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<strong>Second</strong> <strong>Chance</strong> <strong>Baby</strong> <strong>Daddy</strong><br />
A Billionaire + Virgin Romance<br />
By Vivien Vale<br />
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens<br />
All rights reserved<br />
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the<br />
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is<br />
entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.<br />
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Dylan<br />
My nerve endings feel as if they’re on fucking fire.<br />
All of my muscles are ready to spring into action if need be. It’s taken me over two hours<br />
of skimming over the deep snow before I’ve finally found something to shoot for dinner.<br />
It sounds fucking hard, but it really isn’t it. I mean, those folks in the city, in their big<br />
fucking houses with the huge mortgages, pay hundreds of dollars a month to go to a gym to get<br />
exercise.<br />
Not me.<br />
I go and shoot my own dinner. Up here in the mountains, I’m totally self-sufficient.<br />
There’s no supermarket, convenient store—or any other luxury, for that matter.<br />
Nope. There’s just the mountains, my cabin, and me.<br />
It wasn’t easy at first. The whole damn thing was a real culture shock, but now? Fuck,<br />
now, I’m used to it. I’m more than used to it—I like it.<br />
I’ve donned the bearskin coat in exchange for the Armani suits, the starched white shirts,<br />
and the ties. Reality is, those things may have made me look super hot, but they don’t keep me<br />
fucking warm out here. Sure, the women threw themselves at me in those clothes, but newsflash:<br />
there are no women in the mountainside.<br />
No beanie, no gloves today—they would just slow me down. As long as my body’s<br />
covered and I keep moving, I’m okay.<br />
I close my right eye and focus with my left. It’s perfectly still around me. If I didn’t know<br />
better, I’d say someone pressed the mute button on nature. In the beginning, this sort of silence<br />
unnerved me. It was eerie.<br />
Over time, I grew used to it. Now I know I would fucking miss it if I didn’t hear it<br />
anymore.<br />
Snow settles on my outstretched bow arm.<br />
Since leaving my cabin, a storm has been brewing. Soft flakes fall, and the ominous dark<br />
color of the sky predicts only worse things to come.<br />
The rabbit knows it, too. I can see his nose twitch. Slowly, softly, and carefully, I draw<br />
back on my bow. As I do, I’ve got the rabbit in my line of sight.
If my arrow hits its target, I’ll have dinner sorted for at least the next few days.<br />
The unknown in all this is my new arrow. I’ve carved it from a special wood and shaped<br />
the tip of it from some scrap metal I found. During practice shoots, it worked fucking perfectly.<br />
These days, I’m nearly self-sufficient in everything. From my mode of transport—my<br />
feet—to hunting and growing my own food and tea, I haven’t needed anything else but nature.<br />
Minimal impact on the environment, minimal living expenses—it’s a win-win situation.<br />
There’s the tiniest of whoosh sounds as I release the arrow and keep my eye on the target.<br />
I see a twitch in the rabbit’s ear before he drops dead where he’s standing. Luckily, the creature<br />
never knew what hit it.<br />
I pick him up, take out my arrow, and put it back in the slim leather quiver hanging off<br />
my belt. Then I attach the rabbit to the same belt and set off again.<br />
By now, the wind’s increased, and the snow is coming down almost horizontally. Time to<br />
head back. It’s unlikely I’ll be lucky enough to find another animal.<br />
Before I turn, though, I see footprints that grab my interest.<br />
No harm in investigating.<br />
With fast, fluid movements, I skim above the snow. Snowshoes really are an awesome<br />
invention.<br />
The sweat is pouring down my neck and back. I’m tempted to strip down to my bare<br />
chest, but resist the temptation. I don’t want to end up with frostbite.<br />
Less than five minutes into following the trail, I come upon the poor creature responsible<br />
for it.<br />
It’s hairy, it’s massive, and it’s a bear.<br />
Slowly, I approach. Instinct tells me my caution is not necessary. However, this is one<br />
time where I don’t listen to instinct.<br />
When I’m standing right over the poor creature, I see there’s no need to worry about an<br />
attack. This bear is well and truly dead.<br />
It seems to have been shot. Blood is still trickling out of its wound.<br />
Fuck.<br />
I hate poachers. Only poachers can have inflicted the wound. Judging from the entry<br />
point of the bullet, they were not very good shots, either.
I mean, if you come out here to hunt a bear, you should aim to kill. The shot in the<br />
stomach meant it had time to get away. Obviously, it died a slow and painful death.<br />
As my eyes take in the size of the creature—at least six hundred pounds or so—I’m also<br />
checking out its brown fur. I could do with a new bearskin. Mine’s getting a bit old and worn.<br />
If I take him back to my cabin, I can skin him and prepare the fur for a new bearskin. At<br />
least that way, his death would not have been total fucking waste of time.<br />
With my mind made up, I roll the bear onto its side. Then I crouch down and haul him on<br />
my back.<br />
With one loud grunt, I throw him over my left shoulder. I can feel my chest muscles<br />
bulge and my back muscles contract.<br />
The six-pack I’ve acquired from all the wood I chop comes in handy. Those muscles<br />
contract at the same time and make sure I stay fucking upright instead of collapsing flat on my<br />
face into the snow with the bear on top of me.<br />
This is better than any exercise a gym can offer. Lifting and carrying over five hundred<br />
pounds beats the monotony of squats, bar lifts, and all the other shit the blokes do to impress the<br />
chicks.<br />
The way back is a little slower with the weight of my friend, but only a little. As I carry<br />
the lifeless body of this powerful yet innocent creature, I can’t help by empathize. I, too, am<br />
hunted. Not by poachers, but other forces—powerful, evil forces.<br />
So far, I’ve not been caught. But who knows? One day I might be the bear.<br />
A shiver runs down my spine. I push the morbid thought aside.<br />
When I get back to the cabin, I’m drenched in sweat. I’m so wet I decide to leave the bear<br />
in the snow out the back of my hut. The freezing weather will keep it preserved until I’m ready<br />
to cut the skin off.<br />
It takes time and skill to de-skin a bear, and right now, I’m not in the right frame of mind.<br />
Tomorrow is another day.<br />
Inside my four walls, I strip down to nothing and walk over to the fireplace. My wet<br />
clothes are in one hand. As I pass the mirror in the hallway, I pause.<br />
Muscles of steel, hairy chest, and a wild beard stare back at me. I’ve shed any<br />
unnecessary pounds and look taut and terrific.
