Cinq A’ Sept

by Mj Fields

  “I loved Elle. And even though I never earned the right, I loved you, too.” He pauses again. “Alfred and Angela are the key to everything you need. Treat them better than I did you. Again, my apologies. And Bass, stay on top.”

  I make love to her. Missionary, eye to eye, chest to chest, body to body, soul to soul. It’s as if I no longer need to prove something, because she’s already mine. There is no reason to fuck her so hard she feels me tomorrow, because I will have her tomorrow … I plan to have her for all our tomorrows.

  I don’t know how much time passes. I don’t care if it’s an hour or a year. I don’t care how many times I make her come. Hell, at one point, I didn’t give a fuck if I came.

  I tell her I love her, I show her I love her, and she takes it and gives it back in return.

  She doesn’t know it, but it’s a first time for me. And I am pretty fucking sure it’s the first time for her, too.

  Lying in bed, tangled in nothing but each other, I look at her. “So, you think you could stick around or do you still want to go back and finish your degree?”

  “I just got a really big raise.” She laughs. “But I’m serious, Bass; I’m signing those shares over to you.”

  “No, you aren’t. The old man put together a system of checks and balances. I agree with his decision.”

  “Well, when you get sick of me—”

  “I’ll be nine hundred and ninety-nine years young and still trying to get you in bed.”

  She laughs then covers her mouth, trying to hide a yawn.

  “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

  “But necessary. I hope you got some closure.”

  “A million questions that will never be answered are a million worries that aren’t necessary. I’m over it. But I do feel like shit about how I treated—”

  She covers my lips with her finger. “Shh …”

  I kiss it. “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  I watch her as she sleeps, still in the guest room. Neither of us have talked about what to do with this place, but I have a million ideas. Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine of them include her naked.

  Before I close my eyes, I look up and whisper to her, to him, and to God, “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bass

  I feel heat and moisture around my cock. It feels so damn good. She’s under the sheet again. I plan to lie here and play possum as long as she keeps sucking and licking me.

  When she wraps her hand around my shaft, I have to pretend it isn’t cold as fuck, but it is.

  Feels so good, so fucking good, to wake up like this. Not just the blowjob, but her. She is as hungry for me as I am for her.

  Her hands are warm now, and my cock is getting slicker with saliva. I want to feel it drip down my shaft and onto my balls.

  I let my knee fall to the side, and she stalls. I try to hide the grin spreading across my face, but when she doesn’t start again, I decide to whisper. “I’m asleep. I think I’m dreaming. It’s a good fucking dream, Bridge. Don’t stop.”

  She licks my head, swirling her tongue around my rim then sucks, hollowing her cheeks. I open my eyes so I can watch her feast on me.

  Reaching down, I push her hair aside, and she looks up at me through her thick, black lashes.

  “Still dreaming.”

  She smiles, mouth full of dick, and I imagine that’s exactly what angels …

  No, scratch that. It’s so wrong…

  “Fuck, get up here.”

  She takes me deeper, sucking harder as she shakes her head back and forth, telling me no. Then she narrows her eyes and squeezes my balls.

  “Good idea,” I groan out as I thrust my hips up. “Stay right there.”

  My cock is hard as nails, her mouth is hot and wet, and she is applying a perfect amount of pressure with her hand. She’s doing every fucking thing right, yet all I want is to be inside her.

  “Babe, please, I want inside—”

  She swallows, her throat squeezing the hell out of me, and my balls are drawing up so tightly it’s nearly painful.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  She’s on her knees now, palms on my thighs, taking me in nearly to the base. It’s so damn hot to watch her.

  I thrust upward, not meaning to, but it can’t be helped. “I’m gonna come.”

  She moans as she sucks up and down faster, and I come once, twice … three fucking times I jet off in her mouth, and each time, she swallows every damn drop.

  After the orgasmic fog lifts, I look down at her. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  She smiles. “Last night.”

  “So, I go soft and smooth and you go wild on me?” I sit up, grab her under the arms, and pull her onto my lap.

  “One good turn deserves another.”

  I squeeze her ass. “Just good?”

  She squeals. “Great. Amazing. Epic.”

  “Good morning.” I kiss her swollen lips.

  “Great morning.”

  “We missed the sunrise.” I kiss the crook of her neck.

  “Then we’ll have to make the sunset.”

  I hear her stomach growl.

  “Shit, when is the last time we ate?”

  “We had coffee yesterday, pastries late afternoon, and I think—”

  “Not fucking cool.” I pick her up and set her beside me. “I’ll go make us something.”

  “You’ll upset Pierre. He likes to feel useful.”

  “Then I’ll go request breakfast,” I say, stepping into my pajama pants. Then I reach for my shirt.

  “Could you just leave that off today?”

  “I will if you leave your bra off.”

  She grins. “Deal.”

  After requesting breakfast, I head back upstairs and hear her talking to Natasha. I love that part of her—the mother, the care and concern, her heart.

