by Anne Jolin
I do as he asked. The friction between my legs just from walking has me whimpering.
“Spread your legs and lean forward. Rest your head on the back of the chair,” he instructs, and again, I oblige.
He devours me and fucks me with his fingers until I come screaming his name so loud that it echoes throughout the entire house. I am lost to the abyss, and it may take me days to recover. The pleasure Brax can give me with only his mouth and hands far exceeds anything I’ve ever experienced with anyone else.
Waiting to have him may kill me, but if accepting his sweet torture will be the death of me, then hell, I wanna die.
“Let’s get you to bed, babe,” he coos, picking up my sated body from the leather chair.
I curl into him willingly, but my mouth tries to protest. “I can walk.”
“Shhh,” he hushes me. “It doesn’t matter. I want to hold you.”
Well, that’s good enough for me.
He climbs the stairs before laying me down on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head before leaving the room again. When he returns a few minutes later with my overnight bag, he sets it on the nightstand before retrieving my toiletries and taking it to the bathroom. Upon coming back into the room, he picks up my naked body again and then sets me on the counter between the two sinks.
I should have probably fought him on it. You know, independent woman and all that crap, but instead, I lost myself in the feeling of this domesticated version of Brax. He takes his time removing my makeup and washing my face, although I do get him to allow me to brush my own teeth.
Finally settling between the sheets of his bed, he tucks my back against his front again.
“Babe?”
“Mmmm,” I hum into the pillow with my eyes closed.
He’s silent for a minute, making it possible for worry to seep into my brain. Turning around in his arms to face him, I place a hand on his chest reassuringly.
“You can tell me,” I urge. I see the muscles working in his jaw and the nervousness on his face before he speaks.
“I never got to ask, with everything that happened earlier...” His face looks pained, so I slide my hand up to cup his cheek. “My mother is hosting a charity gala tomorrow night. Would you come with me?”
He’s asking me, which I know must be hard on him. Brax isn’t exactly the ‘asking’ type. He’s more of the ‘telling’ type, but I know it’s because he’s afraid I’ll clam up like I did earlier when he brought up parents.
“Yes,” I say, brushing my lips over his. “I’ll go with you.”
Laying my head onto his chest, I hear him whisper, “I love you.”
Then I drift off to sleep.
“YOU’VE ALMOST SURVIVED your first week,” Nikki grins, leaning her hip against my desk.
Looking up at the clock on my computer, I wince. Five o’clock.
“Well, that’s not exactly a happy Friday face. Is everything okay?” she asks, immediately flipping her switch from playful coworker to concerned mother type despite the fact that we are almost the same age.
Sighing, I lean back in my chair and decide to give up the goods. “I’m meeting his mother tonight.”
“His…” she trails off, looking confused.
I don’t answer. I simply wait a second until I see the light bulb turn on.
“Ohhhh. His mother,” she says, making wide eyes at the office behind me.
“Mmm,” I mumble.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I decide to go with a half-truth. “My ex...” I pause when I see her lips purse. “Yes, that ex. Well, his parents didn’t like me very much.”
“They raised an ignorant, spoiled prick Beth. You can’t trust their judgement,” she says sternly.
“No, you can’t,” my favorite bossy voice growls from behind me. Brushing the hair off my neck, he places a kiss on my temple. “She’ll love you,” he whispers into my ear.
Nikki shifts uncomfortably in front of my desk. She might not be that shy with me, but she still is painfully so around other people. “Well, uh, have a good weekend,” she blurts awkwardly, turning around to walk away.
“Are you ready to go?” Brax asks, leaning on my desk beside my chair.
“Mhmm.” I nod. “I’m going to meet Wyatt at the loft at five thirty.”
After running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, he bends over to kiss me. “Frank is waiting downstairs. I’ll pick you up at eight.” With that, he stands and makes his way to the elevator.
