by Lee Savino
“Are you mad at him?” Cora finally asked.
“Mad at Armand?” Now Olivia seemed shocked. “Not at all. I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m going to his party tomorrow. Are you coming?”
“To his party? I don’t think I’m invited.”
“Ah, of course you are. I’ll ask Manny.”
“Manny?”
“My pet name for Armand.”
Cora reigned in her laugh.
“Oh, I nickname anyone I like. Yours would be easy. Cora Bora.”
“So you’re a website designer,” Cora changed the subject desperately.
“Programmer, hacker. Website design is something I only do for close friends and ex-lovers.” Olivia hopped up on the heavy cases for the sound equipment and swung her legs.
“I see.” Feeling mischievous, Cora asked, “Which one is Armand?”
“Huh?”
“Which one is Armand—a close friend or ex-lover? Or does a lady not kiss and tell?”
Olivia barked out a laugh. “Oh, honey, I’m no lady. Truth is, he’s both.”
“Oh?” Cora let her eyebrows rise at this tantalizing gossip.
Olivia shrugged. “It was late, I was working. He called me a genius.” A hint of red tinged her cheeks. “That always gets me,” Olivia muttered. She shook her head forward so her hair fell over her face.
“Are you blushing?” Cora teased, amused to find a chink in the gruff woman’s armor.
“He’s a slut, though. Everybody’s had him. And we weren’t good for each other. We’re better as friends.”
As if on cue, Armand went by, looking harried yet suave in a grey suit.
“Manny!” Olivia shouted. Everyone backstage paused to stare at her. “Is Cora invited to the party tomorrow?”
“Of course, Olivia. My love. Now please shut up. Makeup!” And he rushed off into the lights.
Olivia chuckled, shaking her head so her short hair fell around her face.
“See, told you. You’re invited. Come to the party.”
Cora’s mouth was gaping open at this point.
“Oh, come on. Do you want me to beg? Ok, I will. Please, come to Armand’s party. I need someone there to talk to. No one understands me.” Olivia fake pouted.
Cora couldn’t help it, she laughed.
Olivia looked slyly out from under her black helmet of hair. “Oh, so the perfect facade does crack.”
“You’re funny,” Cora told her. “I like it.”
“Glad to be of service. Are you coming to the party?”
Cora sighed. “I’ll ask my husband if we have anything going on.”
“Good, clear your schedule. Besides there’s a hottie or two there I want you to meet.”
“Olivia,” Cora gasped. “I’m married.”
“Not for you! For me, dumbass.” Olivia huffed and blew her hair out of her face. “You can give me tips on how to woo him.” She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows.
Six
Marcus prowled through the penthouse, looking for his wife. They’d lost another shipment to the Titans tonight. Guns this time. Demi was trying to flood his streets with semi-automatics.
Just last week he had to put down a gang that thought to fight his men for territory. Others had the same idea now that the Titans were challenging him so outright, thinking they could take advantage of his distracted focus.
They were wrong. He’d put every last one of them six feet under. But an influx of weapons like this would only further embolden new enemies.
It was just eight at night and he should still be at the office discussing blockades into the city.
Instead he was standing here in the doorway of his master bath. Watching his wife as she toweled off, humming to herself, obviously oblivious to his presence. Steam still filled the air. She must have only just stepped out of the shower.
As she raised her head, she shrieked, seeing his steam-blurred reflection in the mirror.
“Hush, it’s just me.” Marcus stepped into the room as she wrapped the towel around herself.
“You shocked me,” she said, eyes still wide. “I didn’t expect you home this early.”
“It’s almost eight.”
“You didn’t come home last night. And isn’t there a concert at Elysium?”
“Not tonight.” Marcus leaned against the sink and watched her, his eyes running up and down her toweled form.
But soon looking wasn’t enough. He stepped closer and then his hands closed over her shoulders, sliding down her bare skin and taking the towel with them.
“This is why I come home,” he whispered into her ear. “You make me forget all my troubles.” It was more than he meant to say but true all the same.
They didn’t play today. No, his need was too urgent. He had to be inside his wife so he boosted her up onto the counter, unbuckled and shoved his pants down and then—
He threw his head back as he sank inside her. She was wet for him. Always wet. He reached up and pinched her nipple. Her sharp gasp made him even harder, though he wouldn’t have thought that was possible.
This was all he’d been able to think about, all day long. He’d been pissed about the shipment, it was true. He wanted to strangle Demi Titan.
But more than that, he’d wanted to get in his car and break every traffic law to get home and fuck his wife.
He pulled out and then stroked back in and she clenched around him so fucking deliciously. Her body was made for his. There was no other way to describe it. Sex had never been like this before. Like something that felt as necessary as breathing. Every hour of the day he went without being inside her he wanted to make up with two more buried balls deep in her pussy.
Some of his lieutenants were grumbling about his disappearing acts. Sharo had reported that little shit, Angelo, trying to stir the guys up by saying Marcus was pussy whipped by a Titan. Sharo had given the boy a beating he wasn’t likely to soon forget for his disrespect. But times were tense and the less time Marcus spent at home, the better.
