De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  I nod. “Only have one kind.”

  “I’m aware.” She smiles as she looks down.

  “Okay, give me a few minutes.” I turn around and pull my phone out of my pocket, needing to deal with our exes ass one more fucking time tonight.

  When I start to walk away, she asks, “Can you leave me your phone?”

  “Gotta make a call.”

  The sound of her groan causes me to pause.

  I look back as she stands up and slides off the bed, the blanket clutched in her hand as she walks across the floor.

  “You’re impossible.” She hurries past me. “Just stay here for two minutes, okay?”

  I look at the bed where Artois stretches out and rolls over.

  “You know the saying all pussies are the same?” I sit on the bed and rub his belly. “Not fucking true, Artois.”

  She runs back into the room, dragging the blanket behind her, and I see she’s not only wearing my tee, she’s in my boxers, too.

  “Well, fuck,” I sigh out.

  “They’re surprisingly comfortable.” She climbs onto the bed and assumes the position—head hanging over the side, hair spilling down in waves, and she’s blushing. “Um, can we try this again?”

  “What?” I ask while looking her over from head to naked little toes.

  She snaps her fingers, and I look away from her feet.

  “Go look for that thing, come in here, tell me about lala, and pretend like the other thing didn’t happen.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m a little confused.”

  “Oh my God, just go look in your closet, Esposito.”

  I start to open my mouth, but she shakes her head. “Just go.”

  As I’m walking out of the room, she yells, “And I don’t want to hear anything more about it, okay?”

  I have no fucking clue what she’s talking about, but I walk into my closet.

  When I see the sheets on the shelf are no longer on the floor where I tossed them, I think, albeit briefly, that I have lost my mind. When I move them, the bag is there. I shake my head and pick it up.

  When I walk back into the bedroom, her eyes snap shut, and she starts, “Lalalalala.”

  “Really?”

  Her eyes pop open, and she scowls. Then she closes them tight and continues.

  I can’t help laughing.

  She sighs loudly and rolls to her stomach, propping her chin up with her hands. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  She pushes herself up and sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed. “I’ve never been treated like a princess before.”

  “Fuck princesses.” I sit on the bed and lean back against the headboard. Then I reach down and grab her ankle, pulling her toward me. “I’m gonna treat you like a queen.”

  “Well then.” She smiles and begins talking in a very monotone voice. “Oh my goodness, what is that black bag you have?” I raise a brow, and she whispers, “Play along.”

  “Really?”

  She nods.

  “Can’t we be a little more mature about this?”

  She looks away and points at my drawing. “Says the man who drew that?”

  She got me there.

  “Fine. This girl who, unbeknownst to her, hung the sun for me on every dreary day throughout my entire life, sold it because she has the kindest and most caring heart in the universe. She wanted to make her father’s every wish come true, but she was also a pain in the ass and wouldn’t ask for help. She loved the bag, and I love the girl. So, I bought it, knowing that someday I could give it to her, and she would know she meant the world to me. And maybe, someday, that gesture, along with my amazing artistic talent, would cause her to look at me and see that I am worthy, and then I’d show her why I will mean the world to her, too.”

  She smiles. It’s brilliant. It’s beautiful. It’s everything she is and everything she’s not. It’s simply Stella.

  After several moments of silence, she flops back onto the bed and covers her face.

  “You gonna say something or leave me feeling like a total fool?”

  “Is it foolish that I went into your bathroom and sniffed all your soaps, lotions, and hair products, hoping to find what scent it was that I am so drawn to?”

  I laugh and yank her closer to me, kissing her toes. “No, Stella. I think we’re the most normal people on the planet.” Then I suck on her big toe, and she laughs.

  “Is it weird that all those candles I bought, thinking they smelled like home, really smell a lot like you?”

  “Totally ordinary.” I suck the next.

  She giggles. “I went through your cupboards downstairs and saw all the mac and cheese and the Stella Artois in the fridge and thought, he likes me.”

