Public (Private Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  I love nothing more than when he’s willing to own his true self. To be the powerful man who’s not afraid to push or be pushed.

  The sensation of Wes’ balls lightly tapping against my ass fuses with the burning that seems to be bursting throughout my entire body. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I yield to every command of his cock. His sharp thrashing mercilessly taps my g-spot until I detonate with enough force to shatter the tanks in the room.

  On a high-pitched scream, my arms link around his neck right beside my feet, and I do my best to withstand the unstoppable withering that’s invaded my system. Wes only manages two more thrusts before his balls tighten to the point of no return. He growls into the crook of neck as my pussy milks from him exactly what he ripped from me. A collection of cries echoes off the walls for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, a sated sigh slips from my lips, and I slink backwards onto the couch.

  This was a much better idea than discussing my injuries or being pregnant. After all, I’m sure the two of us will be back at each other’s throats sooner rather than later. Whether or not Wes knows it we both needed this moment. We both needed to be connected. We both needed to feel like we’re on the same team because I have a sick, twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach our relationship is about to endure another God awful test.

  Another proposal joins the sloppy rejection pile now starting to stretch its way across the sleek round, marble coated wooden conference table.

  J.T. leans back in the suede cushioned brown leather chair. “You don’t think you’re being a bit difficult?”

  My expression remains unchanged.

  He steals a glance of the files in the pile. “Really, Wes? Nothing seems worth a second look?”

  “No.”

  “But-”

  “I want a winner,” I state firmly, folding my hands in my gray suit covered lap. “If you couldn’t find me a viable winner then at the very least I expected something with potential. The expansion of the social market you pitched last year was brilliant. Steering the course to explore the beer market, magnificent. Tossing out the idea to dabble in bullshit like coozie holders, unacceptable.”

  “Wes, at least hear me out about that one. We could-”

  His speech is abruptly interrupted by an unexpected shrieking and slamming of the door.

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?!” Evie panics. “I have been calling you all morning!”

  “Conferences.” My eyes assess the foreign look she’s showcasing. “Our last one just ended about twenty minutes ago.”

  She shoves the oversized pair of white sunglasses into her messy hair. “And you didn’t think to call me back?”

  “I haven’t checked my phone or with my secretary yet.”

  “Are you not wearing any makeup?” J.T. carefully questions.

  Her scowl swiftly shoots to him. “No. Today was the day I set aside to dye,” she points to her skin, “dry,” the same motion is angled towards her hair, “and wax.” Evie’s last hand gesture sweeping over her body is more personal than we’re used to.

  Brynley’s waxed, though I did insist she allow me to hire a personal female waxer instead of letting her continue to go to the one she had been using. The idea of any other man staring at her pussy, gay or straight, had my fists twitching. She doesn’t seem to mind too much. She gets to watch Star Trek while Mandi does her job and then gets a good hour of me leisurely lapping the fresh canvas right after her shower.

  “Why’s Brynley not answering my calls either?”

  The question thankfully tears my thoughts away before my slightly hardened dick can stiffen further. “Doctor’s appointment.”

  Her head slightly tilts. “For her concussion and ankle?”

  I shake my head. “No. Matt cleared her on both accounts late last night.”

  “Then why the doctor?”

  “She had a gyno appointment.”

  “Because she actually is pregnant?”

  The words dart my eyebrows down. “Because she has to go every few months to get her birth control shot.”

  Evie folds her arms across her chest. “So, she’s not pregnant?”

  J.T. beats me to the question. “Why do you keep asking him if Bryn is pregnant?”

  “Because I’ve had at least sixteen different outlets requesting a confirmation or some sort of comment on the subject. And before I go declaring the accusation from a ‘reliable source’ is false, I would like to make sure it actually is. The last fucking thing I need is having to do damage control because I skipped doing my due diligence.”

  I start to speak when Evie interrupts.

  “What about your father having a secret affair that produced a child? Is that true?”

  My voice bellows, “What?!”

  “The original article that is reporting your fiancée is pregnant also mentioned a well-covered up affair your father had, which resulted in the birth of a secret sibling.”

  “That’s…ludicrous,” J.T. denies.

  “Is it?” Evie ponders loudly. “Because once again, let me remind you what it is a good publicist can do. We can sweep away secrets and make better stories appear out of fucking thin air. With the right channels and tools we can make scandals like affairs or gambling debts or drug addictions disappear. So, I am here asking for the truth before the truth is set free and I can’t pick and choose how the public receives it.”