It takes me a few more minutes to put the files I’ve been working on away and shut the computer down for the weekend before I too am headed out.
I’m going to meet my cousin at his loft in the city. Wyatt might be a photographer, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t talented in other areas as well. He wasn’t always able to afford makeup artists and hair stylists. Thus he’s actually quite good at both. Did I also mention that he has racks upon racks of designer clothing left over from shoots? Visiting Wyatt’s loft is like every holiday rolled into one for someone who loves clothes as much as I do.
Pushing through the front door of the building, I see Frank standing at the curb, but a chill courses through my bones and I stop halfway to him. The streets are littered with people, yet I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched. Not in the way that’s normal in the daily hustle and bustle of the city. The people littering the streets are definitely not watching me. It’s something else that makes my skin crawl. My palms start to sweat and I feel like a lunatic as I scan the passersby, looking at every face. I see nothing. No one stands out.
“Are you okay, love?” Franks Irish accent saves me from my self-inflicted panic.
Shaking my body to loosen the muscles that have wound themselves tight, I smile with false bravado. “I’m good. Just nervous,” I lie.
After eyeing me suspiciously, he decides to let my odd behaviour slide. “Well, then, Cinderella’s getting ready for the ball. We might as well spruce up his Prince Charming while we’re at it,” he laughs, holding his elbow out for me to take.
“Are you saying Brax is prettier than me?” I tease him, feigning horror.
Opening the door to the Cayenne, he winks. “I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that one, love.”
“Not just a hat rack, are you, Frank?” I joke while sliding into the back seat.
I hear his full laugh move around the outside of the SUV before he finally buckles into the front seat. “Where to, Prince Charming?”
I rattle off Wyatt’s address as he pulls the vehicle out into traffic.
Less than ten minutes later, he helps me out of the vehicle in front of the modern-looking building. It’s only four floors that overlook the harbour where they port cruise ships overnight, and it houses studio apartments for artists of all kinds. It’s exquisite and unique, just like the people inside.
“I’ll be back at eight,” he says.
“Ten-four,” I say to signal that I understood him. Frank has a new habit that involves me repeating important information back to him. Sometimes, I wonder what exactly it was he did prior to being the late Mr. Bennett’s driver.
He stands with me until Wyatt buzzes the front door to unlock it. Pulling it open, I pause and call out to Frank as he’s walking back to the car.
“Frank?”
“Yes?”
“If I’m Prince Charming and he’s Cinderella, who are you in the fairytale?” Witty banter with the stern Irishman has become a fond pastime of mine in the last few days.
He pauses as if to think about it for a moment before returning his ever-present aviators to their place over his eyes. “I’m too pretty to be one of the ugly stepsisters.” He ponders until a smile spreads over his aged face. “Call me the fairy fucking godmother, love.”
He winks before dropping into the driver’s seat. This time, it’s my laugh twisting through the air as I enter the building.
“Wyatt,” I gasp, turning
around in the full-length mirror.
After sipping from his glass of wine, he whistles. “Damn, I’m good.”
And he is. A fucking genius.
He twisted my blond hair into a loose side bun with pieces framing my face and paired it with smoky eye shadow and a nude lip. That isn’t the wow factor though. He dressed me in a last-season Marciano dress that would knock my socks off if I had any on. It’s blood-red satin layered with red lace. The strapless sweetheart neckline makes my breasts look fuller, and it cinches just under them before flaring outward, the hem ending mid-thigh. Nude suede pumps give my legs the appearance of going on for miles.
“One last thing, toots,” he grins, slipping a clutch into my hand. “Voila.”
I would make fun of his excitement, but I’m mesmerized. It’s a rectangle-shaped Prada clutch the exact emerald green as my eyes.
“Honey, if he doesn’t want to unwrap you like a Christmas present tonight, then lord do I need a new career, ‘cause you look sensational,” he croons.
Winking at him in the mirror, I sass, “My heart weeps for those people who don’t have a gay cousin in their life.”