It’s been a while since I’ve looked at myself in the mirror, and I’m surprised by the<br />
wildness about me.<br />
If I just glance at myself, I’m reminded of the bear lying outside my cabin.<br />
The logs in the fireplace are still crackling, and I add more wood to it. Once my clothes<br />
are laid out, I stand against the flames to dry my hairy chest and back.<br />
The warmth feels good against my naked skin.<br />
For a few minutes, I stand in the room, listening to the fire speak. The wood tells of tales<br />
long gone, and I think back to the bear—such a mighty powerful beast and yet so helpless<br />
against a gun.<br />
With a sigh, I make my way downstairs to my secret undercover bunker. It’s that time of<br />
the day where I undertake my surveillance. Along the way, I grab some pants and a drink.<br />
Once I’m down there, I tend to sit and contemplate, sometimes for hours.<br />
It’s the time of day where I make sure nothing happens or has happened to my Emma.<br />
Emma.<br />
Her name rolls of my tongue like chocolate. She’s as delicious as chocolate, I imagine.<br />
I can only imagine because I never fucked her in my old life.<br />
I sigh and sit down.<br />
The monitors show nothing, other than her empty apartment. No doubt she’s gone out<br />
with her socialite friends to party and drink in some club. She might not get home till late hours,<br />
and I won’t get to see her.<br />
Of course, it doesn’t fucking matter if I get to see her or not. I mean, I’m not watching<br />
her to perv on her. Actually, I’m not even watching her—I’m keeping an eye on her to make sure<br />
nothing bad happens to her.<br />
I vowed to keep her safe. I vowed to protect her. The only way I know to protect her is to<br />
keep her under 24/7 surveillance.<br />
Of course, there’s only enough that I can actually monitor. I can’t monitor where she<br />
goes, who she drinks with, or with whom she goes home.<br />
I can only look at her apartment.<br />
Better than nothing, I tell myself and then take a sip of my tea.<br />
My eyes are glued to the monitors. Still nothing.
What the fuck was she up to tonight? Had she scored at some bar and is not coming<br />
home? If so, it would be a long lonely night.<br />
I sigh and stare at the screens. The picture stays the same. I almost will her to come home<br />
so I get to see her.<br />
The longer I sit here, the more morose I become. I can’t believe this is what my life has<br />
become—to sit and watch the woman I loved in secret from a long way away. Why had I been so<br />
fucking blind and did not see what I had when it was right front of my fucking eyes?<br />
It was only when I lost her that I realized how much she meant to me.<br />
I sigh.<br />
Human nature. I put it down to human nature. Just like we always think the grass is<br />
greener on the other side, we often don’t appreciate what we’ve got until it’s too fucking late.<br />
If I had my time over, I would make a move sooner—what the fuck am I talking about? I<br />
never made a move on Emma while we were working together.<br />
If I had my time over, I would make a move on her, period.<br />
Movement catches my attention. The door opens, and Emma walks through it. I hold my<br />
breath, waiting to see if a bloke is following.<br />
When she slams the door shut with her right foot, I breathe a sigh of relief. My behavior<br />
is totally fucking childish, I know.<br />
She should be happy. She should be with someone. I should not be sitting in the fucking<br />
mountains wanting her to be a fucking nun.<br />
And maybe if she found herself a nice man, she might not be in any danger anymore.<br />
But those thoughts are too painful, and so I push them away.<br />
Emma looks beat. She obviously has been partying or some such shit with her socialite<br />
friends.<br />
I feel myself turn green with envy. I hate her friends. My feelings are totally irrational,<br />
and yet I cannot stop them.<br />
It takes her less than five minutes to collapse into bed.<br />
In my mind, I give her a kiss good night.<br />
I’m about to walk upstairs when something catches my attention. At first, I think I’m<br />
simply not able to let go and shake my head. But then I can see shadows glide across one of the<br />
monitors.
The shadowy figures disappear out of sight and then reappear. I furrow my brow. This<br />
does not look good. My fingers clench into fists, and I feel like punching the monitor.<br />
Mesmerized, I stare at what’s unfolding on the screen in front of me.<br />
My brain is not processing the information fast enough.<br />
There are strange men in Emma’s apartment.<br />
Fuel.<br />
Matches.<br />
Flames.<br />
Holy fucking shit. Those dudes just set fire to Emma’s apartment.<br />
I can feel my blood boil. They promised, and they reneged on their promise. Someone’s<br />
going to have to pay.