Fated (BBW BWWM Billionaire Romance): A Second Chance Novella (Tied to Him: My BFF Book 1)

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opyright
© 2015 by Rowena

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

Cover photo by katalinks.

Eromantica Publications

First Edition: August 2015

S
weet
, curvy Nina
has been in love with her best friend, Brent, for years.

She accepts being friend-zoned until one
steamy impulsive night
changes everything between them.

But then Brent completely vanishes from her life, leaving her alone, confused, and carrying around a huge secret.

W
hen she runs
into Brent again, both of their lives have changed drastically, and now that her old best friend is a billionaire, she's convinced he'll never want her now that he can have any woman he wants, and especially once he finds out what she's been hiding.

B
ut will
Brent surprise her after all? Or will he toss her aside again, leaving her alone and broken once more?

T
he first time
I ran into Brent Colton I was five years old.

I was rushing back to my kindergarten class, late from having wandered farther than usual over the course of the break, and I came across a tumble of action—obvious among the deserted grounds.

I realized three boys were beating the hell out of a smaller one crumpled on the ground, trying to fend off the blows with his tiny arms as he covered his head, his body curled in defense against the vicious attack.

The boys were older than me, and although I was a little chubby (a characteristic that stuck with me for a while), I was still much smaller than any one of them, yet I charged toward that group like I had hidden judo skills and guardian angels, and yelled for them to leave him alone.

I didn’t know anything about the situation—whether their victim was guilty of anything or not—but what I saw didn’t look right, and it sure as hell didn’t look fair. Two guys fighting each other, I might not have intervened, but three against one?

I must’ve looked a sight, or maybe they didn’t like having a witness—in any case, one boy got in one last kick before another grabbed him by the shirt and the three of them sped off.

I ran over and knelt by the crumpled boy.

“Are you okay?” I asked, despite the obvious.

I only got a grunt in return.

My eyes scanned him and the space around him.

His thick dark hair was ruffled, his otherwise creamy face blotchy, his glasses askew, and the contents of his lunch box all over the place.

I started gathering them together while he slowly raised himself to a sitting position.

“Thanks,” he said, looking sort of adorable with his glasses all slanted, leaving one blue eye free and the other trapped behind cracked glass.

He adjusted his spectacles as best as he could to sit properly on his face.

“I’m Brent,” he said.

“I’m Nina,” I said with a smile, trying to cheer him up. “Why were those guys beating on you?”

He shrugged. “Because they could,” he said.

I helped him the rest of the way up.

Not surprisingly, we became fast friends and we stayed that way for two years—until my family moved from the area and I had to go to another school.

I later realized our move was due to my father losing his job and our lifestyle as a whole being downgraded.

I also learned later what a competitive private school I’d been enrolled in; my parents had tried to get me on the path to Ivy League and thought it would help, but I ended up in public school for the rest of elementary through high school, which brings me to the second time I ran into Brent.

The first week of freshman year of college I felt a little scared and a lot alone.

Brent and I hadn’t stayed in touch or anything, so I had no idea he’d be attending the same university as me until I saw him strolling toward me as I headed to the cafeteria.

We both sort of stared at each other for a while, slowing down our walk until we figured out at around the same time that we knew each other.

“Nina?” he said wondrously, his blue eyes—sans glasses—widening a bit and a small smile beginning to spread on his face.

“Brent!” I pretty much squeaked in joy.

Jesus, the years had been good to him.

I ran toward him, closing the distance in a hurry and we slammed into a tight hug.

At first I had just been tickled by a familiar face and relieved that it belonged to someone I felt I knew—someone who’d been my best friend at some point—but as Brent’s hard, muscular body gripped mine, it started to sink in what the years had done to us.

We were a bit past the teenager stage, but still very young and hormonal, and very distinctly male and female.

My generous, pillowy breasts pressed against his hard chest, and other parts of us lining up sent awareness shooting through my body.

I was still a virgin, but my usually quiet pussy was suddenly talking to me, asking for more of what she was feeling a hint of as our pelvises pressed against each other.