  “Pft. Totally run-of-the-mill, everyday kind of feelings on your part and behaviors on mine.” I suck the next.

  “Then I went in your closet and sniffed all the clothes, even these undies, and realized it was that smell I love.”

  “Only if it’s weird that the thought of you sniffing my boxers makes me a little hard?”

  She shakes her head and wiggles her toes, drawing my attention back to them, so I suck the next.

  “Is it strange that, when I saw the bag, I knew right then that it wasn’t just a game you may be playing with …?” She stops.

  I fill in the blank. “Our ex.”

  “Right. Or that you weren’t just keeping a promise or honoring my father by being so amazing the last couple of weeks?”

  “Nope. We all have our thing. Superman can fly and fry food with his eyes. Spiderman can shoot webs from his hands and soar from building to building. Loki can master magic and illusions. Black Panther has enhanced senses, premonitions, and superhuman strength. And the Staten Island Starlet has the ability to make millions smile with just a few words and the annihilation of the Spanish language. Me being totally amazing for two measly weeks is really pretty unremarkable.” I move to the next toe as I look down at her smile and heavy eyes.

  “I want to be your friend forever, but I want more.”

  “I’ll give you as much as you can handle.” I kiss the bottom of her foot, and she trembles. “And more.”

  “He couldn’t break me, but you, you could ruin me.”

  “Never gonna happen,” I assure her then give her last toe, the little pinky one, a suck. “Clearly, it’s the foot that does it for you, not the toes.”

  “Huh?”

  I kiss the bottom of her foot again, and a little moan escapes her.

  “That’s the spot.”

  “So,” she sighs, “how will we work when I’m in London?”

  “I love talking with you even when I have a rager in my pants. I’ll learn to deal with it, but you have to learn not to be so fucking sexy, okay?”

  She covers her face with both hands, but I know she’s smiling, because I know Stella. Then she uncovers it, eyes still closed as she reaches down then pulls up the tee-shirt covering her hot, soft, curvy, little body.

  I sigh. “You’re killing me.”

  She opens her eyes as she sits up and pulls it over her head before putting it against her nose. “I really do love how you smell.”

  “I will rub myself all over you every second of the day so you never miss it. But that would seriously fuck things up for me because I love the way you smell, too.” I smile and scratch my head as if in thought. “If we rub against each other all the time, we can mix our scents together and …” I rub my hand over my erection. “Then again, I’d never be able to leave the house.”

  She licks her lips and looks down. “That’s hot.”

  “What? This?” I rub down my pants again.

  She crinkles her nose. “Yeah.”

  We both lean forward at the same time, lessening the space between us. I lift her chin with my thumb and press my lips to hers for a much-needed kiss. Her moan and my groan tangle between lips and tongues. There’s nothing sweet or soft about it. She’s need, I’m
desire, she’s life, I’m breath, and we are two, and we are one.

  She grips my lower lip between her teeth and sucks hard, pulling at it as I move in to grab hers. Then she pushes her tongue into my mouth and licks so deeply, so hard that I feel like I’m fucked, and I still have my clothes on.

  Leaning forward, one hand behind her back, the other unbuttoning my pants, I lay her down. With her hands on the hem of my shirt, she pulls it up, and I take it the rest of the way off.

  Her nipples are so hard, so red. I bow my head and suck one into my mouth as she rakes her nails down my abs and unbuttons my pants.

  Skimming the side of her body with one hand, I grab behind her knee, jacking it up around my hip while grinding into her. She moans, and I push forward to show her just how much I want her, just how fucking hard I am … for her.

  When she releases my hair and links her hands behind my neck, pulling herself up so her legs are around me, I don’t even give a damn my pants are still on.

  “Lala,” I hiss as she crashes her mouth against mine and reaches between us to pull my dick out of my pants, rubbing it against herself.

