I prayed that Charlie wasn’t hurt badly. That he didn’t need surgery. That he wouldn’t die. I had dealt with enough heartbreak in my life. Charlie might have his problems, but he was my brother. I’d do anything for him.
By the time the taxi pulled up in front of the entrance doors of the five-story hospital complex, I trembled with anxiety, so much so that when I glanced at the meter and dug into my pocket for the twenty I always carried on me, I nearly ripped the bill. I told the cabbie to keep the change. Five dollars wasn’t going to make or break me, and I knew that like me, cabbies relied on tips to make it by. I barely heard the cabby’s mumbled thanks—was that sarcasm or appreciation—before I scrambled out, slammed the door, and trotted toward the front doors. They swished open as a middle-aged couple exited, and I hurried through. Directly across from the entrance stood a reception desk manned by two older women wearing pink tops.
“May I help you, dear?” one of the ladies asked with a smile.
“Emergency room!”
“To the left, follow the corridor.”
“Thanks.” I quickly turned left. I’d never been inside this hospital before, although next semester, I might be enduring my summer practicum hours here. It looked like a nice place—floor-to-ceiling windows on the left, real potted plants, low-pile carpeting with a modern abstract design in colorful red, yellow, and blue.
After I rounded the curve of the building, I saw the waiting room of the emergency department at the far end of the hall. I quickly made my way to yet another reception desk, this one situated behind a half wall of stucco and wood paneling on the bottom, glass on top. The nurse behind the glass focused on her computer screen, fingers flying over the keys. I tapped on the glass. The nurse looked up and leaned forward to open the small sliding glass window over the desk.
“I got a text. My brother was brought here a little while ago—”
“Name?”
“My name is Dana Sommer. My brother’s name is Charlie Sommer. S-o-m-m-e-r.”
The nurse picked up a clipboard beside her computer, thumbed through several papers, and then nodded. “Come on back,” she said, pressing a round red button on the wall beside her desk. A low buzz followed, and I turned toward the two automatically locking doors that slowly opened. The sign on one of them read: No admittance. Emergency Room Personnel Only!
I quickly stepped through as the nurse on the other side gestured. “Follow me please.”
Mouth dry and pulse racing, I followed quickly taking in the scene. Large floor space separated into trauma bays, and light blue fabric curtains divided the spaces neatly. Carts with drawers containing numerous ER supplies, and portable x-ray and digital scanning machines, wheelchairs, and several gurneys lined the walls. Two of the bays were occupied, their curtains pulled completely around on tracks screwed into the ceiling, hiding the patients from view. The sound of a woman weeping came from one, the voice of a male doctor discussing test results with his patient from the other.
I followed the nurse as I took a hard right and then proceeded through another set of double doors. A smaller space equipped with four additional bays, each with another set of curtains hanging from their ceiling tracks.
“He’s over there, last one on the left. The doctor will come talk to you shortly.”
Before I could ask any questions, the nurse turned and left. It was quiet in here, barely any activity; was this a room where non-emergent cases waited to be seen or transferred to a room on the upper floors? A young nurse stood at a high-waisted mobile desk that served as a nursing station, tapping information into a tablet, a stethoscope resting beside it. She looked over at me, offered a small smile and a nod, and then returned to her charting or whatever it was she was doing.
My tennis shoes made no sound on the linoleum floor as I stepped toward the last bay. I grasped the curtain and slowly pulled it aside, afraid of what I might see on the other side. When I saw my brother, I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp.
“Does it look that bad?”
“Oh my God, Charlie, what happened?” Relieved that my brother was conscious, I swept my gaze over his usually handsome face. A two-inch cut on his forehead. It looked deep. A puffy right eye nearly swollen shut, the skin around it already starting to turn a deep purple. A horizontal gash over the bridge of his nose, probably broken. It too had started to swell, as had the right side of his jaw. Along with his bottom lip, dried blood congealing on it.
“Don’t freak, Dana,” he said. “A few stitches, a cracked rib, and a busted nose, but other than that, I’m going to be all right.”
“What happened?” I stared aghast at him, reaching for his hand. I noted his scraped and bloodied knuckles and frowned. A fight?
“Don’t get pissed, I—”
“A little late for that, don’t you think? Another fight?” He looked away, shoulders slumped. I felt bad. Why did I always feel sorry for him? No matter how frustrated I got with him, I couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking I was disappointed in him. He just couldn’t seem to catch a break. Bad luck followed him, some of it his own doing, some of it merely that—bad luck.