  Her words cause me to glare and my fingers to curl tightly into fists. “They’re lies, Evie.”

  “You sure?” She pushes again. “You willing to bet naming your first-born Evie on that?”

  “She’s not pregnant,” I snap again.

  Evie’s hands fly into the air. “Could you do me the courtesy of speaking to your future wife about it please? The Global Laundry report claims her finding out about it during her recent visit to the hospital for her work injury.”

  My eyes narrow. “We didn’t discuss the details of that accident with the public.”

  “Nope,” she bites. “Hence. The. Bigger. Problem. Whether or not Bryn is actually pregnant, or your family is harboring a dirty little secret, it seems there’s a leak in the Wilcox bottle of information, and it needs to be plugged.”

  A devastating amount of dread drapes over me.

  This can’t be possible. None of it. This is just another witch hunt Global Laundry is at the forerunning of to drag my name through the mud. There’s no way Bryn is pregnant. That’s almost as ridiculous as ever considering my father having an affair. My parents were happily fucking married. They loved each other with every bone in their body. What fucking right do these reporters have spitting on their memory like this? Or should I say reporter. Fucking Monica Simmons. Maybe I should look into purchasing Global Laundry and having her removed. That would be a good use of my money.

  “You can’t buy the magazine just to fire her,” J.T. mumbles as if overhearing the contemplation.

  “I can. I shouldn’t.”

  For the first time since Evie entered the room she smirks. “While I like where your head is at, it wouldn’t be a good look for you or the company.” She gives her face a small scrub. “Please find and discuss with your bride to be this subject. Perhaps she can recall if there was any unusual or strikingly unfamiliar person stalking around her while she was at the hospital. Ask Jeffrey as well. Any lead we can get to discovering who this ‘inside source’ Global Laundry keeps using would be fantastic. In the meantime, I’m going to have my team do a little light digging into your parents’ past-”

  “It’s a lie!” My voice booms.

  “Even so, I’ll need evidence to prove that.”

  I start to argue again when J.T. nudges me with his foot to relax.

  “I’ll also see if I can conjure up some momentary distractions. Get J.T. out into the public, kissing babies or hugging orphan monkeys or something. Put the Wilcox name back in the good deeds column.”

  He mutters, “I don’t wanna a hug a monkey.”

  Sta
nding up, I motion my head towards the documents spread on the table. “Can you handle disposing of these J.T., or should I send Trisha in here instead?”

  My best friend gives up any fight he previously had prepared. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you going to speak with Brynley now?” Evie promptly asks.

  “Yes. In person. She should be back at the penthouse by now.” I button my suit jacket. “I’ll call you when I confirm what it is we all already know.”

  She stops herself from the retort that’s clearly on the tip of her tongue. “Use the back exit. There’s a small congregation of reporters waiting to bombard you with questions in the front.”

  Another growl drops from my lips as I nod my gratitude for the warning.

  After a quick dodge of the crowd and a brief phone call confirming Brynley is indeed at the penthouse, I arrive, though my mind seems to have fallen into a fog.

  Walking into our bedroom, I immediately greeted by the sight of her in a loose fitting red summer dress and her hair stacked high on her head. She’s absentmindedly fiddling with her silver airplane necklace at the same time she seems to be scanning the room for something.

  “Hey baby.” My tone does its best not to waver. “Everything go alright at the doctor?”

  The question draws her blue eyes to mine. “Everything go alright at work?”

  Her counter causes suspicion to grow. “Something you need to tell me?”

  She drops her free hand on her hip. “Something you need to tell me? You’re the one who sounded like he was trying to swallow a mouth full of jizz when he called.”

  “Are you pregnant?” My lack of subtly forces me to cringe, yet I don’t bother rephrasing.

  Bluntness typically works better for us anyway.

  Brynley presses her lips momentarily together.

  Shock falls against bewilderment. “A-a-a-are you?”

  Her head slowly bobs up and down but not a single word is freed.

  The fog in my mind thickens. The air in my lungs vanishes. The inability to do anything other than gawk is banished.

  Pregnant? Can she….Is it really….But….

  Somehow I manage to croak, “How long?”

  “Doctor said almost seven weeks, but um….I found out a week ago when I was at the hospital.”

  Her confession ignites rage without remorse. “You’ve fucking known for a week and didn’t fucking tell me?!”

  She doesn’t flinch at the outcry. “I was going to-”

  “But told someone else who leaked it to the press instead?!”

