Slay One: Rivalry

by Paige, Laurelin

  And, for the briefest of moments, I considered abandoning The Game. Considered trying to be an honest wife. Considered trying to win his heart. To win his love.

  Then he changed entirely.

  Without disconnecting from me, he stood up to his full height, and pulled me closer to the edge of the bed, lifting my hips to meet his. Here, he pounded angrily into me, as though he were mad at me. As though he wanted to annihilate my pussy as punishment.

  If that truly was what he wanted, to destroy me, I wasn’t going to fight him. I was weak and boneless, and that could have been a decent excuse for letting him handle me in that manner, but it wouldn’t have been honest. I let him because I wanted it, wanted his malice as much as I wanted any of him.

  And even while I still had him, I wanted him. Wanted more of him. Wanted all of him.

  After a few minutes of his ruthless driving, he pulled out and with his hand wrapped around his glistening cock, he jerked furiously toward his climax.

  Wanting all of him as I did, I sat up and reached for him. I wanted that glorious cock. I wanted to touch it and tug it, and if he wasn’t going to release inside my cunt, I wanted his cum on my belly, on my hands. In my mouth.

  But he stepped back, away from me, and, a second later, he came, spilling milky white liquid over his hand. And if I for one instant thought he hadn’t done it purposefully, that he hadn’t done it specifically to deny me, his spiteful expression set me straight.

  Like I’d said—he was an asshole.

  Well, I could be an asshole too. As though I hadn’t just come a miraculous four times—a mind-blowing four times—I pouted. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be able to walk afterward.”

  “Normally, that would be true. Consider this a wedding gift. I hope you enjoyed it because it won’t happen again.” He pulled up his pants, leaving them unzipped, the crown of his cock peeking out.

  “Good. I’m ready for whatever it is you prefer.” It was a lie. One thing this experience had taught me was I was not at all prepared for Edward Fasbender.

  He smiled condescendingly. “I meant we won’t be having sex again at all.” Before I could argue, he went on. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll say good night now since you’ll be gone by the time I’m done.”

  It was a hard and clear dismissal.

  Fuming, I stared daggers into his backside as he disappeared into his en suite. Then I sat for long minutes, listening to the sound of the water turn on and the change in its spray when the firm body of the man who’d just fucked me stepped into it. Exhaustion had returned, and, though the sex had been vanilla, my thighs ached when I stood, and my pussy felt raw and sore.

  I snatched my panties and my heels off the floor and retreated into my own room.

  The fighting was over for the night. Each of us could claim at least one victory, but this wasn’t over. There would be more battles in the future. We were married now.

  And this marriage was war.

  Twenty-Eight

  I awoke in the morning ready for our next skirmish.

  Edward had risen earlier than me, though, so I was alone when Jeremy took my breakfast order. Camilla showed up just as I’d been served, but as soon as she saw me, she declared she and Freddie would be taking their meal in her suite and marched right back out.

  Good for them. It wasn’t like I wanted a side of noisy toddler and bitchy sister-in-law with my yogurt parfait.

  Afterward, there was only time to finish packing my suitcase before we were to leave for our “honeymoon.” Edward spent the entire forty-minute ride to Heathrow conducting last-minute business over the phone, which might have felt like a disappointing opportunity lost to needle him if we weren’t about to be alone together for ten hours on a plane.

  “I always forget how fast boarding is when flying private carrier,” I said as we climbed the steps of Edward’s Gulfstream G650.

  He’d barely spoken two words to me all morning, and I suspected he wanted to forget yesterday—more specifically, last night—had ever happened, but now he turned to me in surprise. “Your father doesn’t have his own jet?”

  I shook my head, knowing this admission would only further inflate his ego. It was probably good to give him a win every now and then, especially when it was such a trivial win. “He thinks they’re too much hassle. He prefers to fly first-class commercial.”

  “‘Too much hassle.’ What a lazy bastard.” His chin rose smugly as he took one of the front most seats.

  I gave my coat to the attendant to hang up then surveyed the plane. There was a seat available facing Edward as well as one across the aisle. There were at least six other places to sit including a sofa and comfy chairs around a dining table.

  Naturally, I took the seat across from him. “I’ve flown private several times, though.” I didn’t want him to think I was unsophisticated, and it was the truth. Hudson’s parents had their own jet that we’d all used to take joint family vacations, back when the Pierces and Werners still got along. Then, later, Hudson had purchased his own plane that we’d used to travel the world.

  This plane was admittedly more luxurious. More pretentious, too.

  Edward scowled at me. “There are plenty of places to sit. Don’t feel obligated to take the seat closest to me.”

  I couldn’t decide if the rejection stung or if it was a sign I was getting under his skin. “Don’t be silly. You expect your wife always at your side. Here I am.”

  “Well. I may not be here long. It’s a long flight. I might take a nap.” He smiled at the pretty brunette attendant as she handed him the copy of The Times he’d requested before we boarded.

  Too friendly of a smile, if anyone asked me.