  Regret strikes me. I wish I could have a child with her. Then regret fades just as quick as it came.

  If I have it my way, we will summer at Maisie’s with Natasha and help so many others grow into better than they could have imagined.

  “I’ll have to check my schedule. I’m not sure if I’ll be here this weekend.”

  “Make it happen, Mom. We have so much more to see. Maybe I can come there and see the Eiffel Tower.”

  I walk in and stand at the end of the bed, nodding.

  “I can’t promise that, sweetheart, but I will certainly let you know soon, okay?”

  “Okay. I love you. Chat soon.”

  “Love you, too. Chat soon.”

  As soon as she’s off the phone, I dive onto the bed and pin her to it. “Tell her yes.”

  She smiles. “We can’t hole up here forever. We have a new line coming out, and we’re behind.”

  I roll to my side. “We can take a week. We have Mona’s line. It’s good.”

  “I agree, but—”

  “But nothing. I want to meet your daughter.”

  The way her eyes widen is humorous.

  “She’ll like me, I promise.”

  “I’m sure she will. You’re more her age and gorgeous.” She pulls her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t think that through.”

  “Then don’t think.”

  She gives me the aw-you’re-cute look. “I don’t have that luxury.”

  I give her the same look and add a pat to the top of her head. “You absolutely do.”

  She flops back and stares at the ceiling.

  “Are you pouting?”

  “What? No.”

  “You sure are. Which, by the way, is not a mature move. Me, on the other hand, I’m ready to meet the daughter of the woman I love. Hell, I’m even ready to tell her how much I love her mother and that I plan to make sure we spend the rest of our …” I stop when the door is opened.

  “Are you decent?”

  “Yes, Alfred.”

  “Oliver has been trying to contact you. It’s Maisie.” He pushes
the door open the rest of the way and steps in.

  I grab my phone and see it hasn’t charged. “Fuck.”

  “Use mine.”

  “I don’t know his fucking number.” I run my hand through my hair. “Shit.”

  “Alfred, can you text me his number?” she asks.

  “Yes, of course.”

  As soon as the message comes through, I open it and hit the number. Oliver answers immediately. “Angela?”

  “No, it’s me.”

  “Jesus, man, what the hell?”

  I close my eyes, “Is she okay?”

  “No, she’s in the hospital. She had a fucking stroke.” For a man who has seen so much tragedies, the worry in his tone shakes me.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Get here.”

  “I will. Do we have a jet?”

  “Yeah, you haven’t fired ’em all yet, Trump.”

  “Fuck you,” I huff.

  “And we have another problem.”

  “Maisie’s priority.”

  “Yeah, well, Mona is pulling out.”

  “What?” I hit speaker and look at Angela.

  “Yep, your first kiss, the blowjob queen, got to her.”

  Angela gives me a questioning look.

  “Ines.”

  “No shit. I was there. We were seventeen, and she was a hundred.”

  Angela’s face starts to turn red.

  “Good job, asshole; you’re on speaker.”

  “Good morning, Angela.”

  “Hi, Oliver.”

  “Any ideas on who we could get to design an entire line and have it ready in … fucking tomorrow?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Just worry about Maisie.” Angela squeezes my hand tenderly.

  “I have an idea.” I nod. “But that means I go, and you stay.”

  “That’s fine.” She nods.

  “But I don’t wanna leave you.” I lean in and kiss her.

  “It’s Maisie.” She squeezes my hand again.

  “You have an hour and a half to get to the airport. Can we end this call? I’d prefer you two leave me out of the bedroom,” Oliver grumbles.

  In the car, I immediately call Oliver. “How is she?”

  “She can’t move her left arm. She’s fixated on worrying about you. I assured her that you are fine and that you and Bridge were in Paris. She’s rambling about Ines.”

  “Is she going to …?” I pause because I can’t say the words.

  “Yeah, man, she is. But—”

  “I’m coming. But if you can handle it for a couple more hours without me, I need to make a stop in London.”

  “I’ll be fine, but why?”

  Looking down at a sketchpad full of beautiful designs, I smile. “I have a designer I need to speak to.”

  An hour and ten minutes later, I’m walking into the London College of Fashion with a sketchpad in my hand and a knot in my stomach. Then I’m ushered into a conference room where I wait for them to bring me my new designer.

  When the door is opened, the dean of students walks in. “Mr. Josephs, Miss Petrov is here.”

  I stand when Natasha walks in the room and looks up at me.

  “Um, hi?”

  I extend my hand, and she blushes. “Natasha, I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” she says barely above a whisper.

  “We all set then?” the dean asks.

  I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

  When the door is closed, I wave to the seat across from the one I was sitting in. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure?” She sits down and folds her hands in her lap, looking down at them, her hair shielding her face.

  “So, you said you know who I am. Your mother and I—”

  “Uh, yeah, but I’m sure she wouldn’t want me talking to you about it. She didn’t even mention it on the phone.”

