Page 11 of Christmas with Billionaire's Runaway Bride

"Welcome home, baby brother. I'm so glad that you made it back safely," she says, tears filling her beautiful, large eyes. Her words resonate deep within me, and I'm overwhelmed with a sense of belonging and love.

"I missed you too, sis," I reply, my voice filled with sincerity and emotion. Her presence, her comforting scent, it all feels like home, wrapping me in a blanket of security and warmth.

I walk over to my parents, who are already in tears and embrace them. This hug is different, it lingers, and it's as if time stands still. We hold each other close, and in that moment, the world fades away, leaving just the profound connection of family and the overwhelming joy of being together again. They give me a look, one that I can decipher, but I don't give it much thought. I intentionally ignore it. I don't like that look one bit, but I understand them. It's a complex mixture of emotions - pity, pride, uncertainty, and a tinge of remorse.

Why do they look at me like that? I don't know, but I can guess. I've been away for a long time, especially after the incident. I thought things would be different when I returned, but it seems the weight of the past still lingers in their eyes. I can see the pity in their glances, a subtle recognition of the hardships I've faced. It's as if they know that I've carried a heavy burden on my shoulders, one that they can't fully comprehend. Their pride, though, is a more complex facet of this look. It's the acknowledgment that I've endured, that I've persevered in the face of adversity. Uncertainty plays its part too. They're unsure how to approach me now, how to bridge the gap that time and circumstances have created. They want to reconnect, but they're afraid of opening old wounds or saying the wrong thing.

And then there's that tinge of remorse, a silent admission that they couldn't shield me from the past or perhaps couldn't be there when I needed them the most. They may regret not being able to prevent the incident or help me through its aftermath. But I've made my peace with this look. I knew it would be waiting for me when I returned, and I've chosen to accept it, just as I've chosen to embrace the change and uncertainty that comes with it. In my absence, I've evolved, and so have they. It's a different world now, and together, we must navigate it with all these emotions in tow.

As I walk over to my mom and my dad, I can feel my heart racing, but the moment I envelop them in a warm embrace, their love and warmth envelop me in return. It's like coming home after a long, arduous journey. In their arms, I find reassurance, and all the weight of the past, the looks, and the uncertainties seem to fade away. Finally, I feel at home and comfortable, as if I've found my haven in their loving embrace. As I step through the familiar doorway, it's almost surreal how unchanged everything is. My room, with its comforting familiarity, has remained a sanctuary of memories. The house, in its entirety, appears untouched, frozen in time.

I decide to start with a shower. The hot water washes away the fatigue and the weight of the journey. I can hear the muffled voices downstairs, and I know they're eagerly waiting for me, but there's an unspoken understanding that they're tiptoeing around me, cautious not to say the wrong thing or utter that name, the name that has haunted me for the past few years. It's as if they fear that even mentioning it might unravel the fragile sense of comfort that has just begun to settle in. As the warm water cascades down my back, I close my eyes, trying to savor this moment of tranquility. The sensation is comforting, but it's short-lived because, like an unwelcome guest, my mind keeps dragging me back to that fateful moment when everything unraveled. It's a memory I've tried to escape for years, but now, being back in this place, it's as if the past has a firm grip on me, refusing to let go.

The one thing that refuses to leave my mind is the unending question of "why." I can't comprehend what happened, why she made that choice. I wish I could understand the sequence of events that led to that moment. Perhaps for her, it could bring some semblance of closure or even solace. But for me, it's a puzzle I can't seem to piece together. Everything had been so perfect, almost too good to be true. We were on the cusp of the happiest day of our lives, filled with joy and anticipation. But then, like a sudden switch, everything changed, and it became the darkest day in my life. In an attempt to cope, I tried to escape. It might not have seemed like running away, but I did. I returned to Afghanistan for another tour, believing that the relentless demands of work would provide a distraction. I thought it could help me forget, and keep my mind occupied so it wouldn't dwell in that pit of sadness and confusion. Work became my refuge, a place where the memories of that day couldn't reach me.