  “Oh, good,” I said, refusing to let my feathers be ruffled. “I was thinking I’d do the same. There’s only one bed it seems, so we’ll have to share.” I gave him my own too friendly grin.

  “That won’t be necessary. The sofa folds into a second bed, though I don’t think we’ll need to use that if we take turns in the bedroom. In fact, why don’t you take yours now?” He smirked, then his features softened as his eyes traveled behind us.

  “I’m not sleepy, yet. Thank you.” I followed the line of his gaze and found it latched on the attendant’s backside as she shut the cabin door. “Ah, I see. You’d prefer some alone time with one of your whores.”

  “I wouldn’t call Carlotta a whore. There’s never been money exchanged in our...friendship.”

  I suddenly wondered if the cabin had a knife sharp enough for human mutilation. Surely it did. Now to decide if it would best be used on Carlotta or my husband.

  The witch approached us then. “We’re ready for takeoff, sir.”

  I didn’t miss how Edward’s eyes lit up at the word sir. “Tell the pilot we’re ready as well, then. That will be all, Carlotta, dear.” His tone was thick and sultry and irritating.

  I remembered then that words made excellent daggers. “There is one more thing, actually, Carla, dear.” I’d totally said her name wrong on purpose. “I’m not sure if Edward has told you or not, but we were married yesterday. Whatever ways you may have served my husband on these flights in the past will no longer be necessary, as I am his wife and can attend to his needs myself.”

  He’d said I had to respect him in public. He’d never said anything about respecting his women.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fasbender,” the tramp said curtly before taking her seat for lift off.

  Edward began unfolding his newspaper, seemingly unruffled. “I must say, Celia, jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

  But I’d seen the hint of admiration in his features before he’d schooled them, a hint that said he very much liked the look on me, despite himself.

  He hid behind his paper then, and I let him read unbothered while we took flight. I was a nervous flier, a fact I’d never admit, and the climb in the beginning always made me particularly anxious. I couldn’t deal with Edward while I needed all my bandwidth to keep settled.

&nbs
p; Once we were at cruising altitude, though, I could breathe easier, and I turned my attention back to the man across from me. I’d worn a sundress in preparation for the heat at our destination—okay, and because he’d once suggested he liked me in sundresses. Edward, though, had dressed for the cool temperature of London in a cowl neck blue-gray sweater and dark slacks. It was a casual look for him, but somehow he still appeared regal and distinguished. A magnificent savage beast.

  It was hard to look at him now without remembering every detail of the night before. The way his touch had consumed me. The way his cock had moved inside me. The way his mouth had tasted. The way he’d let his guard down and shown me a sliver of what he hid inside.

  They were sensory memories, and they made me feel hot and restless and desperate to have him again.

  Which, apparently wasn’t going to happen on the flight to the Caribbean, and even so, I wanted him. Wanted anything he’d give me in the meantime.

  “Any news worth sharing?” I asked, hoping to draw him out.

  He didn’t even move the paper to look at me. “Nope.”

  I sighed.

  “There’s no story about Edward Fasbender’s wedding? I thought you were too important not to get a mention.” That ought to rile him up.

  “No, we were mentioned. I didn’t consider that news worth sharing since you already knew.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Really? What did it say?”

  “You’re welcome to read the paper when I’m finished,” he said, clearly uninterested in conversation.

  Ass.

  “When do we arrive again?”

  “We should land about four p.m. island time. It’s a ten-hour flight. If you’re bored already, I highly suggest you find something to do.” He bent the corner of his paper down so I could see his face. “Something that doesn’t involve me.”

  “I’m not bored, you jerk. It was a reasonable question.” I quieted for a few minutes, staring out the window at the pool of clouds below us.

  All right, I was bored.

  “You know, you haven’t told me anything about where we’re going. Do we land in Nassau and then take a boat? Are there other people on the island? Will the flight crew be staying with us?” More importantly, would Carlotta also be there?

  He shut his paper and folded it once to sit on his lap. “The crew will refuel and return to London tomorrow. There are other people in my company who use the plane to conduct business. The crew will return again in two weeks to pick us up.

  “As for the island, it’s five hundred and fifty acres located about fourteen miles off the coast of Exuma and has its own airstrip. The entire island belongs exclusively to me, but there are staff members who live there year round. They’ll pick us up when we land and take care of all our needs while we’re there.”

  “Any of those staff members part of your tribe of whores?” The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me until just then. “Oops. I mean friends, not whores.”

  “Actually…”

  My stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with turbulence.

  He chuckled. “No,” he said taking pity on me. “They’re a family, and while many of them are female, they’re all either married, children, or old enough to be my grandmother.”

  “That’s awfully ageist.” I wasn’t fooling anyone—I was relieved.

  “Azariah is a lovely woman who I’m sure you’ll get along with quite well. Even retired, she’s feisty and bullheaded.” He sounded proud, and that made my chest warm, both because I’d rarely heard him speak about another person with such reverence and because he’d equated the woman to me.

  “I like her already.” I thought about what else he’d said. “You hired a family? How did that work?”

