by Pamela Ann
Eyeing him warily, I accusingly glared at him. “How often do you spy on me?”
He grinned as if he found my panic-stricken expression amusing. “Twice in the past week. Before that? Never.”
“I didn’t realize I married a stalker.”
He raised one elegant brow before chuckling. “You married the best stalker in the world, babe.”
Babe.
He said babe…Steady, my idiot heart. Don’t fall for it!
“Well, as long as you’re not overstepping any boundaries like spying and masturbating to my naked body, then I’m all for making sure I’m safe and sound.”
He looked scandalized. “You wench!” he widely grinned. Then I saw his gaze flicker to the tray Reina brought in before dipping a finger and scooping a copious amount of whipped butter and hopping on the bed.
I screamed as I tried to block him with a pillow. But he was too strong. He swiftly yanked the pillow out of my hands before he used his buttered finger on my face, wiping it all over my face and neck.
“Jared!” I squealed with delight.
“Butter mask.” He licked his notorious finger. “Tastes good, too.”
My eyes grew like saucers, quite turned on and aghast that he licked his finger from the butter. “That was my breakfast!”
“There’s still jam…” he taunted, mischievous. “What do you want me to do with it?”
Smear it all over my body and lick it off of me slowly.
Jesus. What the hell? How am I always so horny when he was around? Blushing, I avoided his gaze. “Stop it,” I said unconvincingly.
It’s as if he knew where my lurid thoughts were leading me to, so he dropped the subject.
“Wyatt…Are you guys dating?” his question caught me off guard.
Did he intend to hack into Wyatt’s electronics as well? I couldn’t be sure. With Jared, it was hard to decipher what his intentions were.
I glared at him, incredulous. “I have butter all over me, and you want to talk about Wyatt?”
His eyes gleamed as they lingered on my face, appreciating his damn artwork before he slid off the bed, strode into the bathroom, and ran the shower. Unexpectedly, he plucked me out of the bed and carried me towards the glass shower. The water began to steam the glass, and we both stepped in there, clothes and all.
“I’ll help you wash off,” he said with an innocent look about him. Then his hands grasped the end of my slip before lifting it off my body.
“Jared…What are you doing?” I cautiously asked, aroused beyond recognition. “Last night…You said a lot of things.”
“I did,” he responded, leveling his eyes with mine as if he was trying not to look below and ogle my heaving breasts so close to him. “I meant every word.”
“Then why are you doing this?” Maybe he liked to play with fire…or the simple fact that maybe I’m an easy target. None of which made me feel any less rotten.
“I’m taking care of you,” he stated as if it was a given. Without further addressing it, Jared simply got to business. He squeezed a facial scrub before he softly began to rub it all over my butter covered face. A massive grin spread across his face as he took in the sight before him. “Aww, you look like one of those people from children of the corn.”
I pinched his side.
He guffawed even more. “No, I swear you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
I couldn’t help but join in the laughter. “You tease me too much.”
“If you didn’t look so cute, maybe you wouldn’t be an easy target.” He scooped warm water from the running spray before carefully rinsing my cheeks then the rest of my face.
My eyes dropped to his blatant hardness. Even if his pants were still on, they hid nothing from me. Jared wasn’t unaffected, after all. My naked body aroused him, too. “Oh, look, your mini me is up.”
He snickered. “Please don’t insult it by calling it mini anything.”
The sight of his hardness made me delirious. But to keep the banter going, I best not ponder how I could seduce him right this instant. We were having such a laugh that I didn’t want to ruin it. So, as much as I hated it, I had to steer to light fun.
“Aww, don’t tell me mini me has self-esteem issues, too? Poor thing. I recommend a visit to a psychologist. It’ll address whatever inadequacies it has.”
His loud laughter was music to my ears. “Ah, how I long to punish you. Spanking that nice round ass would be an honor.”
Spank me. Do me however you like…please? Would he back off if I spun around and wiggled my ass in front of him? He just might.
Damn. My frustrations were getting the best of me. Le sigh.
“They say people who apply pain before sex try to make up for their lack of”—I bit my lip, holding back a laugh before finishing my sentence—“significance.”
“I do so because it pleases me, as does my partner.” Something lethal sparked in his blue depths as he pinned them on me. “Pain adds a unique dimension to sex. It makes every little bit more exciting.” He stepped closer to my naked figure until his bare chest pressed against my aching nipples. His menacing eyes didn’t let up. I was spellbound. His alone for the taking. My legs thoughtlessly parted, inviting him to take a chance.
“I’m a well-endowed man. For me to fully enjoy a woman’s body, I have to have my entirety inside her walls, and to achieve that, the woman has to be above and beyond aroused. Pain is necessary. Both parties reap the rewards quite significantly.” He ground his covered cock into my wet center, evoking a sharp cry from me. “Tell me, does it feel insignificant to you?”