“Amen to that.” He raises his glass before draining its contents.
And at exactly eight o’clock sharp, the downstairs buzzer rings.
“Showtime!” Wyatt shrieks excitedly, pressing the button to allow them inside the building.
When the front door opens, I’m so fucking done for it’s not even funny. Walking into the room in a perfectly tailored black tux, he’s lethal in an entirely different way. He’s a grenade, liable to take out any woman standing close enough to see him. To be honest, I thoroughly consider jumping on said grenade as my duty and sacrifice for all woman in Vancouver tonight.
He doesn’t stop to introduce himself to Wyatt. Instead, he stalks right over to where I’m standing and hooks an arm around my waist, dragging me to him.
“Are you trying to send me to jail?” he rumbles.
I cock an eyebrow at him.
“You look like sin,” he growls into my ear. “You’d bring even the most righteous man to his knees.”
After running my hands up the lapels of his jacket, I lace my fingers behind his neck. “I suppose it’s a good thing you aren’t all that righteous, then. Although I quite like what you can do on your knees,” I purr.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “If you leave my side for even a minute tonight, I will spank you. Do you understand?”
It’s a threat I’m almost all too desperate to have him follow through on. “Yes.”
Stepping away but not releasing me entirely, he resumes the polished side of himself and formally greets Wyatt.
“Before you go, can I get a photo of the two of you?” my cousin asks, his eyes nearly pleading with me.
Apparently, the Saving Hearts Foundation, which Braxton’s mom runs for heart research, is a very big deal. And dressing her only son’s date? Well, I guess that’s a big deal for his career.
Throwing him a bone, I nod. “Of course.” It’s the least I can do for allowing me to borrow this swanky getup for the night.
Once he’s positioned us against the white media wall, he sets up a few lights before picking up his camera. “Just act natural,” Wyatt instructs.
What do I do? Go stiff as a goddamn board. Posing in front of the lens suddenly seems like a lot of pressure.
Braxton’s arm is around my waist as the camera flashes go off. “Babe.” He leans down towards my ear. Tilting my head slightly towards him, I smile as he whispers, “I love you.”
That turns out to be the money shot, as Wyatt would say.
What I don’t realize is how much it will come to cost me.
“Stop it.”
I drag my attention from looking out the window to the knockout sitting beside me. I feign ignorance, but he shakes his head, running his fingers up and down my arm.
“Stop worrying.”
I launch into rapid-fire speech before I can stop myself. “But we barely know each other and I’m a spaz. What if I embarrass myself? Oh god, what if I burp? I burp sometimes, you know. Especially with carbonated beverages, and oh my god, the noises I make when food is good. I can’t help it. I won’t even know I’m doing it. I’m a train wreck and you’re...” I stop to wave my hand up and down in front of his torso. “Well, you’re you. I don’t compare against you.” I finish off my babbling rant by face-planting into my hands.
I’m cracking under pressure. That’s what is happening.
Ignoring my idiotic outburst, he pulls my hands away from my face. “What did I tell you that first day you came into my office?”
I furrow my eyebrows, not sure where he’s going with this.
“I told you I mean everything I say. It’s pointless to speak and use words that have no value. So you will listen to me and know that I mean it when I say my mother will love you. End of story.”
Is it a bit of a brash way to ease a girl’s insecurities? Sure. Do I care? Not in the slightest. It’s who he is.
“We’re here,” Frank announces from the front seat of the Lincoln Town Car.
Apparently, charity galas require another vehicle change. One of these days, I am going to have to ask exactly how many black cars are in the Bennett fleet. Although, honestly, I’m a little afraid of that answer.
Straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders, I press one last kiss on Brax’s full lips before the door is opened and we are led via private entry into the lobby floor of the Shangri La hotel.
For someone who likes to people-watch as much as I do, this event is like a honey hole. My head feels like it’s going to get whiplash from looking at everyone. Some are spectacular, others are drunk, and some just look like they are hiding in plain sight.
