by Amarie Avant
“Boy, you act like I’m with child.” She playfully moved his palm away from her flat abdomen.
“You will be soon. The moment we say, ‘I do,’ I’m chucking your birth control.”
“Hmmm, not even gonna ask my opinion?”
“I’m asking your opinion about dinner.” He inched forward on Gramercy Street. “The kids will be my call.”
She smirked and glanced away, almost in a lighthearted smiling mood. “Well, if I only get a say about dinner tonight, then I want Thai food. You have now become my chauffeur, and this area isn’t my cup of tea. You have some driving to do,” she said with a wink.
“Your favorite Thai place. I got you.” He made an illegal U-turn.
“Damn, if I knew that being a she-devil got me what I wanted, I would have—”
“Oh, you thought you were in the clear? You’ve signed yourself up for a good ass spanking.” He gripped her thigh and headed for Thaitown.
About twelve miles and forty-five minutes later, they were even further away from their home in Santa Monica. It was raining more than the typical Southern California weather, and the showers made a soft drumming sound. Blake pulled into a parking space. The lot was relatively empty for seven p.m.
“Don’t,” Blake ordered as Mila began to open the door.
“Babe, it’s raining. You’ve already got an A-plus for chivalry and always hold the door for me. By the time you come around, you’ll be all wet.” He was relentless, though, and she let the door handle go.
Blake was at her door in seconds.
“You really must have missed me.”
“Despite your attitude, I did.” He held out his hand. “And chew me out if I ever stop holding the door open, beautiful.”
The smile that spread across Mila’s face was enough to bring the sun with it and clear the clouds. The sky was a pitch color. They headed into the hole-in-the-wall with the 4.9 YELP score to boot.
There were wooden tables in the center of the room, but the few patrons had chosen booths surrounding the perimeter. The hostess area, next to an aquarium filled with various sorts of fish, was empty. The doors swooshed open to the kitchen, and a tiny Thai woman came out, holding two menus.
“It has been too long,” she said, recognizing Mila. She had a habit of frequenting the place at least once a month for Tom Ka Soup and no other establishment came near their roasted duck. “For here or to go?”
“Here,” Blake spoke up.
While the waitress escorted them to a booth, Mila bumped her hip against Blake. “It’s cold outside.”
“By the time we arrive home, the food will be just as cold.”
She sank down into the worn-faux leather seat. “You’re up to something.”
“Indeed, I am.” Blake sat down so quickly that Mila had to scoot over. He wasn’t going to let her get too far. Beneath the table, he claimed her thigh again. This time, his fingers clutched tight enough to foreshadow what was to come. She held in her smile, although her second set of lips began to swell with delight.
The waitress smiled while handing over the menu and offered them a few moments.
“Oh, that was a rhetorical, Blake. No need to respond. Cocky much? I am no fool. But I promise, whatever you have in mind,” she warned, squeezing his hand on her leg. “Better not cross the line until we get home.”
“Cross the line?” He playfully slid even closer to Mila. Their connection was just as magnetic as the first time he touched her.
With unsteady fingers, she picked up the menu. Blake placed a hand on Mila’s shoulder. His hand brushed along the nape of her neck, bringing her back to life in that magnificent way only he could do. Damn, he had almost had her where he wanted her. His fingers reached for their goal, sliding behind her scarf and down her low scooped top into her bra. Her nipple was hard as a rock. He flicked it softly and delighted as her body jolted.
A warm blush rose from her neck to her cheeks, creating a faint glow to her gorgeous, dark skin. “On second thought, I know what I want.” She gestured toward his hand.
“That means stop tweaking your nipple?” he removed his hand. Mila placed the menu down.
The waitress came over and took their order. A feast of food was on their table shortly. Blake had demolished an entire plate while Mila savored each bite.
She asked, “Are you going to rush me?”
“Nah, that was just an appetizer,” he said.
“The appetizer?”