  “It sort of fell into place. I wanted to find a Caribbean vacation spot as a birthday present for myself when I turned thirty. So I spent several days in the Bahamas looking for the property I wanted to purchase and became quite fond of the woman that worked at the hotel I was staying in, on New Providence.

  “Not that kind of fond,” he corrected, probably noting the look on my face. “She was a cook. I fell in love with her food. After I found the island, I asked Joette if she’d come back to London with me to be our personal chef. She declined, saying all her family was in Nassau. She went on to say she was the sole caretaker of her mother, and explained what a burden that had been since her husband had died the year before and she now had to both look after Azariah and work a full-time job. The hotel had also recently laid off a bunch of employees for the off-season including two of her sons. She still had a daughter working there with her, but their hours had been cut.”

  He paused a moment, remembering. “I knew what it was like to have to unexpectedly care for a family member and to not have the income to do so, and I suppose that’s what gave me the idea to ask her if she and the children working with her would like to work for me, taking care of the island. She was delighted, and, in the end, all five of her children moved over with her, as well as their spouses.”

  “And her mother,” I added assumingly. “That’s an awfully generous offer. Especially coming from you. I never took you as a philanthropist.”

  “I’m not,” he said sharply, as though the compliment had offended him. I suspected that it wasn’t so much that he felt insulted as it was that he didn’t like anyone knowing he had a kind bone in his body. “There is more than enough work for all of them, and it’s a comfort to me to know that Amelie is being taken care of while I’m away.”

  “Amelie?” The name was familiar. “You named the island after your mother?”

  “Yes. After my mother. Now, if you don’t mind…” He took up his paper again and opened it up, putting the barrier back in between us.

  I didn’t mind. He’d revealed something, and not just that he wasn’t completely heartless. Something that I’d been curious about.

  He’d revealed that he truly did have fond feelings for his mother, fond enough to name a paradise island in her memory.

  I closed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest, a smile on my lips, and fell asleep twisting Amelie’s rings around my finger.

  Twenty-Nine

  We landed late afternoon to an eighty-degree temperature and a balmy breeze that smelled like fresh seawater. I’d watched from the plane as we descended, realizing how small the stingray-shaped island looked from the sky. Even down on the ground, it was small, less than a square mile of land. It was nice that Edward had permanent residents to care for Amelie, but, man, didn’t they get stir-crazy?

  It would be a fantastic vacation spot, though, with its long stretches of white sand and the crystal clear, turquoise waters on all sides. Very romantic, and not much room for Edward to escape. Perfect for my seduction plans.

  The airstrip was on the side of the island opposite to where the main living quarters were located. Mateo and Louvens, Joette’s two oldest sons, met our plane with two jeeps—one for me and Edward and the other for the small flight crew. I was happy to find we wouldn’t be riding with Carlotta, and even more delighted to discover that Louvens was taking the crew directly to the guest houses, almost a quarter of a mile away from the main house. They also had their own kitchens there, which meant I wouldn’t have to see the woman again until we went home in two weeks.

  It took only five minutes to drive along the perimeter of the island to the house, a stunning two-story Mediterranean style structure with exquisite columns, arches, balconies, and iron detailing as well as a cobblestone courtyard in front of it. I learned from Mateo on the drive over that it had been rebuilt when Edward bought the island, replacing an imposing castle that had stood there before. He’d left the almost two-mile network of paths that stretched south and west, though, making the island easy to get around by foot. The road didn’t go as far, only extending along half of the perimeter.

  The inside of the house was as spectacular as the outside, encompassing over ten thousand square feet of space. The ceilings w
ere high, and the floorplan was original and open, connecting the living spaces without doors in between them. The gorgeous arches and columns from the exterior were repeated in here, but the highlight was the pocket glass sliders that ran between the family room and the covered lanai.

  No, that wasn’t the highlight. The real highlight was the backyard with its outdoor kitchen, hot tub, and a pool that spread across the length of the back of the house. There was only a handful of yards of patio beyond the pool before running into the smoothly raked beach and the cerulean waters of the Caribbean.

  It was truly paradise.

  My only complaint was the layout of the bedrooms. Unlike the setup at the London house, the two master suites were on opposite sides of the main floor here, with all the shared living spaces in between. They were nearly identical in structure, each with its own en suite, walk-in closet, and sitting room with glass pocket sliders that opened up to the backyard like the family room.

  Like both the London house and the Accelecom office, the decor of the Amelie house was traditional, but the style was looser. Edward’s bedroom was done in a striking red and gold, and, while I would definitely have taken it further if I had the chance, it wasn’t a bad design.

  My room, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired.

  The hardwood floor was covered with a gray shag that matched the bedding. The walls were a boring yellowish brown, the curtains were a plain white, and the furniture was too modern for the rest of the house. Architecturally, it was charming, but all the interest in the room had been dulled down.

  “It was decorated to Marion’s specifications,” Edward told me later when I complained.

  We’d been on the island almost three hours and were eating dinner in the formal dining room at the front of the house. I’d suggested dining in the smaller, radial dinette that overlooked the backyard, but he’d said it wasn’t big enough.