Kyle may have been loaded, but he avoided taking me to these events during the time we were together. I think it was some warped sense of self-preservation, like he thought I would sully his reputation or embarrass him.
It can’t be more different with Brax. His hand never leaves the small of my back as we weave through the crowd, and he never fails to introduce me to anyone who speaks with us. I feel treasured. I feel important and loved.
“Braxton, darling!” a female voice croons from across the ballroom.
I steal my gaze from an elderly couple Brax has defended in court against charges of insider trading and shift it to the sound of the voice.
The woman approaching us is utterly stunning. Immediately, I’m aware of who she is. She has short, blond hair, but the grey in her eyes is unmistakeable. She looks polished and brilliant in a floor-length ivory gown, her body dripping in diamonds. I am officially shaking in my pumps.
My time spent within the Davis family clutches did not do well to ease the intimidation I feel in the presence of wealthy, powerful people like the very woman approaching me now.
“Mom,” Brax smiles affectionately, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.
I’m trying to keep my palms from getting clammy as I wait for my introduction. As he promised, my worry was unwarranted.
“Mom, this is Beth,” he says, scooting my reluctant figure forward. “Beth, this is my mother, Lorraine Bennett.”
Swatting her son in the chest, she scolds, “I know who she is, you loon.”
My eyes dart between them when her perfectly manicured hands grasp my shoulders and haul my body to hers.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Beth. You look sensational,” she praises, pulling away from our hug to kiss me on the cheek.
Attempting not to choke on the relief that comes from realizing that she does, in fact, seem to like me, I fall over my words. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Bennett.”
“Oh hush, sweet girl. Lori, please. Now let’s get you two some food, shall we? The cook here is absolutely divine. I guarantee you haven’t tasted anything like it,” she gushes, wrapping her arm around mine.
I hear Brax snicker behind me. Yes, he snickers at the mention of food. No dou
bt recollecting my earlier panic attack about whether or not I’d be able to make appropriate sounds if we had to eat good food. I consider kicking him in the shins but decide against it as to not ruin the first impression that seems to be going remarkably well. Instead, I shoot him a glare as he falls in step beside us as we walk towards the food table.
“I thought I told you not to leave my side,” Brax chides.
Looking up from the sink, I see him behind me in the bathroom mirror. “I’m certain that attending the ladies’ room is the exception to that rule,” I quip.
“There are no exceptions to the rules,” he growls, trailing his hand up in the inside of my thigh.
Gripping the edges of the sink, I make eye contact with stormy pools in the reflection. “Then I broke the rule.”
“Yes,” he purrs. “You seem to be quite fond of breaking my rules, Beth.”
The tone of his demanding voice solicits a wicked reaction from my body. “What is the punishment”—I pause when his knuckle grazes my wet centre—“for breaking the rules?” I gasp, finally able to force the rest of my words past my lips.
Curling his fingers around the lace of my panties, he rips them from my body in one swift movement. The hum of electric from the lust coursing through my veins has my body buzzing.
“Delayed satisfaction,” he threatens—or promises. Which one, I can’t be sure, because at the same time he promises it, his fingers plunge into me from behind.
I press my legs together for what seems like the hundredth time since we left the bathroom. He wasn’t kidding—he worked me close to the brink repeatedly for what seemed like hours, although I imagine it was only minutes, until finally pulling his hand from my dress, licking his fingers, and escorting me back to the party.
It was an effective form of punishment as it stands, because needless to say, I didn’t leave his side again for the rest of the evening.
We are talking to a rather dull investment banker when Frank approaches, whispering something into the ear of the man on my arm. I don’t need to hear the words to know that what he has to say isn’t good. All I need to see is the way Brax’s body morphs in front of me. The cool, charming lawyer is replaced by the wild-eyed beast who craves bloodshed.