Blake ignored her and glanced around. Now, there was only one other occupied booth. A family of three was seated there. The hostess/waitress had retreated to the back again. His hand disappeared once again. His mouth to her earlobe.
“You ready to pay up for that mouth of yours?” he asked. His fingers found their way past her panties and into her soaking core.
The doorbell chimed. A forty-something woman in scrubs and a puffer jacket entered.
Mila whispered her moan, swiveling her hips somewhat. “If this is my punishment, I love it.”
The hostess came out with a brown paper bag.
“Punishment? No. Finger-play is for boys,” he said.
Her eyes brightened. Mila glanced at the woman as she paid for her takeout. “Am I in trouble when we get home?” She gave a naughty grin.
“Now, Mila.” He nibbled her lip. His finger getting coated in her goodness. “You’re in trouble now. No need to drop keywords like home. I plan to fuck you this very instant. And I reserve the right to make you pay.”
She gulped as Blake removed his finger while the nurse turned around. The woman offered a nod of hello as Blake licked his finger. “Good food,” he said as his fiancée’s cheeks lit up like Christmas.
The nurse seemed none the wiser. “It is.”
The hostess came over. “How is everything?”
Mila spoke quickly. “Great. We will take the check.”
“Not yet,” Blake said. “It was so good that I’m ready to dig in for round two.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it. I’ll give you some time to eat.” The hostess said.
The moment the kitchen doors whisked closed, Mila turned to Blake. “Are you crazy?”
“Look at me, honey. We’re in love. Logic has left the fucking building. You hold the fucking cards when crossing those luscious legs, pussy gripping my cock. Albeit, those aren’t things that we can do here. I’m in charge now—”
“Blake.” She cut him off quickly, knowing his ‘asshole’ demeanor was a guise to throw her off her game. She knew exactly what he had in mind.
“I’m gonna eat you out now.”
“No.” Her sharp denial rang in her own ears. Mila glanced around.
“It’s now or never, baby. When you ask me to eat your pussy later,” his tone was a warning. “I’ll decline.”
“The answer is still no, Blake.” Her fingers clutched at the lapel of his blazer, but Blake moved too fast. He was already descending beneath the table.
“It’s dirty down there,” she tried. It was no use. He bit her tensed thigh.
“We aren’t doing this,” Mila argued in a hushed whisper, eyes darting over to the man and woman and their elementary school child. Through all her attempts to reason with him and threaten him, Blake had slowly taken off her panties. The instant his nose nudged against her clit, the sound mind she banked on failed her.
She went from attempting to clutch his collar to pull him up to grasping Blake’s silky strands of dirty-blond hair and pushing him down. His tongue glided across the wetness he had created a few minutes ago.
“Mmmm.” Without consent, the moan coursed through her body. Luckily it was low enough not to draw any unneeded attention. Her hips swiveled, angling more of his mouth against her pussy as if he needed any help. His tongue was already fucking deep into her core. She tried to clutch the faux leather seats, but her fingers ended up causing a loud ripping sound. Like a raccoon caught in headlights, Mila let go and grabbed at his shoulders. Her nails sunk into his jacket.
CLACK. The fork clattered against the plate. Mila’s hands shook. The father’s narrow gaze tracked over to her and then to where Blake had once sat. Her lips quivered into a smile. Beneath the table, Blake’s soft chuckle tickled her core.
“That’s enough,” Mila murmured.
He responded by grazing his teeth along her outer labia, which made her crave his cock. Realizing she had some power, Mila yanked at his hair. His next response surprised her.
Blake, the barbarian, did not bite her inner thigh, nor did he slap her pussy. He licked her tiny bulb. Then ever so softly, his tongue caressed her down past her lips to her perineum, and then his thick, strong tongue speared against her asshole. This time, he deserved a pinch.
The doors swooshed open.
Mila’s breathing stopped.
Blake continued to fuck her pussy with his willing mouth.
The hostess glanced around.