I pulled away, startled at the sudden lust taking over me.

I took a step back and examined him again—this time from up close.

He was well-built and handsome, and he looked a lot different without his glasses—so much so that it was a wonder I recognized him at all. I suppose the general way he held himself tipped me off—the way his blue eyes bore into mine when he realized he might know me.

We launched into a quick catch-up conversation, filling in the years with places lived, schools attended, and intended majors.

At some point he said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. Of all the college acceptances, I picked this one and here you are. Looks like we’re destined to be friends!”

I tried not to show how much my heart had fallen at his words and chastised myself for expecting anything else.

How could I think for a moment we could be anything more? We’d been separated for ten years, and we’d only been friends way back then—what else was he supposed to say? Plus, it was obvious that’s all he’d ever see me as—I was still chubby and unremarkable-looking in general—no lustrous, eye-catching hair among my staggering plainness, no sassy beauty mark adding allure to my face or neck.
Of course
I was destined to be friend-zoned—how could he see me as anything but his chunky, brown-skinned friend?

But no matter how much reason I tried to talk into myself, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more from him, more
of
him.

Where the hell did it come from?

I didn’t know current Brent at all though we had talked for a while reacquainting ourselves with each other.

All I knew was the sound of his new deep, rich voice had sunk itself into my memory, and I longed to hear it when he was no longer around.

We easily became good friends again, and this time we had way more to talk about than games and toys.

We ended up having a few classes together, and Brent had particular trouble with one, so we spent quite a bit of time going over class material.

At the end of an all-nighter before a test, he thanked me and said, “You saved my ass again. How is it that you always manage to rescue me—one way or another—whenever we run into each other?”

I didn’t really know what to say to that so I just shrugged and smiled.

“You have a really pretty smile, you know,” he said, suddenly looking more serious, and I felt myself blush furiously, my skin heating up so much, I almost wanted to dunk my head in ice.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, though I’m not completely sure it came out intelligible.

The attention he was giving me at that moment was absolutely demolishing me and my faculties.

I’d had a small crush on him that crept up on me during our friendship as kids, but what I felt for him now felt far more dangerous.

I was too invested in every look and smile he gave, too curious about what he looked like underneath his casual wear.

The sight of his bicep jumping whenever he moved an arm deranged me, and it seemed like I couldn’t stop my eyes from going to his lips.

I wanted to look after him in a way that was inappropriate for what we were—just friends.

To make things worse, I watched him change girlfriends every few months—all attractive, slim women who seemed nice enough and never threatened by me, of course.

Well, until one particular girl—Stacey.

“She thinks you’re in love with me,” he said lightly as we headed for the library one day, as if the notion was absolutely ridiculous, but his eyes searched my face for a reaction and response.

I didn’t blame Stacey for being concerned about the time Brent and I spent together, but it’s not like I was going to embarrass myself and make a move on him; I was clearly not his type.

I forced a laugh and said, “What?” then changed the subject.

I know, I know—smooth.

I did the next best thing to make up for the fumble—once a classmate took interest in me, I started entertaining it.

It was nice to get some attention finally, and the guy wasn’t bad-looking.

Plus, I didn’t want to stay alone, longing for something I couldn’t have—what a loser I’d be if I kept pining after Brent, right? Especially when it was clear as Spring that he wasn’t about to give me the time of day.

This big girl needed some love too.

I introduced my interested classmate to Brent one day, not really expecting anything, but a strange change came over my old friend’s face.

His eyes locked on the guy in a way that alerted something in me, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

Everything else about the interaction was neutral—the greeting words chosen and his tone of voice—but it was as if Brent didn’t blink the whole time the three of us shot the breeze.

Things took a turn after that.

My admirer backed off inexplicably, and when I finally worked up the courage to approach him and ask why he hadn’t asked me to lunch again, he said the oddest thing, “Obviously, you’re taken.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

I almost said I’d never even had a boyfriend, but phew! Dodged that embarrassment.

“Your friend, Brent,” he emphasized. “Clearly you’re his property.”

My body heated with anger.