  I slide us off the bed as she wraps her legs tighter around me, holding my shoulder with one hand while stroking me with the other. I push my pants down as far as I can as I walk toward the wall, pushing her against it as I kick my feet, trying to get my fucking pants off. With one leg out, I step on the fabric to pull my other free.

  I grab her ass now and head for the tub as I palm one tit and bend down, sucking it into my mouth. Then I hook my thumb into my boxers that she’s wearing and start to pull them down. She unwraps her legs from around me, and I let go of her long enough to bend down and pull them off her. As soon as she kicks them to the side, she pulls mine off as well.

  “Not gonna even pretend I haven’t jerked off to the thought of fucking you in here.” I reach over and turn the water on in the tub. “Haven’t even been in here yet. Maiden voyage, Stella.”

  She grabs my dick, and I groan.

  “My cock is so fucking hard for you … my fucking Lala.” I lean down and grab her ass, lifting her. And she wraps her fucking legs around me as if it’s instinct.

  The hit is so intense when my cock hits her bare skin.

  “Your pussy is so hot.” I grind against her. “So fucking wet.”

  “I need you,” she moans, a guttural demand, as she buries her head in the crook of my neck while reaching between us, gripping my cock and rubbing it between her lips.

  I could fill her now, plow into her and hit bottom.

  “I know how tight your pussy is, Stella. And, unlike the other night, I haven’t spent a week jerking off, preparing to last more than a couple minutes, so we got to go slow.”

  “I want you so bad.” She bites my shoulder.

  I dig my fingers into her tight, round ass and drive into her fully.

  “Oh God!” she cries as her head falls back, separating us enough so that I can lean down and catch her tit in my mouth. I suck and suck and suck as I pump in and out of her heat.

  When she isn’t moving, I contemplate pulling out, making sure she’s okay, but when she starts riding me, grinding against me, fucking me, I know damn well I’m not strong enough to deny myself or her.

  “Fuck.” I thrust in deeper, harder, faster. “Gonna be a short stay in Casa McCarty if this keeps up.”

  Her moans, her cries, the sound of our flesh connecting, our bodies becoming slick with sweat as we fuck is nothing I have ever felt.

  “Fuck it. There’s always round two,” I hiss as I pull her harder against me, turning us and walking quickly to the bed.

  I lay her down on the sheets, grab her ankles, throw them up onto my shoulders, and fuck her through our first orgasms. I don’t stop fucking her, though.

  “Your pussy is beautiful,” I say as I run my thumb over her clit and slam into her. “Mine, Stella, all mine.”

  “Yes!” she cries.

  I lean down and take her mouth, fucking it with my tongue. Then I pull away. “Your mouth, mine.”

  “Oh God,” she sobs out.

  I kiss and lick and scrape my teeth down her beautiful neck. Then I take her nipple into my mouth and clamp down before sucking it out long and hard. Her body tenses then shakes as she grips my biceps while holding her breath.

  I push myself back up and spread her legs open wide as I drive into her, watching my cock slide in and out of her. “Your cum”—I go faster, deeper—“mine.”

  As she cries out, “Yes!” she comes so hard, so beautifully.

  I pull out and grip my cock. “Where do you want it?”

  “Mine,” she pants. “Inside.”

  I push back inside her and, in three strokes, come.

  “Fucking love you, Stella.”

  After a couple of seconds, I reach down and push my hand under her back, lift her up, and then carry her back to the bath. “Round two happens in here.”

  She smashes those bow-shaped lips against mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stella

  Two months later…

  While in high school, I met my best friend, Natasha. When she was tutoring Aaron, one of his exes, Sylvia, who I called Saliva, got a hold of a picture that prominently displayed a birth defect—a cleft lip that had been fixed and healed beautifully. Since Natasha was new to the Manhattan School of Art and Design, none of us even knew she had been through so much. I mean, her makeup was always flawless, a perfect face. Hell, Aaron used to call her Fancy Face. Oddly, it still doesn’t bother me.