“Um.” Mila licked her lips. “He went to . . . the restroom. Please, leave it. Ev-everything wa-was perfect.”
She dropped off the check and glanced toward the hallway where the restrooms were. The censored light was off showing a vacancy. The woman’s stare turned back to Mila questioningly before she headed to the kitchen once more.
“Stay down there a moment longer, and I will not reciprocate for a month,” Mila gritted out the words.
Blake bestowed one last kiss on her nether regions before maneuvering out from beneath the booth table.
The kitchen doors opened once more. They were caught red-handed. Blake offered a friendly wave as he reclaimed his seat. This time a male server, one whom Mila had chatted with a few times before, came out. He wasn’t his usually happy go lucky self. He sat at the cash register, arms folded. They knew.
A while later, Blake paid the tab. Mila, though having caught a contagious smile, pushed him away as they stepped out into the cool night. It was now sprinkling lightly.
“I can never return here,” she grumbled, waiting for him to open the car door.
“Give it a few weeks. They’ll forget.”
“They won’t.”
“Then we’ll start ordering take out. Lamb can pick it up.”
“You are incorrigible.”
He patted her cheek. “Fix your face, sweetheart. I’m not done fucking with you.”
Blake delighted in having the last word while closing the passenger door.
Mila
Over thirty-three years of life and this was the first time Mila felt she could depend on her sister, Lido. Her older sister had really come through. Lido secured an appointment at Madame Renée’s, one of the most sought-after designers in Beverly Hills. The vintage boutique was located in a mansion. Wrought iron gates surrounded the place. Four-tier French Renaissance fountains dotted the front yard. Inside the home, there were touches of French oak, along with shiny, shimmery decorations. A butler in a ducktail uniform had greeted them when they entered.
Renee was gravely thin, decked in layers of silk. Long strings of pearls were roped around her finger as she scrutinized Mila, who stood on a platform in a pair of jeans and a shapeless long-sleeve shirt.
“Take it off,” Renee ordered. “Take it all off.”
Her exaggerated, borderline disgust almost reminded Mila of a cartoon character. She couldn’t cop an attitude with the old lady.
“Your clothes.” Lido waved a hand.
Mila was still frozen. Her eyes stayed glued to the regal, silver-haired woman. Damn, am I that pitiful?
“Trust me, young lady, I’ve seen it all.” Renee stepped away.
Mila started out of the shirt. “Shouldn’t I be searching for somewhere to have this shindig?”
“Shindig?” Yasmin took the shirt and folded it. “You are having the wedding of the century.”
“On Valentine’s Day, Yas, which is less than a month away, mind you,” Mila said. With the way Madame Renee had regarded her, she assumed this would take ages. “We could’ve just went to David’s Bridal.”
Yasmin gasped.
Lido gritted her teeth. “At least try to exceed the grandeur of Blake’s previous wedding. Shit, Mila. We have our work cut out for us.”
Mila bit her lip. “I haven’t seen any photos, nor have I asked Blake about his first wedding. Should—”
“Every wedding is different.” Yasmin finally spoke up. For someone whose verbal prowess was likened to jumping into a game of double Dutch, she had been slow to comment.
Mila just couldn’t help herself. She asked, “Lido, where was the wedding held?”
The model’s eyes bugged and either she needed to become an actress, or she was overexaggerating. “Let me tell you how much Blake and Diane’s wedding cost—”
Yasmin cut in. “Lido, shut up,” she said, just as her younger sister broke down the price tag.
“Six-point-five million! Should we adjust for inflation?” Lido dug into her purse for her cell phone. While bringing up the calculator app, she mumbled, “Take off your pants, Mila. Renee is a busy woman. And I’ll have the figures for you . . . in . . .”
“This is about you, Mila,” Yasmin encouraged. “Price is not important. What you want is.”
Unable to get the cost of Blake and Diane’s wedding off her mind, Mila started to shrug out of her baggy boyfriend jeans. She was by no means interested in splurging on that level, yet she slowly became fixated on wanting to know more. “Where was it?”