  “Mention?”

  She reaches in her bag on the floor and grabs her phone. She hits a couple of buttons then pushes it across the table.

  I look down. “Well, shit, this just got awkward.”

  “You don’t say.” She shakes her head and starts chewing on her nails.

  “Well, yeah.” I almost start chewing my damn nails, too, but I stop myself. “So, I’m in love with your mother.”

  “Dude, you’re what? Twenty-five?”

  “You certainly are your mother’s daughter,” I make a seriously shitty attempt at humor.

  She looks up at me, unamused.

  “To make it even more awkward, I will tell you that I don’t care about age and the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  She scrubs her hand over her face then looks around the room.

  “I can see you’d rather be anywhere else but here at the moment.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Okay, look.” I pull her sketchpad out of my bag and push it across the table. “This is amazing.”

  “Does she know you’re trying to get her kid to like you by pretending to be interested in her drawings?”

  This is un-fucking-believable.

  “Well.” I laugh “As a matter of fact, she hasn’t a clue I’m here, and it’s probably going to piss her off.”

  “Well, that’s pretty ignorant on your end.”

  “I’d agree, but here’s the reality of it. Your designs are amazing. We just had a new designer bail on us. We have a show in less than a month, and these, these are better than hers were. I’d have discussed it with Angela, but I thought I had a better chance of getting you to agree.”

  She shrugs and whispers, “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Not as well as I hoped.”

  She looks up. “I’m a student.”

  “I’m aware. And I know it will be time-consuming, but I did speak to the dean, and he agreed to let it be part of your senior project.”

  “You know I’m a freshman, right?”

  “Yes, Natasha, I’m know. But your talent goes beyond your age. Just as my heart doesn’t see years. Neither are explainable, but both are true.”

  “Can you please pick what it is you’re doing here? Trying to sell me on your love for my mother so she’ll, what, sleep with you or something?”

  I want to die.

  “Or get me to design a line so she’ll …” She pauses. “Same desired outcome, I assume.”

  “You aren’t making this easy, huh?”

  “She isn’t a toy.”

  “I never played with toys.”

  “Ew, TMI.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Shit, this is really not going well.”

  “Right?”

  I look up. She’s not looking down anymore. I really hope that means she feels more comfortable.

  Fuck it.

  “Natasha, I haven’t given a shit if someone liked me or not since … hell, school. But I’d really like it if you did.”

  She crosses her arms and looks me over. “Is that a Rolex?”

  I hold up my wrist. “This? Yeah.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “What?”

  She stares me in the eyes. “Give it to me.”

  Fuck it. I take it off and slide it over to her.

  She picks it up and looks at it, drops it on the floor and stomps on it three times.

  What in the hell?

  “Did that mean something to you?” she asks.

  “No, not really.”

  “Give me something that does.”

  We stare at each other for a few moments, and then she starts to stand.

  “Well, I guess you’re not interested.”

  “I see what you’re doing, but nothing material has ever meant shit to me. My word means shit to me. People mean shit to me.”

  “My mother means everything to me.”

  “Then we have something in common.”

  She walks toward the door.

  “Natasha, please.”

  She turns back. “I have a class to get to. My education means shit to me.”

  �
�Great, then we have something else in common. Please, I have about twenty minutes before I have a plane to catch back to the Hamptons. The woman who did what my parents couldn’t is ill and needs me.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Where?”

  “Fuck.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re syphilis guy?”

  “Wow, that just doesn’t sound right.” I look up. “A little help here?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I shake my head. “That will not strengthen my cause.”

  “Well, it can’t hurt it, syphilis guy.”

  “Do you believe in angels, Natasha?”

  Nothing. Not a damn reaction.

  I swear to God I’m starting to sweat.

  “I do.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Please give me ten minutes of your time.” I sit back down, hoping she will do the same.

  “So, you really want my designs or are you really into my mom?”

  “Both.”

  “You’re young enough to know what the internet is capable of, syph—”

  “My name is Bass, and I’ve never had syphilis,” I interrupt.

  She holds back a smile.

  “I met your mom in the Hamptons. Neither of us knew each other, and we played a little game.”

  “If this is gonna get gross, I don’t want to hear it.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Not gross, but confusing.”

  She walks over next to the chair. Progress.

  “I saw her on the beach. She kicked off her shoes. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I asked her …” I pause. “She, um …”

  “Skip that part.”

  “The part when I may have said something inappropriate and she may have walked away?”

  She sits down and smiles. “Yeah.”

  “As luck would have it, she left her shoes. I picked them up and followed her.”

  She sits back in the chair.

  “Some dick was hitting on her, and she saw me with her shoes. We danced.”

  “On the beach?”

  “An outdoor bar deck.”

  She smiles.

  “I tried to convince her it would be fun to just pretend we had just graduated college and had not a care in the world.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew I wanted her from the minute I saw her, and she was carrying a lot of stress. I wanted it gone, just as much as I wanted mine gone.”