Avalon: A Secret Billionaire Romance Read online

  Avalon:

  A Secret Billionaire Romance

  By Skye Darrel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Skye Darrel

  All rights reserved.

  https://skyedarrel.com/

  First Edition

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Also by Skye Darrel

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  Chapter One

  CHERYL

  I feel good for a girl who’s lost and driving in circles. It’s one way to sightsee, and the sights aren’t terrible. I pass car dealerships, half-abandoned strip malls, and neighborhoods of one-story houses where the lawns are no bigger than a parking space. Somewhere in this suburban sprawl north of D.C. is my new apartment. It could be a lot worse.

  Only four weeks ago, I was working at Bo’s Diner in a small town 130 miles away. I’d been waitressing for Bo Klein since I was fourteen, and he’d always treated me well. I wanted to open my own café some day.

  Then one afternoon, he asked me to stay after closing. Bo waited until we were alone before he backed me into a counter and took his belt off. I guess he decided to have a good time now that I was finally legal. He thought it’d be a great way for me to pay him back for his help over the years. I got the hell out of there.

  The next day I found a cheap one-bedroom at a place called Avalon Apartments in College Park, as far away from my old life as I could get. So here I am.

  Now I just need to find Avalon and get a job so I’m not evicted next month. Shouldn’t be hard for an eighteen-year-old all alone in a strange city. Not hard at all.

  Bo Klein even said I was welcome back anytime, as if what happened had been my fault. No bridges have been burned.

  Uh-huh.

  After another drive down the same street with the same houses, I call Avalon’s office. “Hi, it’s Cheryl Dolloway, my move-in is today? I’m kinda lost.”

  A man on the other end answers, “Where are you?”

  “Patuxent Avenue I think.”

  “Head north, make a right, you’ll see a big billboard. Can’t miss it. The entrance is across the street.” He hangs up.

  Minutes later I spot a huge billboard standing behind a clump of trees. It’s an advertisement for some company called BrightStar Energy. I turn onto a nameless road and drive until I’m under the billboard. Across the street, hidden by bushes, is a lonely sign that reads Avalon Apartments.

  “Okay then.”

  Avalon looks less magical than it did on the website. There’s an open courtyard surrounded by a two-story brick building with red doors and public walkways. Avalon looks more like a motel than an apartment building.

  I get my key from the front office and check out my unit on the second floor. The paint looks old, and there’s a stain on the ceiling. The apartment is tiny or cozy depending on how you look at it. I tell myself it’s cozy.

  A few hours later, I’m bent over the back of my car holding a heavy box labeled kitchen. My arms are already sore.

  “You’re in my parking space,” someone says at my back.

  I nearly bump my head on the trunk door when I turn around. The man glaring at me looks pissed. “You have to move your car,” he says.

  “The front desk lady said I could park here until I get my stuff out.” I set the box on the asphalt. “I’m Cheryl.”

  “Name’s Buckley. Can’t park here, Cheryl. I’m the building manager and this is my spot.”

  “Oh. I think we talked on the phone.”

  “You gotta move your car.” Buck looks me over. “Where are your parents?”

  “Um, I’m by myself.”

  “Starting college?”

  My face warms. I guess he’s asking because there’s a big university nearby. Must be lots of people my age around town. But I can’t imagine any of them would move into this particular apartment complex if they had a choice. “No, just starting. Can you wait a few hours? I’m almost done moving.”

  “No can do. This spot is mine.”

  I’m pretty sure Buck wants me to move because this spot is closest to the building. There are no reserved signs or anything. I could argue, but the last thing I need is a guy twice my size getting mad.

  I’m about to give in when I see another man walking toward us and I can’t help but gape at the newcomer. He’s beyond gorgeous. After all that’s happened today, the sight of him stuns me. He looks so out of place from the seedy surroundings, so different from everyone else I’ve seen in the neighborhood, or any neighborhood. He’s like lightning in a sleepless night. A walking dream.

  Get a hold of yourself, Cheryl.

  “What’s happening here?” the stranger says.

  “Parking dispute,” Buck replies, frowning. They seem to know each other.

  “Need help?” the stranger asks me. “I’m Sawyer.”

  “I have it under control,” Buck says.

  “Wasn’t talking to you,” Sawyer says. His tone has a hard edge that makes my tummy flutter.

  Buck takes a step back, and I have a feeling Buck doesn’t step back often.

  Sawyer and I shake hands. His are warm and dry. Mine must feel sweaty, and I’m embarrassed all of a sudden. “Cheryl,” I say in a tiny voice. “I’m moving in.”

  Buck crosses his arms. “The girl took my parking spot.”

  Sawyer shoots him a look that could kill. “No she didn’t.”

  Both men are tall, and they glare at each other with me between them. Then Buck grunts and walks off, muttering under his breath. Sawyer keeps an eye on him until Buck disappears into the front office.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Buck can be an asshole,” Sawyer says. “Welcome to Avalon.”

  It occurs to me that Sawyer is even sexier up close.