“I owe some money… to a bookie—”
I barely stifled a groan. We had talked about this before. Or rather, I had talked, trying to get him to understand that his on-again and off-again penchant for gambling wasn’t going to get him anywhere but into trouble. I struggled to hide my disappointment. His eyes looked so… so sad. He wasn’t trying to play me. That’s the way he always looked. Most of the time, anyway. I didn’t know how to take that sadness away.
“Your bookie…” I didn’t pursue that, at least not for the moment. “And he did that to you?” I felt sick to my stomach.
Charlie nodded. “Slim Pete. He said he was tired of waiting for me to pay up.”
How long had this been going on? I swallowed and struggled to hide my emotions. “Tired of waiting… how much do you owe him, Charlie?”
“Fifty grand.”
At first I thought I had misheard, but when I saw the look on his face, his ashen skin and the damage that had been done to his face, I realized I hadn’t. Oh God. Fifty thousand dollars? The air left my lungs as if I’d just been punched in the gut. Never in my life would I have imagined that he would be so reckless as to dig himself a hole this deep. The worst had been two years ago. A two-thousand-dollar debt. I had worked hard to pay it off, as had Charlie, taking any construction job he could find. I thought he had learned his lesson. I thought my brother had been doing good lately, fighting his demons without throwing caution to the wind. Obviously not.
I stared at him, mouth open but no words coming out. His eyes filled, and he gently shook his head, ashamed. He spoke, his voice subdued.
“He said if I don’t pay up within a week, the goons will pay me another visit.”
His good eye turned toward me.
“I got the impression that they wouldn’t go so easy on me next time.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. I shook my head and said the first thing that came into my head. “You’ve got to get out of town, Charlie!” Panic bubbled up inside me. “You can’t stay here… you need to find a place to hide. Maybe you can go to Uncle Greg’s.”
“No way!” he refused. “I’d sooner risk my life here than ask that lush for any favors.”
While I had little affection for my fifty-two-year-old alcoholic uncle on our dad’s side, he was about the only family we had left. Our parents’ had died in a plane crash seven years ago. After the tragedy, Charlie and I had moved in with Uncle Greg, but he was always drunk and paid little attention to us. He demanded that I take care of all the cooking, the cleaning, and the laundry.
At fifteen, with a fourteen-year-old brother, I had basically become Charlie’s parent, but I took the responsibility seriously. Even at such a young age, Charlie had realized that Greg Sommer was worthless. Our uncle had only agreed to take us in because my father’s life insurance policy provided him with an allowance that would enable him to support us.
Problem was, he didn’t use the money to support me or my brother. He spent it on booze and women. How many nights had I relied on boxed macaroni and cheese to feed us? More often than not there was no milk for breakfast, and supper usually consisted of Campbell’s tomato soup with saltine crackers. During the three years that we had lived with him, I had rarely tasted real meat. Everything came from boxes or cans.
“Dana?”
His voice pulled me from the awful memories, and I gazed down at him, torn between anger and compassion.
“I’m sorry, I. Really I am. I just got… got carried away. Thought that the next hand would be the winner…”
I said nothing, disbelief the strongest emotion I felt at the moment. Now was not the time for a severe tongue lashing. I fought back the growing lump in my throat. How the hell were we going to get out of this mess? He squeezed my hand.
“I can make a payment plan. A friend owes me some money. As soon as I get it, I can make the first payment.”
I didn’t believe a word of it. How many times had I been through this with him? Where he got the money to gamble was beyond me. Charlie was a handsome young man with lots of potential that he failed to recognize, either through a lack of self-confidence or just plain laziness. At seventeen, Charlie had dropped out of school and refused to return to complete his senior year.
Thinking that a change of scenery and getting away from Uncle Greg would help, I had started putting out feelers. The moment Charlie turned eighteen, Charlie and I had left Uncle Greg’s and headed for Dallas, where I had a job lined up at a local diner and a college scholarship. I encouraged Charlie to find a steady job, to take night classes at the local junior college to get his GED, to make some goals for his life.
Most of my scholarship went toward my tuition and my books. I had found a small studio off campus. While part of the scholarship money helped with that expense, the rest: utilities, food, and clothes, was generated from my job at the diner. I worked long hours and picked up every extra shift I could, even on holidays.
