Run to Him: The Billionaire's Beck and Call: The Billionaire's Beck and Call, #4

Run to Him: The Billionaire’s Beck and Call, Book Five

(The Complete Novel)

By Delilah Fawkes

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Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: Release

Chapter 2: Ensnare

Chapter 3: Captivate

Chapter 4: Enthrall

Chapter 5: Possess

Chapter 6: Escape

Sworn to Him, Part 1: A FREE Sizzling Sneak Peak!

About the Author

Chapter 1: Release

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Max

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I wake up, and the bed beside me is empty, her pillow cool to the touch, but I can still smell the faint traces of her perfume, vanilla and citrus, and I feel myself stirring; needing her.

I leave the bed in search of her, wearing only silk pajama pants, the cool air feeling good on my overheated body. Where could she be? My beautiful little redhead? My fiery little Lucy?

The woman I love...

I find her on the balcony, her body silhouetted between two open French doors as she leans against the railing overlooking the gardens, a gauzy white slip not quite enough to hide the shape of her body—the sight of her sweet curves making my heart beat faster in my chest, and my blood rush lower.

I try to call to her, but my voice comes out hoarse, and the wind outside is kicking up, drowning out my cry. Her hair blows, curls whipping wildly around her, but she pays them no mind, leaning further, almost like she’s about to jump... about to be caught up on the breeze like a bird taking flight.

I hurry to her, suddenly afraid.

When I grab her arm, she stiffens in my grip, then turns to me, her face soft, her grey eyes somehow warm and soothing, reflecting back the love I feel for her. She is not upset; not in danger. Why was I so worried?

I fold her in my arms, holding her tight against my muscular chest, wrapping her up against the wind. She leans into me, her tight little body hot against mine, her stiff nipples brushing against me in a way that makes me groan.

I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist, her arms thrown around my neck like a child’s, but she is no innocent little girl. She wriggles against my stiffness and mewls, the feel of her against me stoking the fire within.

I have to have her. My need for her is all I can think about, my passion for her all-consuming.

I carry her through the doors, and press her against the wall of the suite, then push my hand between her thighs, feeling how wet she is... how eager.

Her delicate hand moves to stroke me, and I twitch against her, rock hard and eager for release. I slide down my pajama pants and step out of them, then pull her slip up over her head in one smooth motion. The buds of her breasts are so ripe, her nipples so pink, I have to taste them. I devour them, one after the other; the sound of her whimpering against me music to my ears.

Finally, I can wait no longer, and I growl, gathering her up, my hands lifting her by her bottom, and settling her onto my cock, pressing her back against the wall. When I enter her, she cries out, but not in pain. She is ready, her heart beating hard against mine as I take her, fuck her... drive home with each thrust that she is mine. That I am her master, and she, my eager little slave.

Her eyes are locked with mine, dove grey and full of need.

My beautiful little Lucy...

I am not gentle as I fuck her. I never am, and I know in my heart, that my little slave wouldn’t have it any other way. I pin her, claim her, consume her, bucking up into her like a man possessed, my hands beneath her knees, spreading her open so I can ravage her.

Cum for me, little Lucy... Cum for your Master.

Her pussy is so warm, so tight, it makes my breath catch in my chest. She fits me like a glove, milking me as her muscles squeeze, and I hear her wail, crying out as she cums around me. She shudders in my arms, her soft hands on my shoulders, her nails biting into me, her thighs tensing in my grip as she shivers and shakes, giving her pleasure up for me.

I grin, watching her, even as her eyes close, her orgasm overwhelming her, the thrill of her obedience, her submission, almost as powerful of the feel of her tight little body shuddering around me.

I thrust again and again, growling against her neck, my control finally strained to its limit. I cum with a groan, shooting my seed inside of her, filling her sweet little pussy as I hold myself against her, sheathed as far I can go.

I pull her to me, my hands under her bottom and around her back, cradling her against me, still joined and pulsing inside her. She weakly drapes her legs around my hips, leaning heavily on me, murmuring against me, but I can’t make out the words.

Come to bed, my love, I whisper, holding her tight.

I slide out of her and set her gently on her feet. I reach for her hand, but she pulls back and looks up at me, startled, eyes wide and wild, like a doe, startled in a clearing.

Lucy?

I reach for her again, and she turns, red hair flowing behind her like fire, toward the open French doors. Toward the storm gathering just outside.

I watch in slow motion, unable to move, as she puts one graceful foot in front of the other, bounding away from me, over the threshold and into the wind. Rain drops pelt her naked body, lithe and pale in the darkness, but she doesn’t stop.

A shout sticks in my throat, my limbs heavy and useless, panic welling up inside of me. My chest tightens and burns as I watch her pull herself lightly up onto the railing, hair whipping about her head, and raise her arms high, as it ready to take flight.