  Brynley looks baffled. “What?”

  “Who did you tell before me?”

  “No one.”

  Closing the gap between us, I repeat, “Who?”

  “No. One.”

  “Was it Calen? Did you fucking tell Calen before you told me? How the fuck could you do that? He’s not your fucking fiancé!”

  She drops the other hand to her hip and snaps, “Since we seemed to have established some sort of language barrier, would you prefer me to act it out like charades or use the little bit of sign language I know to repeat my answer.”

  “I’m serious Brynley!”

  “So am I!”

  “If you didn’t tell anyone-”

  “Which I fucking didn’t.”

  “-then how the fuck did Global Laundry know you were pregnant?!”

  Her blue eyes fill with shock and sadness. “I…I don’t know.”

  Silence transcends the room, leaving it almost impossible for me to breathe again.

  Pregnant. She’s really pregnant….Like round stomach, my junior is hiding inside of her, hold her hand while she curses my existence in labor, pregnant. Holy shit.

  “Are you pissed at me?”

  The twinge of sorrow snatches me by the throat. “What?”

  “For getting pregnant.” She tries to stiffen her shoulders and resume the contumacious demeanor I love. “I mean it’s not like I did it on fucking purpose. It just happened. I guess with our schedules getting so crazy I forgot to get my last shot on time and-”

  I crash my lips against her and swallow the end of the sentence. She releases a small whimper, and I cage her against me with both arms. Our tongues only lightly exchange strokes before I pull away.

  Her bright blue eyes peer up at me pleadingly, and I push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I….I didn’t know how? I didn’t wanna admit that I actually am?” She shrugs. “Didn’t wanna have another argument about my job, my traveling, and my life outside of Weston Wilcox.”

  Her hurtful phrasing renders me momentarily speechless.

  Am I such a fucking tyrant that my own fiancée was too terrified to tell me we’re going to have a child? Is my child going to fear me as well? Be scared by the scars? How can I protect my son or daughter when even their own mother seems to fear me? Is this fear new? Has Bryn always feared me to an extent and just chosen to hide it?

  Brynley catches the sad glint in my eyes and swiftly says, “Make no mistake, Wes. I am not afraid of you. I never have been. I never will be. I just don’t like fucking arguing all the time.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  My attempt to brush off the lingering tension is greeted warmly. “That. That is the side of you I love fighting with. Head Dick In Charge? Not so much.”

  I let my fingertips lightly caress her sides. “I just worry-”

  “About everything, Chicken Little,” she chomps quickly. “You worry so much that I swear you’d make we wear a goddamn helmet to get coffee in the morning if you could.”

  That’s extreme….

  “Wes, life is going to happen to us. Life happens to everyone.” Her hand sweetly lands on my cheek. “How about we make it a goal to live it rather than just prepare for it and hide from it?”

  I nod my understanding and my agreement. “It’s just…still hard for me. With everything that happened-”

  “Stop making excuses,” Brynley bites. “Stop being that person. Stop selling yourself short of the incredible man you have become. Own that shit. Own it out here the same way you do when you sit behind your desk in your power tie and refuse to accept anything less than greatness.”

  “It feels like conflicting requests to want me to be controlling and then pissed off when I am.”

  Brynley backs away from me and drops down onto the edge of our bed. “I want you to be confident, not controlling when it comes to me. I wanna know you’re standing with me and behind me when I make fucking decisions about my life without worrying about how hard and long we’re gonna butt heads over it.”

  My arms fold defensively across my chest. “I wanna be able to have a fucking opinion and it actually be heard without an argument.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “You took my future wife and my unborn child on a fucking diving mission and didn’t bother to see how I fucking felt about it.”

  Guilt coats her eyes. “I didn’t actually go diving.”

  “Are you really going to sit there and avoid the point?”

  She presses her lips tightly together.

  “You were selfish,” my reprimanding sends her stare to the floor. “You should’ve told me regardless if you didn’t want it to be true or not, Bryn. It’s not just your baby. It’s our baby and as much as you fucking hate how paranoid I can be, I do it out of fucking love. And I love our baby just like I love you.” I stroll over and sit down beside her. “I wouldn’t have stopped you from going, pregnant or not.”

  Brynley’s eyes lift to mine. “Liar.”

  “No.” My arm snakes around her lower back. “Would I have been pissed? Yes. Fucking worried sick? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t have stopped you because this is your dream career and you deserve it. I probably would’ve lectured you-”