I definitely resented this guy’s choice of words, despite how much part of me wanted them to be true.

I also wanted to confront Brent, but what was I supposed to say? It’s not like I had solid evidence of tampering.

Ultimately, I decided Brent had done me a favor—a guy that spineless had no business being with me. Scared off by a glare? Come on, now.

A few days later, Brent called me over to his dorm.

I’d been to his room countless times—to pick him up before we headed to caf, to shoot the breeze, to work on a project or toss test questions around or whatever, so I had no reason to think this time would be different.

Once I stepped into his room, smiling in greeting as usual, he pulled me to him with one arm while shutting and locking the door behind me with another.

“What?” I said stupidly, realizing something was off, but I was at a loss as to what had gotten into him.

He looked sober and sort of steaming—almost like he was mad about something. I could practically see fumes coming off of him.

But before I could begin to make sense of his actions or try to figure out what could be bothering him, his lips were suddenly on mine—blanking my mind of rational thought completely.

I had dreamt about those lips many times, fantasized about kissing them many more times, and now those warm, beautiful kissers were on me.

It felt electrical and intoxicating all at once, and my arms wrapped around his neck while our tongues danced with each other.

The heat between his hard body and my soft curves increased, and soon I felt a tingle travel down my body until it reached my center.

My pussy came to roaring life, wanting more as he pulled me closer and pressed his hardness against me.

I gasped a little in shock—had I done that to him?

I couldn’t believe it. Where had all of this come from?

I didn’t really care about the answers—only that Brent kept doing what he was doing to my lips and my body as his hands gripped and caressed it.

When I felt him start working on his belt, reality suddenly set in.

Surely he didn’t plan for us to…?

I reluctantly tore myself away, slightly alarmed.

“Brent?” was all I could get out because my body was beginning to betray me and overrule the little bit of sense that had momentarily returned to me.

We were both panting heavily, and watching him overtaken by desire kept mine churning, but what were about to do was so wrong.

I was just beginning to try to move on from my obsession with him, and he still had a girlfriend as far as I knew; there was no way I was about to become that woman—the other woman.

“Brent, we can’t,” I said more firmly, impressing myself with the sturdiness of my voice considering how I felt.

“I want you,” he said huskily, his rumbling voice sending another sharp tingle from my ear to my hungry, wet cunt, and I started to lose the reasons why I was protesting at all.

Here was the opportunity I’d dreamed up countless times laid out before me—the chance to get even closer to the man I was madly in love with.

What was my problem again?

Brent’s jeans crumpled to the floor and he started working on my top.

I was bereft of words but not thoughts as I realized he was about to see a lot more of me—my lady lumps bare to his eyes soon.

Since my words had failed us, maybe the sight of my thick, nude body will stop him, and he’ll suddenly start pulling my top back down and his pants back up in disgust—he was used to chicks who could fit the clothes on mannequins, after all.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if reading my thoughts, then he flung my top away, followed quickly by tossing my sensible black bra and exposing my ample twin jugs.

“My god, you’re a goddess,” he said before bending to fill his mouth with one of my breasts.

My nipple hardened under his sweeping stimulation, his moist tongue flickering over my flesh as he sucked on one breast and fondled the other.

My underwear was pretty damp by then, and with Brent moving his mouth to my other breast while working on my jeans, I knew that I was about to lose whatever moral battle I’d been fighting.

I was still a bit self-conscious about my body, but my longing and desire overweighed it by far.

Soon, I felt myself in a sort of daze—a state of paralyzing disbelief—because come on, how could this possibly be real?

“Lie down,” Brent suddenly said firmly, indicating his bed with his eyes. “On your back.”

His commanding tone left no room for disobedience.

I tried not to think of his blue eyes assessing my chunky backside now exposed to him as I headed to his bed and did as he said, my chest lifting and falling rapidly as fear, joy, and desire mingled in me.

Should I tell him I’m a virgin? Will that ruin everything? What if he has a no-virgins rule?

Then again, what if he thought I was just awful at the whole thing—knowing it’s my first time, he’d cut me some slack, right?