Charlie had worked various jobs after we arrived in Dallas, and I had never approved of many of them. The people he worked for were shady, perhaps into drugs and God knew what else. Honestly, I didn’t really want to know. He shared a small apartment downtown with his best friend, Eric, who was two years older than Charlie. Shiftless, also hopping from job to job, fond of alcohol, prostitutes, and drugs. He was a bad influence on Charlie, but I couldn’t do anything about that.
Charlie was an adult, by age anyway, and I couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to do. But I tried. I was all he had. I would always fight for him, no matter what.
“Oh, Charlie…” I sighed, wishing... wondering what I could have done differently to help him along in life. The death of our parents’, the years spent living with my alcoholic uncle, devoid of affection with barely enough food to subsist on, had turned Charlie inward. He was an angry, bitter young man. I knew he loved me as much as I loved him, but he was dissatisfied with what life had offered. While I worked hard and focused on making my life better, for the both of us, Charlie had turned into a prisoner of his own bitterness. He never touched alcohol, but I suspected that at times he dabbled in prescription drugs to dull his pain. To escape. My heart ached for him.
“It’ll be all right, I—”
I heard footsteps and turned to watch a nurse approach with a suture tray. In the not so distant future, that would be me, perhaps approaching another young man who’d gotten himself beat up over God knew what. Stitching up the superficial damage, though not healing the wound.
“The doctor recommends your brother stay overnight for observation. He might have a concussion.”
My heart sank. I glanced at Charlie and then turned my shoulders slightly so he couldn’t see my face. I looked at the nurse and gently shook my head. “We don’t have insurance, and little money to pay for a hospital stay. But I’m a nursing student—almost done—and I’m familiar with the signs of a concussion. I can take him home with me and watch him,” I said. “If I even think he’s experiencing symptoms, I’ll bring him back. I promise.”
The nurse looked as if she would disagree, but she seemed to understand. “I’ll let the doctor know. You’ll have to sign the AMA statement—”
“What’s that?” Charlie asked.
“Against medical advice, Charlie,” I told him. “It just states that we know you’re leaving against medical advice.”
He nodded. “Fine with me.”
“You can go talk to the finance department while I get him stitched up,” the nurse said. “Then we’ll see about getting him discharged, okay?”
“Thank you,” I said, turning to Charlie. “I’ll go take care of this.” I then turned to the nurse. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t discharge him until I come back.”
The nurse nodded, and I quickly left the room. The moment I passed through the emergency room doors and headed for the front desk to ask the way to the billing office, I slumped against the wall. Out of Charlie’s line of vision and hearing, I allowed myself a brief moment to succumb to my emotions. I buried my face in my hands. Don’t cry. You don’t have time to cry! God, when was this going to end? When would life start going my way? Charlie’s way?
Chapter Three
Brady
I woke with a pounding headache. It took several moments of staring up at the ceiling to remember where I was. Another luxury hotel room, but oddly enough, they had all begun to look much the same. Wincing, I glanced away from the brightness of the window and saw one of the twins; her long black hair spread out on the pillow and lying along her gorgeous back. I loved the feeling of that silky hair sliding through my fingers. My gaze dipped downward to the slope of her back and the rise of her ass, causing a renewed aching deep inside. I reached my hand toward her, placing it gently on that ass, smiling.
The two had exhausted me last night. I’d lost count of how many times I’d dipped into their slits, how many times I’d suckled identical tits, and even how many times one or the other, I couldn’t remember which, had sucked my dick. Unbelievably, just looking at that ass made me horny again.
A soft, breathy sigh on my other side prompted me to turn and find the other twin lying on her side, facing me, the gorgeous, up-close and personal view of her luscious breasts prompting my balls to tighten with desire. I tucked my other hand between her warm thighs, cradling the edge of it against her pussy. The burning flame of desire deep in my groin came to life despite my pounding headache, my dry mouth, and my slight sense of nausea from overindulging last night.
What the hell? Maybe a morning fuck was just what I needed to start my day. I gently squeezed the ass with my hand while I slowly stroked the cleft in the other one’s pussy, eliciting a sleepy, soft groan of pleasure from her lips. I glanced down at my dick, at half-mast now and beginning to throb with desire. I closed my eyes and just focused on the sensations surging through me—
My cell phone rang, jarring me from my wayward thoughts. The dial tone was low and barely audible, but was accompanied by a vibration that caused the phone to move ever so slightly on the bedside table. I scowled at it and then, releasing Marta’s ass… or was it the other one, Maria? With a sigh, I removed my hand from that ass and half-rose over the other twin, my hand sliding down to her thigh as I reached for the phone, intending to allow it to go to voicemail.