  I push the thought away. Can’t be crushing on a complete stranger. He’s not that hot. Like, if you look really close you can tell his right eyebrow is slightly longer than his left. Sawyer runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it in a way that’s totally not sexy. Nope. Not sexy at all. “You’re moving in alone?” he asks.

  “Yup.” I drop my eyes, feeling self-conscious.

  The sun is setting, and there are still boxes in my car. Not to mention the utility trailer hitched to the back. I have no idea how I’ll get my mattress up the steep staircase. My apartment is at the far end on the second level.

  Sawyer smiles grudgingly like he’s not used to smiling. “Let me help,” he says, stepping closer.

  I nod before my mind can doubt his intentions.

  Sawyer’s more than a pretty face. He’s super strong. He does in thirty minutes what it would’ve taken me two hours, carrying my boxes up the staircase and climbing the steps two at a time. It’s hot and humid. After a while he’s sweating too, and his shirt sticks to the contours of his muscles. I keep stealing glances.

  But I'm doing okay, not gawking too much, until he takes the shirt off. Underneath, Sawyer’s wearing a sleeveless tee that sheets his tapered torso. His biceps are amazing.

  What kind of guy just takes his shirt off?

  I glance at his narrow hips and solid rear. He’s hard all over, and it makes me wo
nder what the parts I can’t see look like.

  We catch our breaths at my car. The only thing left is the mattress.

  Sawyer aims his intense glare my way. “Need a break?”

  If anybody needs a break it’s him.

  “N-No, I’m fine.” I feel shy in my shorts and tank top. His eyes flick up my body. He has quick eyes, but I catch him.

  Sawyer looks away. The sun is an orange disc over the horizon, stars twinkle in the eastern sky, and glowing fireflies dance over the nearby hedges.

  “Let’s get the mattress,” he says.

  We haul the thing up the staircase with Sawyer at the bottom and me dragging at the top. I’m pretty sure he’s carrying ninety percent of the weight, but he doesn’t complain. Finally we get it through my door and into the tiny bedroom. My unit has one bed and one bath, a half kitchen, and a small living room. It’s the cheapest unit in the building.

  “You don’t have a box spring,” Sawyer says when we set the mattress on the thin carpet.

  Or a bed for that matter. “I’m working on it.”

  “Are you a student?”

  “Try unemployed waitress.”

  “This isn’t the best neighborhood for a girl on her own.”

  I cross my arms. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “That’s not old enough to be my father.” I smile, but the truth is he feels even older than he looks. It’s not his face or body. It’s his eyes.

  Sawyer shrugs. “If Buck gives you any trouble, let me know.”

  “I can take care of myself. Thanks for the help, I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  I’m blushing and I can’t stop. Sawyer's so much taller than me I have to look up to meet his eyes. I wonder what it'd be like to put my head on his chest. “Do you live here?” I ask.

  “I own the building. Buck works for me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I live here too. Apartment 200. You need anything, let me know.” Sawyer takes one step forward, and our faces are an inch apart. My breath hitches. At first I think he’s going to kiss me, but he brings up his forearm and drags it across my neck from elbow to wrist.

  My face is on fire. “Why did you do that?”

  “There was dirt on your throat.”

  “You can’t just touch me,” I manage to say. I hate how weak I sound. “It’s . . . not appropriate.”

  What kind of guy runs his arm along your neck? I’m reminded of Bo Klein when he cornered me in his diner. Except Sawyer’s nothing like Bo, and it’s more than looks. Sawyer doesn’t make me feel scared or unsafe. Somehow, I know he’d never hurt me.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “It’s okay,” I blurt out. “Just don’t do it again.”

  I’m not sure how I’d react if he did.

  Chapter Two

  SAWYER

  I don’t trust myself to speak. My body’s wired, cock aching in my pants. Can’t remember the last time I felt like this, the savage need inside me seething like rage. It’s torture.

  She consumes me. She brings me to life. I need every ounce of will to stop myself from pinning her to the wall and ripping her shorts down. I can have her right now, and no one could stop me. I can make her mine right fucking now.

  Instead I ask Cheryl if she needs anything else, and she shakes her head.

  “Take care,” I say, turning away.

  “See you around?”

  I look back. “Count on it.”

  By the time I get back to my place, I’m on the verge of insanity. I get in the shower and turn the water to cold and stand under the spray to find relief. My erection throbs, a constant reminder of what I need.

  Her cunt. Her soft skin against mine.

  Mine.

  The water stops feeling cold. Nothing helps. Then I hold the wall and close a fist around my cock, stroking slowly to thoughts of her. Claiming her. Making her moan. Tasting every inch of her flesh. I stroke and stroke in agony, until my balls pinch and I cum over the tiles. I watch my seed swirl down the drain. I should be coming in her, breeding her pussy and making her mine.

  Fuck.

  I lean against the wall for a long time before I shut the shower off. Need to know more about this girl.