Back then, when I received that gut-wrenching news, I was in a daze. I couldn't think clearly or make sense of what was happening. My immediate reaction was to escape. I rushed into the nearest car and drove aimlessly through town for hours, my mind consumed by a fog of confusion and pain. Eventually, I wound up in a run-down motel somewhere, but the location is a blur in my memory. I resorted to drinking, attempting to drown out the overwhelming emotions that were tearing me apart. I stayed holed up in that motel for a couple of days, not answering any calls or messages from my concerned loved ones. I knew it was unfair to them, but I couldn't explain myself because I didn't even understand what was happening.

It wasn't until some time had passed that I mustered the strength to return to my military base and request to be sent back to work. My loved ones wanted to understand, to ask me what had transpired, but the weight of the unknown hung between us like an impenetrable barrier. They could sense my pain, but no one dared to broach the subject, leaving me to grapple with my unspoken turmoil.

I close my eyes tightly, attempting to banish the haunting memories that persistently plague my mind. The soap in my hand becomes a tool to distract me, and I lather it all over my body, hoping to shift my thoughts away from her. But no matter how hard I try, I can't escape her image. Claire. Claire Raymond. The woman who has remained an indelible part of my thoughts for so long. Her name alone is a key that unlocks a flood of memories, and I can't control the way her smile, her voice, and her scent invade my senses. It's bewildering that, even after all this time, she still holds such power over me.

Now that I know where she is, a rush of anticipation surges through me. I wonder how she's changed, how she's grown and matured. Perhaps she's with someone now, but I can't suppress the longing to see her, to tell her how I still feel. It's a profound connection that time hasn't been able to weaken, and I'm determined to confront it and, at the very least, let her know. The vividness of her presence in my mind is almost unbearable. Every detail of her is etched into my memory. I recall the way her smile could light up a room, the melodious cadence of her voice, and the tenderness with which my name would escape her lips. I immerse myself in these recollections, trying to bring those memories as close to reality as possible.

It's as if I can feel her right here with me. I can sense the warmth of her lips against mine, the gentle caress of her long, delicate fingers on my body. All I yearn for is to hold her close, to have her in my arms, so I can be certain that this is not some elusive dream. It's as if she's assuring me that everything will be alright, and in those moments, I find a respite from the torment of my thoughts. I remember every inch of her, and it's both a blessing and a curse that keeps me locked in a perpetual loop of longing and reminiscence.

I can feel the throbbing sensation in my groin "Oh shit! She still affects me this much." I mutter under my breath. All the blood in my body is rushing down to my manhood and it is as rigid as it can be. I feel it pulsating, yearning for the warmth and sweetness of her. Everything we used to do comes rushing to my brain and I find my hands stroking my manhood. It twitches in my hands as I lightly and carefully massage it, mimicking her smooth inexperienced ones. I feel her voice ringing through my ears asking if I am alright.

"Do you like it? I am not sure what I am doing. How about this?" she asks in an unsure voice as she moves one hand and grabs my balls. My breath hitches in my throat as she does that but she stops.

"Oh baby, you have no idea how good that feels. Don't stop." I say and that is all she needs. As that incident ran through my mind, I used one hand to massage my balls while the other is on my shaft. I imagine it is her and feel as if her lips are searching for mine under the stream of warm water. I increase my speed on my manhood and soon enough I cum all over the tiles beneath. My heart is erratic and my legs weak and I try to support myself on the walls. I watch as the water washes away my semen then I proceed to rinse myself. It is a much-needed release but it does not compare to the real deal. All this only makes me want her more.

Chapter Ten

Home at Last

After a day of reconnecting with my family, nightfall finally descends. I recognize the importance of getting some rest before the events of the following day. It's a chance to gather my thoughts, find a moment of solace, and prepare for whatever lies ahead. With a sense of anticipation and a touch of apprehension, I head to my room, hoping that a good night's sleep will bring some clarity and strength for the challenges yet to come. I wake up the next morning, my curiosity piqued by the anticipation of the document my private investigator has sent me. With a sense of eagerness, I reach for the envelope containing the information, eager to uncover every detail about Claire Raymond's activities leading up to her mysterious disappearance. As I open it, the pages reveal a web of secrets, and I immerse myself in the intriguing narrative, determined to solve the enigma surrounding her.