Until I recognized the number. Shit. My father, the oh-so-mighty oil tycoon and billionaire, Clint Shaw. I frowned. This was highly unusual. Normally, it was Frederick, my father’s lawyer, or another one of his henchmen who typically called me. What did my father want so badly that he’d call me personally?
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t dare ignore the call, knowing that doing so would bring all sorts of hell down on my head. Mumbling under my breath, I quickly scrambled from the bed and walked out of the bedroom and into the living area of the luxuriously appointed suite, my hard-on now shrinking as I quickly made my way to the wet bar.
I answered the call and put the phone on speaker as I reached for a bottle of Scotch, unscrewed the lid, and splashed half an inch into a glass. “Hey, Dad,” I said, then lifted the glass to my lips and swallowed, my throat burning with the aftermath. “What’s up?” I glanced down at my dick, which wasn’t. My father’s gruff voice and terse manner of speaking, despite traveling thousands of miles, sounded eerily close.
“We need to talk. I want you home. Tomorrow.”
I scowled. He didn’t know I was out of the country, but it didn’t really matter. I had no intention of jumping on a plane to head back to Dallas, at least not yet. “What’s going on, Dad?”
“I’m not going to discuss it over the phone. You’ll come home. Tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”
I was about to reply when I heard the patter of feet and glanced over my shoulder to see one of the twins—not sure which one was it, they both looked the same—walking toward me, as naked as I was. Her breasts bounced softly as she walked, her nipples hard and erect, her areolas incredibly large. I stared at those rosy red tips for several seconds before glancing down at her bare pussy—
“Brady.”
“Sure… sure, Dad—”
I grinned as Marta/Maria pressed her body against me, her breasts squishing against my back, her groin undulating against my ass. I glanced down and smiled, satisfied to see that my dick was already rising again. She reached a hand around my hip and grasped my dick, stroking it softly, her fingers lightly brushing the head. I cleared my throat.
“I’ll be home tomorrow.”
The call abruptly disconnected. I glanced down at the screen, shook my head, and then placed the phone on the bar as I turned and deliberately slid my cock between her thighs. It was slick and ready. I lifted an eyebrow. Those two were like little Energizer bunnies, always ready to go, seemingly without limits. I grinned and lowered my lips to hers, indulging in a bit of tongue play as I lifted my hands to cup her breasts, my thumbs first brushing over the nipples, then using my fingers to gently tweak and twist those nipples until they grew into hard nubs. Satisfied, I cupped her heavy breasts, one in each hand, testing their weight and then squeezing while my cock slid easily in and out of her thighs, brushing against her lower lips.
She groaned and broke off the kiss, gazing up at me with soft eyes. “Do you have to leave?”
I chuckled. “I have no intentions of leaving, at least for a couple more days. I’m having too much fun.”
Way too much fun, and I wasn’t about to cut my fun short because my overbearing father demanded it. I had long grown tired of him reminding me that I was the sole heir to the Shaw’s billion-dollar oil empire. Tired of my father telling me it was time to quit sowing wild oats and settle down, to learn more about the business end rather than merely reaping the financial rewards of his hard work. Tired of telling my father that I had no interest in taking that business over. At least not yet. No, I was having too much fun? and I wasn’t about to trade the women, the booze, or my jet-setting ways to sit behind a desk pushing papers for the rest of my life.
My father was one of the most powerful men in Dallas, hell, even Texas, and when he said something, people jumped. I had begun to rebel against that by my fourteenth birthday, right after my mom died—
Marta or Maria chuckled softly and stroked her hands down along my ribs. A fingernail traced the line of hair from my chest down to my stomach, promoting my abs to contract. That finger continued to descend as it headed for my dick. Her other hand reached between my legs to cup my balls, heavy with desire, while the other gently wrapped around my cock and slowly squeezed as she stroked long, then loosened her grip. Her hand slid downward, her grip once again tightening as she reached the base, only to repeat the movement.
To hell with my father. I pushed thoughts of him completely out of my mind and focused only on the wonderful things that Marta/Maria was doing with her tongue on my nipples. After several seconds of that unique and exquisite torture, she slowly slid her body downward until she knelt on the floor in front of me, my cock jutting outward toward her mouth. I watched as she took my dick into her mouth and began her tongue play on my head. I reached for the bottle of Scotch and quickly poured myself an inch and then downed it, my attention torn between the heat making its way down to my stomach and the heat burgeoning upward from my groin at the same time.