Yasmin sighed. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Buckingham Palace. I suggest Dubai.” Lido grabbed Mila’s jeans and began to fold them.
Licking her lips apprehensively, Mila caved. “Show me a pic—”
“Lido, I swear, if you pull up a photo of them, I will slap you.” The back of Yasmin’s hand was already poised. Lido stuffed her cell phone back into her pocket.
Renee returned with the clearing of her throat. “Gorgeous. You have impeccable bones and fluid curves. You will wear the dress.”
With her mind inundated now, Mila’s face clouded in confusion. “You have a dress already for me?” Good, on second thought, we can get this over with.
Lido rolled her eyes. “She’s saying that the dress she designs will be perfect for you, Mila. Stop acting like a tomboy, you’re too old for that shit.”
A half-hour later, Renee’s assistant had Yasmin and Lido’s sizes, as well as Zenobia’s measurements, which she had texted to Mila. The sisters were headed out the door for lunch when Mila noticed Parker.
For January, the weather was crisp. A small cloud of breathy fog issued from Parker’s thin, dark purple lips. She appeared to have been standing around for a while.
“Hey, Parker, what are you doing here?” Mila asked. “How long have you stood out in this cold?”
“Oh, I was just waiting for you. A few minutes really. I guess that place is exclusive.” Parker nudged her chin to the intercom. “No publicists allowed either.”
Mila wondered why the woman hadn’t called her but invited her to lunch with them.
***
The four of them dined at The Pit Stop, a gourmet burger eatery. The restaurant had distressed wood and metal accents. The seat of the chairs looked like tires but had a comfortable feel to them.
“Little sister, are you honestly gonna eat that entire burger?” Lido asked, with her own veggie burger.
“Every last bite. It’s bison.” Ignoring Lido’s scrutiny, Mila addressed Parker, who sat beside her. “So, what’s on your mind, Parker? You aren’t the wine and dine type. You can hold the conversat
ion while I enjoy this entire hunk of meat.” Mila winked.
Parker had a wedge salad before her and had yet to take a bite. Rubbing her hands together, she began the discussion, which is what she seemed to be waiting for. “I have a very big opportunity for you, Mila. But first, can I get a few details on the dress?”
Mila nodded, chewing food. She was used to Parker offering advice, strongly suggested advice, to Blake regarding his brand and reputation. But the two women had rarely held a real conversation.
“As you know, Renee will be designing our dresses.” Mila spoke of the design, leaving out the real wow factor.
“Sounds like Blake will be in a trance all night long. What’s the venue?” Parker inquired.
“Blake and I haven’t chosen one yet.”
Parker tapped a finger to her lip. “Blake and I chatted a few days ago about how your wedding and how his business could work hand in hand.” She began to pitch the same idea to Mila as she had offered Blake.
Mila had stopped eating to listen, leaving half of her burger uneaten. Lido began to slide the plate away from her. Mila slapped her hand, and Yasmin chuckled. Hefting up the bison burger, Mila asked, “What does Blake think?”
“He was blown away by the concept.”
“Why didn’t he just say yes then?”
Parker was smooth in her response. “Because you are so very important to him, Mila. Weddings are all about the bride. The only thing a man needs to pick out are his groomsmen, his tuxedo, and his cake—if he has a cake.”
“Sheesh, we’ve gotta get a move on it, ladies.” Mila sighed. “I’ve already called around to a few venues, such as the golf course down the street from our,” she gulped, “our home in the Hills. It’s booked for two years. Alright, Parker, I agree. Blake and I will have dinner with the new wedding planner tonight, but I suppose the planner shouldn’t have a problem with a few leads. Start posting on his social media app.”
“Great.” Parker grinned. “This route, you’ll have vendors begging for you to marry at their locations. With all the traction you receive, you’ll still be able to choose what the wedding planner comes up with anyway. It’s just a publicity and social media stunt.”