I couldn't help but ponder the perplexing pattern of Claire repeatedly running away from the people she was promised to. It wasn't just me; there was another guy she left at the altar. My private investigator had delved into his background, and the revelations were shocking. He seemed like some sort of a monster, and it made me wonder about the dark forces that might have been at play. As I reflected on Claire's troubled journey, it became evident that her life was far from easy. For so long, I had thought I was the only one hurting, but her story was a labyrinth of pain and mystery. The question that nagged at me was whether it was a curse, a relentless specter looming over her head, or something else entirely.

Reading through the documents, a realization washes over me – perhaps the reason she ran from me was not about my love for her, but rather her inability to recognize love. Her past, as detailed in those papers, showed a life lacking in affection and care. I began to feel a profound sense of empathy for her, realizing that I may have wrongly blamed her all this time. The urge to find her and seek an explanation intensifies. I'm compelled to see her one more time, to understand her, and to let her know that my love was genuine.

Placing the papers on the bedside table, I finish dressing quickly. As I make my way downstairs, I kiss my parents goodbye, their quizzical glances not escaping my notice. They have questions, and I'll answer them in due time. But right now, my sole focus is on finding Claire. I know her whereabouts after another disappearance, and I understand the importance of approaching this carefully and methodically, ensuring not spook her or trigger another vanishing act. This quest for closure and understanding propels me forward with a determination I've never felt before.

Sitting in my car outside the coffee shop, I patiently wait, knowing she resides somewhere nearby. When I spot her heading towards the entrance, I bide my time and let her go in first. After a couple of minutes, I follow, keeping a discreet distance. She's already at the counter, her coffee in hand, as I pretend to be engrossed in my phone, seemingly oblivious to my surroundings.

As she walks towards me with her coffee, I carefully orchestrate a chance encounter, intentionally bumping into her. Acting as if I'm in agony from a faux coffee burn, I apologize profusely, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there." She responds with an apologetic tone, "No, it's my fault. I should have been more careful. Are you okay?" Our exchange sets the stage for a potentially crucial conversation, hidden beneath the guise of an accidental meeting.

As she frantically tries to wipe the coffee from my shirt and trousers, her focus remains solely on helping me, unaware of who I am. Panic radiates from her as she does her best to remedy the coffee mishap. Her voice, as wonderful as ever, tugs at my heartstrings, and I'm captivated by the familiarity of it. I can't help but wonder how she managed to slip away from my grasp, her apologies and careful gestures occupying her attention.

At that moment, I was completely entranced by her beauty and the sweet melody of her voice, just like the old days. I'm frozen in place, like a child caught in the allure of a candy store, unable to break free from the enchantment she effortlessly casts upon me. With the coffee mishap resolved, she finally takes a moment to look at me. Our eyes meet, and recognition dawns on her. Stammering in surprise, she asks, "What are you doing here? Why are you here? I'm so sorry, what is happening right now?"

Overwhelmed with emotion, I can't contain my amazement, and I exclaim, "Claire, Claire Raymond, is this you? Oh, I can't believe it." The unexpected reunion fills the air with a mix of astonishment and relief, as we stand face to face after so much time apart.

Claire takes a step back, clearly taken aback by the unexpected encounter. Her attempt to regain composure is evident, but she struggles to find the right words.

"James? James, it's been so long. How are you?" she stammers. "I'm so sorry about the coffee. It was an accident. I didn't see you there."

I reassure her, "Don't worry about that. I'm also to blame." I pause for a moment before repeating her name with a sense of nostalgia, "Claire." The weight of the past lingers in the air as we tentatively bridge the gap between our separate journeys.

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