I set the glass on the bar and placed both hands on her shoulders, reveling in the feel of her warm and wet tongue slowly sliding over my head. Hers bobbed gently as she gave me one of the most exquisite blow jobs I’d ever had the pleasure to receive, pausing occasionally to suck on my head before she began all over again.
It took most of my willpower to stand unmoving, reveling in the sensation of her hand manipulating my balls, the other grasping the base of my shaft while her mouth and tongue worshiped my cock. Once in a while her tongue stroked the length of my shaft, wrapping around it like a snake curling around a tree branch. My cock was thick and engorged now, the veins distended. Every new sensation prompted it to respond of its own accord. I sucked in a breath as she paused again to suckle deeply, taking nearly half of my length into her mouth. I couldn’t resist. I tilted my hips forward and shoved myself deeper, and she took me. I tilted my head back and relaxed, feet spread slightly, my fingers resting on her bony shoulders… sinking into physical pleasure that had my blood throbbing hotly through my veins.
I frowned slightly when she stopped and pulled her mouth away. I glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised in silent question.
“Your friend… Nick… what if he comes back like he did last night? Should we go back to the bedroom?”
I thought about that. Had Nick joined in on the fun with the twins last night? No, I would have remembered that. I shrugged. “I’m not expecting him, but if he comes over, I don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time I shared with him.”
She offered only the slightest of grins.
“I don’t want him. I want you.”
I chuckled and reached down, urging her to stand. Without ado, I lifted her up onto the top of the bar, which made it much easier for me to suckle her breasts. First one, then the other. I wrapped my lips around her areola and teased her nipple with my tongue, reveling in the textures… then I sucked, hard then soft, swirling my tongue over that luscious mound and nipple before repeating the process like she had done with my dick.
I teased and tweaked her nipples, pinching them softly while she made soft, mewling noises and spread her legs wider on top of the bar. I traced my fingers down her taut stomach, downward along her abdomen, and cupped her mound, massaging until she wiggled with impatience. Only then did I slide a finger deep into her. Her internal muscles closed around my finger, slick and hot as she slowly rocked against my hand, my thumb fingering her clitoris. She gyrated and thrust her breasts upward, begging for my tongue, head arched back.
I obliged. I sucked on her tongue at the same pace my finger slid deep inside and then withdrew. Soon she breathed hard, gasping for air. My cock throbbed and demanded release. I withdrew my finger from her wetness and wrapped my arms around her torso, my face nuzzling the crook of her neck as I gently sucked the skin there. She moaned and pressed her groin closer. I pulled her off the bar. Her arms reached for my shoulders as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I found her entry point with my dick and surged upward, burying myself deep into her depths. Her back pressed against the wall of the wet bar, I grasped her ass with both hands and pumped hard— two, three, then four times before I felt a surge. She ground down on me, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she met every thrust of my hips with a rotating grind of her own.
I felt the surge of hot semen erupting and briefly regretted not wearing a cover. While the twins told me last night that it wasn’t necessary, that they were protected, I shouldn’t have been so careless. No telling where those pussies had been before me. No, that definitely wouldn’t happen again.
I was just coming down from the rush of pleasure, allowing Marta/Maria to slowly slide her feet down to the floor, when I heard a noise. I glanced up and found the other twin standing in the middle of the living room, also naked, the fingers of one hand plucking at her own nipple.
“You save any of that for me?” She smiled.
Both sisters giggling, I followed her back into the bedroom. By the time I entered, she was already on the bed, leaning against the headboard, knees bent and spread, offering me an ample view. The twin stepping into the room behind me chuckled softly and then headed for the bathroom. Moments later, I heard the shower.
I spent the rest of the day literally indulging the obviously insatiable needs of the sisters. By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, I was exhausted. I couldn’t get it up one more time no matter how hard I tried. Which was just as well, because after I treated the girls to room service and steak dinners while I showered, they bid their goodbyes.
It’d been fun, a welcome distraction as women always were, but after they left a silence settled over the room. It smelled of sex. I roamed the suite for a few minutes, pausing long enough to gaze out the windows at the bright lights of downtown Ibiza, watching the traffic, the airplane lights in the distance, idly wondering where all those people were going.