Frankly, he’d thought it would get better with time. That he’d work his wife out of his system. But like feeding an addiction, it only got worse. Sometimes he fucked her three times a night and then again in the morning…and yet all day he could think only about coming back home and doing this—
He thrust in again, clutching her ass to get the best angle possible, to go deep and also grind against her to make her mewl in pleasure. Her little noises that he was fucking addicted to as well if he was being honest with himself.
“Tesoro mio. Mia moglie.” My treasure. My wife.
Her breathy squeaks got higher and higher as he drove her to the edge and everything else fell away. There was only this. Her body. Her nails clawing his scalp and her hips thrusting against his in desperation, she was so close.
Some nights he loved to torture her. To pull back and make her beg. To remind her who exactly was in control.
But right now he just wanted to make her fly and to feel her milking him so he kept pounding away. And when she screamed her orgasm and it echoed off the bathroom tiles, he let go and spilled into her, a king conquering his queen and marking her as his in the most primal way possible.
When it was done, she bowed her head over his shoulder, breath heaving. He ran his fingers down the small bumps of her spine and she shivered. He was still planted inside her and he pulled out and gave another small thrust, groaning at the pleasure she still brought him.
The steam from the mirror had mostly disappeared and he could see their reflections, the beautiful expanse of creamy skin tapering down to the tiniest little petite waste before flaring out again at her womanly hips. And him behind her, dark to her light, brute to her petite beauty.
She looked so tiny. So unbearably breakable. The world would snap her like a twig if he didn’t protect her.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him, tight. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably.
He looked away from the mirror and let go of her,
finally sliding out. “I’ll let you clean up,” he murmured.
For a brief second, she looked up, her huge blue eyes locking on his. Whatever she was thinking, he couldn’t read it in her gaze. Except that maybe she wanted something from him. Something he couldn’t give.
“Armand is having a party,” she said tentatively.
Marcus’s brow furrowed. Whatever he’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“You can’t go.” He was busy tomorrow night.
Her mouth dropped open and then her eyes flashed. “I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
“Well you should have been.” The city was on the edge of fucking implosion and she wanted to go to a party? Who knew what kind of security would be there and who might sneak in? The wife of Marcus Ubeli would be more than an attractive target for countless enemies.
“I was trying to ask if you wanted to go with me but now I rescind the invitation.” She hopped off the vanity and strode out of the bathroom.
Oh no she didn’t.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” He grabbed her elbow and spun her around.
“And don’t you fucking touch me without my permission.” Her eyes blazed and Marcus’s groin tightened. Oh he would have fun teaching her this lesson. She thought she would defy him, on today of all days?
But before he could even begin to chastise her, his damned phone rang. He couldn’t afford to miss a single call. Not after all that had been happening.
“What?” he barked after pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Boss, you gotta come down here,” Sharo said. “We already got a lead on a buyer for the semis. Shouldn’t talk over the phone but I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”
Fuck. He felt like throwing the phone against the wall. But no. Control in all things. Control always. Otherwise people got hurt.
He pointed a finger in Cora’s face. “You and I will talk later.”
She just crossed her arms over her chest and got an even more obstinate expression on her face. Oh yes, he’d enjoy teaching her this lesson very much. It would give him something to look forward to the rest of the very long night he had no doubt was ahead.
But his business kept him out all that night, and the next day, too.
Seven
Armand’s party was in an enormous brownstone on the corner of two streets. Cora got out of the car, feeling a bit strange walking around in her little purple dress and stilettos without Marcus on her arm.
Her nightlife usually entailed a trip to one of Marcus’s restaurants for drinks and greeting her husband’s business associates. She felt giddy to be doing something for herself, by herself. And then immediately guilty because Marcus had told her explicitly not to come.
Well, he’d never come home to finish the argument, so she’d decided that meant his point was forfeited.
“Ms. Ubeli, slow down.” Her assigned bodyguard exited the car behind her. Cora rolled her eyes.
She’d tried to give him the slip earlier but no such luck. That was fine. She knew security was important and that Marcus also likely already had word of her disobedience…and she couldn’t deny the fizzle of excitement that thought sent through her. Which was probably more than a little screwed up. But she’d decided she wasn’t thinking about it anymore.
She was here to have fun.
But she slowed when she saw the bouncers at the door.
“Invitation?” one of them rumbled.
“Um, I don’t have one. Armand invited me.”
The man just stared down at her. “Name?”
“Cora Ubeli,” her bodyguard supplied. “Marcus Ubeli’s wife.”
The bouncer’s eyes widened and he stepped aside immediately. Cora ducked her head, waving her hand at his apologies.
Once inside she hissed at the bodyguard, “Can I just keep a low profile for once?”
“Sorry Mrs. Ubeli, just trying to help.” The man didn’t sound sorry at all.
Cora wished that, for one night, she could just be Cora, country girl from the Midwest, alone in the big city. Of course, that had gotten her in trouble all those months ago. Right around the time she met Marcus.
She sighed. “Just stay over there. I know you have to do your job but everyone here is safe.”