  When it was passed around, via social media, by that bitch Saliva, who didn’t like the attention Aaron was giving her, she ran out of school crying. We all followed her. She didn’t even know we had. She never had real friends. We were her first.

  When we wound up in front of de la Porte New York, that’s when we found out her mother not only worked at de la Porte but was Jean’s assistant and ran the U.S. version in his absence.

  De la Porte was a place I considered my heaven on earth. While Natasha’s friends—myself included—told Angela and Autumn what had happened, Jean came on a video conference.

  I nearly died. I fangirled big. Like, really big. He allowed us a tour of la Placard—la Placard is French for closet.

  In the New York offices, Jean de la Porte—God rest his beautiful soul—had a three-story closet built. Each floor represented the company’s history, its designs for the future, present, and past. After the tour, Angela gave us girls the next season’s “it bag.” Of course, after that, everyone forgot about Saliva’s nonsense and fell in love with Natasha, who basically still kept to herself.

  Shortly afterward, Dad told us he was dying, and I left school to take care of him while my best friend lived our London College of Design and Fashion dream. And yes, I had to push her to do it without me. She wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t promise to come when I could. Thank God she did, because look at us now.

  Five years later, I’m sitting in a black swivel chair at the executive desk of la Placard London on Sloane Street. I’m the executive assistant to Natasha, who is now the designer for de la Porte. Looking around, I still have to pinch myself, so I know this isn’t just a dream.

  It was life-changing.

  Two months ago, everything in my life changed again.

  I fell in love.

  I realize that’s not something completely new or different in theory. In fact, I had loved another. The life-changing part, the thing that actually became real instead of just a theory, something that existed and was tangible, something … beautiful? Two months later, I’m still falling in love every day, with a man who is still falling in love with me.

  I don’t wake up anymore, looking for a text, because I desperately want him to send one telling me that he loves me or is thinking about me. I don’t move throughout my day, wondering if there is something that I could be doing to make his life better or easier. I don’t make excuses about time differences, his life being so complex,
and him being so busy that I am okay with the little things slipping through the cracks. I don’t go to sleep at night, wondering when things will work out. In fact, I no longer go to sleep alone.

  I won’t say change and falling in love is easy or without issue, but when you love someone, you make sure they know it. And you don’t do it because they need you to. You do it because there is a deep-seated want to be a part of that person’s life. You have a desire to be with them. And even though you fight with them or, in my case, tell them they shouldn’t move across the ocean just to be with you, and then, when you think you’ve been heard and get on a plane, gripping the seat, and you feel a hand on yours and look up to see him sitting in a seat next to you and not following “the plan,” you don’t get a little pissed. You do. But then you realize he loves you as much as you love him. And even if it was only two weeks apart, as he said, “wasn’t gonna work for us.” And you realize that, with plenty of time left on the flight, you can get through just about anything together and also become a member of the mile-high club.

  Another change that came was that I was living with a minimalist, which I never signed on for. At first, it freaked me out. I thought, well, this is it. We’re doomed. But I’ll be honest; it’s actually working out in my favor. I have so much more room in the closet for all my clothes, shoes, and accessories. But, within a relationship, even one as perfect as ours, there is always give and take. So, Aaron won hands down on the potions and lotions I was always buying, trying out, and cluttering bathrooms and vanities with.

  During Aaron’s time with his father, a time in which “our ex” deemed their father/son bonding expeditions, Aaron and Evan were actually building a business together. The company name, HM, a shortening of Hearst Minimalist. Evan travels to find the most natural and healthy ingredients for potions and lotions. The bottles in Aaron’s bathroom in New York were samples. Aaron runs the “store,” which is exclusively online and ran from his laptop and cell phone. Their first year was a million-dollar profit; their next year, five million; and last year, even with all those who hunt to feed off others’ ideas and successes, just wanting to make a buck and have no qualms about using someone else’s ideas for merely a profit, HM still doubled their sales.