I downed another inch of Scotch, not wanting to deal with such insipid thoughts. My God, I had just spent twenty-four hours indulging in nearly endless sex, and that’s all I could think about?
I turned from the window and used the room phone to call down to housekeeping, requesting a change of bedding. The housekeeper didn’t like it, but I would tip her generously for her trouble, as I always did.
An hour later, another hot shower and fresh bedding awaiting, I collapsed onto the bed and sank into a deep and fitful sleep.
***
The incessant knocking on my door annoyed the hell out of me. The pounding wouldn’t stop. I knew it was Nick, coming up for air from wherever the hell he had been since we’d parted ways in the nightclub the night before… No, the night before that. I had slept well, but I still felt exhausted. I could’ve stayed most of the day in bed and been perfectly content. The knocking came in bursts of three, accompanied by my name.
“Brady, open the fucking door!”
With a growl, I threw the covers back and walked to the door in my boxers. I opened it open with a scowl as Nick stepped into the room and headed for the couch, eyeing me up and down.
“You look like shit,” he commented.
“What do you want, Nick? I was sleeping.”
“Front me some more money?”
I turned to my friend, who didn’t look any more rested than I did. Bloodshot eyes, hair mussed, cheeks stubbled with whiskers. That’s how Nick always asked for money, as if he always intended to pay it back. He never did. Most of the time, I didn’t really care. I enjoyed hanging out and partying with Nick. Only sometimes did I grow annoyed at my friend.
“What for?” I grumbled.
“Blow.”
Figured. “Let me get dressed.” Nick nodded as I stepped past him and entered the bedroom. I quickly donned clean jeans and a T-shirt, then yanked on a pair of tennis shoes sans socks. I headed for the wet bar and pulled my wallet from one of the drawers under the counter top and gestured toward the door. “Come on.”
We left my room and took the elevator downstairs. Outside, the air was thick and balmy with midsummer heat. Not as humid as Texas, but close to it. I headed for the ATM on the corner. The banks were closed, but the €600 limit would be adequate for the both of us.
Nick and I exchanged small talk, though I refused to indulge most of Nick’s questions about the hours I’d spent with the twins. I didn’t ask Nick where he had been. I was tired, my head was pounding again, and I was in a foul mood. I wasn’t certain why.
I slid my card into the ATM, punched in my password, and then selected the maximum withdrawal. My hand hovered near the money slot, waiting. Nothing happened. I looked at the screen and knew enough Spanish to translate. Card declined.
“What the hell?”
“What’s the matter?” Nick asked, peering over my shoulder.
“It declined my card.”
“Try another one.”
I did but got the same message.
“Maybe it’s broken?”
I returned to the main dashboard, but everything seemed to be working all right. I was able to access my balances. I certainly had enough money to cover the withdrawal. I tried another credit card with the same result.
“What the fuck?”
“That one too?”
I tried one more card before realization hit. “Dammit!” My father had found out where I was. Mumbling under my breath, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Frederick, my dad’s lawyer.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded the moment Frederick answered the phone.
“I think you already have a pretty good idea,” the lawyer replied.
I scowled. I had nothing personal against Frederick. The man had been my dad’s lawyer for over thirty years and was extremely loyal. “What’s going on, Frederick?”
“Your father wanted you home today. You didn’t show. He put a hold on your accounts.”
I strove to retain hold on my temper. “And how the hell am I supposed to get home without any money?”
“You didn’t tell your father you were in Spain, did you?”
For a second I wondered how Frederick knew and then remembered that as my dad’s lawyer, Frederick had access to just about every financial aspect of not only my father’s life, but mine as well.
“I booked a flight home for you. British Airways, with a connection in London. Flight thirteen-fifty-two. It leaves at nine o’clock this evening, your time. You’d better be on it, Brady.”
The words were not spoken as a threat, but the tone was unmistakable. I cursed under my breath. I didn’t take my frustration out on Frederick; it wasn’t his fault. Poor Frederick was often caught in the middle of the power struggle between father and son. Not the kind of power struggle that occurred in the business, but the kind of power struggle that was prevalent in my relationship with my father. The more my father tried to keep me under his thumb, the more I rebelled.
“Fine, on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“You have to buy a ticket for Nick too. He’s with me.”
Silence for a moment. “Of course he is,” the lawyer sighed. “There will be a ticket waiting for him too. See you tomorrow.”
Nick watched warily. “What’s going on?”
“Party’s over,” I said. “Get your stuff. We’re headed for the airport.”
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