A young man with crazy curly hair ran by, holding a smoking bottle of something and screaming, “I’ve got a bomb!” He bowled into a knot of models who shrieked angrily and swatted at him. The bottle boiled over into a harmless puddle.
Cora closed her eyes. “Ok, that was just poor timing.”
The bodyguard grimaced as three guys in suits and large pink wigs went by. “Go have fun.” His tone doubted that she would.
Straightening her dress nervously, she turned back to the party. She recognized a bunch of bored-looking models from the fashion show the day before, and made a note to avoid them.
“Hey, bitch!” a cheerful shout caught Cora’s attention. Olivia, looking slightly less scruffy in a black spangly top and the same black jeans and scuffed boots, waved her over with a beer in hand. “Come get a drink.”
Cora started over and her bodyguard shadowed her. She stopped and addressed him again. “Um, do you mind just waiting over by the wall? I think I’ll be safe with her. She’s a friend.”
The stonewall face was her answer. She sighed and headed over to Olivia, determined to ignore her bodyguard. Halfway there he caught her arm and stopped her.
“Look, Mrs. Ubeli, I want you to have a good time. But I work for your husband. And I answer to him. He’s not particularly happy that you’re here and ordered me to keep eyes on you at all times.”
So he had already called Marcus. Cora stared the man down, furious. Marcus thought she needed a babysitter. Even after all this time, Marcus would only allow her the illusion of freedom. He still thought he could tell her where to go and when she could go there. And low and behold if she went anywhere without these ridiculous Shades who always wore sunglasses, even though right now they were inside a house, at night.
Still, she’d catch more flies with honey. She smiled sweetly at the man. “I’ll stay out of trouble. I don’t want to make your job any harder.” She pulled her arm from his grip and joined her friend, shaking her head.
“What’s with the entourage?”
“My husband couldn’t come. He wanted to make sure I’m safe.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows. “You know, while you were strutting your bare ass down the catwalk, I had a chance to look into you. I didn’t think Ubeli would ever be an old married guy. And to someone like you.”
Cora felt her cheeks tinge, with embarrassment or anger she wasn’t sure which. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Cora Bora, I just put my foot in my mouth again. Ignore it.” Olivia handed her a drink with a paper umbrella in it. “Drink up.”
Armand flitted by, a model on each arm, one male, one female, both wearing bunny ears. Armand himself had lost the suit jacket and was now in tight grey jeans and a sleeveless purple top. The tips of a black tattoo peeked out on his muscled shoulders.
With his dark eyes and swarthy skin, he could almost be Marcus’s younger brother.
“Hey, look, Manny, you match.” Olivia sloshed her drink as she pointed towards Cora’s purple dress. “Oops.”
“Oh, Cora, you gorgeous, gorgeous creature,” Armand faced her. “Great work yesterday.”
Cora flushed prettily. “Thanks, Armand.”
The two models on either side of Armand looked sour.
“I’ll be back in a bit, must make the rounds. Come on, bunnies.” His entourage turned as one, and Cora could see more of Armand’s tattoo across his back. Someday she’d ask to see it all.
“Lucky bastard.” Olivia swigged her drink.
“Why do you say that?”
“Armand’s amazing.” Olivia pointed with her drink again, this time toward the retreating trio. “Dropped out of school to start his own spa.
Now he owns twelve, ships product all around the world and has a budding fashion line.”
Cora took a tentative sip of her cocktail. “How do you know all this?”
“Wikipedia.” Olivia winked over her beer.
“You liar. You know everything.”
Olivia shrugged. “Everything interesting.”
“What sort of products?”
“Huh?”
“What sort of products does he ship?”
“How the hell should I know? Hair goop of some sort. Do I look like I go to a spa?”
Cora turned towards her. “You could come with me sometime.”
“To their mothership?” Olivia watched three models glide by and narrowed her eyes. “I’d sooner die.”
“Ok, it’s not going to turn you into a bimbo. Unless you want to become one.” Cora giggled at the image and then soothed Olivia, “I’m kidding. Just come and get your hair layered.” Cora looked at Olivia’s silky black locks. “You’d look amazing with a new cut.”
“You think so?” Olivia touched her hair uncertainly.
“I know so. My dream job would be giving people makeovers—from hair to shoes.”
“Would you go shopping with me?” Olivia asked. “I hate clothes. Seriously, I’d love some help.”
“No problem.” Cora smiled and clinked her glass against Olivia’s. “Just let me know when.”
“I’d like everyone’s attention, please!” Armand stood on a table next to the drinks, now completely topless except for a furry vest with a tortoiseshell pattern.
“Just don’t make me look like that,” Olivia motioned towards the man. Cora nodded.
“A toast to a successful new fashion line!”
“To Fortune!” someone else cried, and everyone chimed in. “To Fortune!”
“These are Fortune jeans,” Olivia told Cora. “One of the first he designed.”
“I’m sure,” Cora said, eyeing the faded pair.
“Oh, holy shit, there he is.” Olivia grabbed Cora. “See him?”
Cora looked in the direction she was pointing, but all she saw were a few guys in pink wigs laughing with some models. “Where?”
“Right there, dummy! In the corner.”