Her feet leave the railing, and she glides away, down, down, down, body falling through the midnight air.

The sound of my own voice, screaming her name, jolts me awake.

The pillow beside me is cool, the sheets empty.

She was gone.

***

Isabeau

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My heart clenched in my chest as Lucy and I waited, the sound of Maxwell Pierce’s doorbell toning ominously inside as we stood on his doorstep. Seconds stretched, time slowing, as we waited for the sound of someone’s, anyone’s footsteps approaching.

He’s going to fire me, Lucy said.

Her jaw was set, her eyes dry, but from the way her hand trembled in mine, I knew her heart was breaking.

He still loves you, Lucy. I know he does.

I squeezed her hand, and she turned her head to me, her red curls rustling like harvest leaves in the wind. Her eyes, usually so full of fire, were dulled today, her face pale and tired. I wondered how much sleep she’d had since the ball two nights ago... since the night where everything fell apart for my dear sister and her lover.

I don’t know any more, she said. I just... I just want to get my things and go.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words stuck in my throat. Footsteps approached, the sound clipped and hurried. Lucy took a deep breath beside me, and stood a little taller.

The door swung open.

Miss Willcox. Mrs. Drake.

It was Mr. Baker, Maxwell’s butler. We both let out a breath, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if it was a relief or not to see him instead of the tall, frightening figure of Max himself. The way his eyes burned with rage as he brushed past me in the ballroom still chilled me to my core. He was not an easy man to please at the best of times, so similar to my own Mr. Drake, but his temper could be something truly terrible.

Mr. Baker’s eyes crinkled kindly as he gestured to us, welcoming us inside the foyer.

Mr. Pierce expected you’d be by to collect some things, Miss Willcox. I... Well, they are waiting for you in the parlor, Miss.

His voice was tense, his mouth tight as he said the words he’d been told to convey.

Thank you, Mr. Baker, Lucy said.

Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. She lifted her eyes to his, and touched the old butler’s arm, a sad smile on her lips. He nodded once and patted her hand, before moving away to give us some privacy.

A stack of expensive-looking luggage waited in the parlor, stuffed with everything Lucy owned. It seemed so small, juxtaposed against the vastness of the mansion surrounding it, I had to choke back a bitter laugh.

I can’t believe he’s doing this, I said. "He knows what happened wasn’t your fault, doesn’t he?"

Lucy stood there, staring blankly at the luggage, her arms tense by her sides.

I mean, with the masks, the darkness, the way he set things up that night... it was a terrible mistake is all... Lucy?

Her hands balled slowly into fists, and suddenly, I realized she was shaking.

I touched her shoulder, and she jerked away, gritting her teeth.

"Who the fuck buys luggage just to kick someone out on their ass?"

Lucy’s voice echoed through the room.

"Who fucking does that, Isa? He’s such an asshole! I mean, who does he think he is? Huh?"

Her eyes flashed as she grabbed the handles of two rolling suitcases and tugged them into motion.

"Grab the rest, and let’s get out of here, okay? I’ll have the bags sent back to him as soon as I can get my stuff out. The goddamn nerve..."

She stormed past me, and just like that, was out the door, the bags bumping and scraping along behind her. I sighed and grabbed the others, shaking my head.

It was clear this wasn’t just about some luggage. Maxwell just told Lucy to remember where the power lies between the two of them. Who took care of whom, and who could kick the other out at a moment’s notice. Who could pay to make a problem disappear as efficiently as possible, whenever he wished.

When I reached the car, Lucy was sitting in the front seat, her head in her hands, the cases stuffed unceremoniously into the back seat. I popped the trunk and took my time loading up, because I knew my little sister like I knew myself.

She needed space to cry.

***

Rose

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The smell of the mayor’s cologne clung to my nostrils, making me want to gag, but I smiled anyway, shaking his hand with both of mine.

We sure are glad to have you here, Mrs. Pierce. You don’t know what this place has meant to our city.

The baby shifted, and I cleared my throat, the sharp twinge like a Charlie horse on the inside, where I couldn’t flex it out.

Thank you so much, Mayor, I said, still smiling through sheer force of will. Without your support during the election cycle, the Rose Pierce Foundation wouldn’t have anywhere near the number of private donors.

I wished Jackson were here. He could run interference while I ran to the bathroom. But he was in the Capitol, as usual, meeting with what seemed like every official under the sun, making sure his transition would be flawless once he was sworn into office in two weeks’ time.

But standing here now at this banquet, my cocktail dress wrapping awkwardly around my growing belly, all I wanted to do was go home and lean back into his arms—to feel him brush my hair back from my hot forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay.

At six months pregnant, I was just beginning to feel the fear that came along with all of the crazy physical changes. Would the baby be okay? Would I be a good mother? Would the delivery go smoothly, or would things go like they often did now in my recurring nightmares?

The mayor introduced me to his