  My unit isn’t like the other apartments. I had it renovated when I bought the building. Apt. 200 has everything I need to communicate with my team in Manhattan.

  In my study, I get my phone and call my background checkers. As a landlord I can dig up anything in the public record. I also have other sources who can dig deeper. I find out everything I can about my new tenant in Apartment 298.

  Cheryl Dolloway, age eighteen. Birth parents unknown. They abandoned her at a hospital’s doorsteps at birth. She entered the foster care system. One home after another. No one wanted to keep her. She spent most of her life going from place to place. The last four years have been relatively stable. She finished high school in Cumberland, Maryland with a 3.8 GPA, but good grades didn’t mean much since she had no money. She spent four years working at a diner owned by one Robert Klein. She's been working since age fourteen. She's been fighting the world on her own.

  It makes me angry. She deserved better.

  I put my phone down and sit back. I feel like a stalker, but I don’t give a shit. My cock hardens again at the memory of her scent. The heat of her body.

  Nothing but her will stop the ache. I’m going to take what I need from this girl. Simple as that. I’ll have her all to myself. That’s what the animal in me has planned.

  I belt on my slacks and go outside barefoot. It’s dark and raining. Across the courtyard, someone’s leaning over the railing smoking a cigarette.

  Buck sees me and flicks the stub into the rain. I watch him until he slinks back inside. Buckley Nelson may be tough as nails, but he still answers to me.

  I walk to Cheryl’s apartment and stand outside the door. Music booms from inside.

  Did she invite someone? Another man. Fury swells my chest. I knock on the door, but there’s no answer. Then I get worried, thinking she could’ve slipped in the shower or sprained her ankle while moving something around. I need to see her again. I hurry back to my unit and return with a master key that can open any door in the building.

  I open Cheryl’s door.

  She’s sitting at a small table on a foldup chair. There’s a cup of instant ramen on the table. Cheryl’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. I can see her bare legs under the table, her hand between her thighs, her eyes shut.

  She doesn’t hear me. Her hand moves.

  I watch her, my cock straining, and I take one step forward.

  Cheryl’s eyes open and she screams. She bolts upright, knocking the flimsy table over. Noodles spill on the carpet. She takes her hand out, and I spot the sheen on her fingertips.

  “Sawyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “H-How did you get in?”

  “Master key.”

  She’s backing away, the hem of that shirt dangling over her thighs, but the shirt’s not low enough to cover her panties.

  “What are you doing?” she says.

  “Checking up on you.” The music’s coming from a crummy TV that looks ten years old. I make a mental note to buy her a new one tomorrow. And whatever else she needs. It pisses me off she lives like this. She should have so much more. “What were you doing?” I demand.

  “I was—eating.”

  “More than eating.” Anger rises in my chest and I don’t know why. I want to grab her and do filthy things. I want to hold her and put my mouth on that bare shoulder. But I control myself and get a paper towel from the kitchen and clean up the spill while she watches.

  “What do you want?” A note of panic slips into her voice.

  I dump the noodles into a trash bin and walk toward her, closer and closer, until I cage her against the wall between my arms. Everything about her is beautiful. Her hair’s piled on top in a messy bun, and I want
to let it all down.

  “You were touching your pussy.”

  Red spreads in her cheeks. Then she opens her mouth as if she’s about to scream before her eyes flick down to my erection. Her lips close and her blush darkens. “You . . . you can’t be in here. You shouldn’t be here.”

  I squeeze my cock to relieve the ache. “I was thinking about you.”

  She turns her head away but pushes her chest out, the outline of her tits straining through her top. I can make out her nipples. Kneeling, I run my hands up her legs and part them. She resists at first, then spreads her feet.

  I smell her cunt. “Look at me,” I growl.

  Our eyes meet. “Hold your shirt up,” I command.

  Cheryl pulls up her shirt hem. There’s a gray spot in the front of her white cotton panties. I dig my fingers into her waistband and peel them down to her knees. Her smooth pussy is flushed pink and dewy with moisture. My cock jolts as her scent fills the air. Her clit pokes out in a rosy bud.

  I stand and pull my pants to under my balls, and the relief makes me groan. My cock is free, dying to be inside her. Staring her in the eye, I stroke myself and squeeze her breast, her hard nipple a pebble under my palm. I strum her wet clit with my other hand while she whimpers.

  “Tell me the truth,” I say. “Who were you thinking about when you played with this pussy?” I can’t keep my words steady. “Do you have a boyfriend, little girl?”

  Her big eyes flash. “What did you call me?”

  I lean into her ear, unable to control my words. “You’re a naughty little girl with a wet little pussy. Who were you thinking about?” My cock feels heavy, and my balls are swollen. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she moans.

  My hand cups her sex. I slide the tips of two fingers into her slit and feel her sticky opening flutter. She feels tense and tight. “Who were you thinking about?”

  “You,” Cheryl gasps. “I was thinking about you.”

  My cock jerks up. “Yeah?”

  She bucks forward slightly. “D-Do you have a girlfriend?”