My mouth ran dry. I was parched and aroused at the glorious feel of him. I swallowed what little saliva I had left as I pressed my aching core against his hardness. “God, no…you feel…God, you feel so fucking good.”
“Why do you like to goad me?” He made a devilish smile, basking in my awe-like expression before pulling away completely.
What a tease. Why couldn’t he pull the trigger and ravish me on the spot? Trying not to show my disappointment, I attempted to play it off. “Your face...when I do it, it’s priceless. I never see you laugh, and I feel like it’s my obligation and contribution to the rest of society to remind you that you’re still human, after all.”
“Is that so?” he mused with a sexy tilt of his head.
“Like you, I can’t help it if you’re an easy target.”
He let out a boisterous laugh. “Touché.” When he sobered up, his twinkling eyes danced before me, spreading heat all over my body. We shared a moment. Jared cleared his throat, breaking the spell that he and I had been under a second ago.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up so I can shower, too,” he offered, seemingly serious all of a sudden.
Licking my lips, I eyed him incredulously, challenging him. “What’s wrong with sharing it with me?”
His throat bobbed, and his blue eyes darkened before dropping below, ogling my bosom with unconcealed hunger. “I don’t trust myself to be naked around you.”
“Yet you have no reservations of stripping me as if you have every right to do so.”
“I do have every right…” he cheekily stated before giving my ass a loud whacking. I yelped before I felt him begin to wash my hair. Then he proceeded to the rest of my body. He was careful not to touch me intimately. He was soaked, as were his pants. His blatant arousal was prominent between us, but he kept to his word. He didn’t undress until I was out of the shower. But before I walked out of the bathroom, I took a quick peek at his magnificent member. And I wished I hadn’t. It only reminded me of what Rose was enjoying.
We found a common ground, teasing and joking after yesterday’s strenuous argument. I supposed last night’s embrace was his version of apologizing. And I’d rather have this with him…It was less threatening.
Yeah, it was definitely better this way.
My hair wrapped in a towel, I donned another slip before reclining back on the bed and beginning to eat my breakfast.
Instead of enjoying butter on my toast, I opted for the fresh black currant jam.
It was right after my first sip of coffee when Jared emerged from the bathroom with merely a towel wrapped around his hips to cover his crowned jewels. His hair was wet, as if he barely took any effort in drying it.
“Do you want me to get another towel to dry your hair?”
He shook his head. “I love the feeling of water evaporating off my skin.” Instead of going back to his bedroom to change, he copied my position and sat on the bed before he stole my toast. He ate it in one bite.
“Ugh, you stole my food!”
“Bite me,” he muttered, provoking me further. “Can you make me another?” he asked before he took a sip of my coffee.
I glared at him, trying not to smile before I did as he asked. “If you’d told me you were hungry, I could’ve asked them to bring more food.”
“Nah, no need.” He shrugged. “I can always eat off yours.”
Fuck, why is he so fucking sexy? I want him—all of him. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
He winked at me.
I almost died.
“You’re going on a date with him. Again.” He stated in a matter of fact tone. His jovial demeanor shifted to analyzing. “Things are getting serious?”
“Not in the way you mean. Don’t spy on me when I go. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I have to watch what I say.”
His deadpan expression was trained on me, compromising. “I won’t have to if you give me updates of your location.”
“Is that really necessary? Aren’t you going over the top?”
“Like I said, when it comes to you, I take everything seriously.” He downed the rest of my coffee. “Time to head to the basement. Your father wants to go over something with our new project. Can I expect to see you at lunch?”
I nodded while gazing at him adoringly.
“Thanks for breakfast, wife.” He grinned. The kind where it shifted my axis and no one else mattered but him.
I sighed. “Anytime.”
14
Gisele
Things with Jared became less tense from then on. We’d bait and banter. Our friendly banters sometimes could get messy, but we’d end up laughing our butts off. I admitted it was nice having him in my life, though not in the way I had once imagined. Still, I appreciated him all the same. When the sun set and the night set in, he’d continuously sleep holding me close, never releasing me until it was time to head to work. He never explained why he did it, so I chose to ignore it as well. We were adjusting, and I supposed, I was simply relieved that the arguments had ceased for the time being. Anything to keep the peace, I was all for it. So, when he came home late or if I spotted a lipstick stain on the back of his neck, I dared not voice out anything because I didn’t want to rock the calm environment we currently shared. In some ways, my silence was a huge sign I was slowly letting him go, too.
Every night, once my father finished discussing work with Jared, we’d spend about an hour before he rested. A couple of those nights were spent stargazing on the balcony, but once it got too cold for him, we stayed indoors. After the past nights I spent with him, I simply couldn’t skip these cherished moments, so I figured we’d pursue something that we both enjoyed but without needing him to participate. The Fountain by Darren Aronofsky was one of our favored books. I read to him like I used to when I suffered from severe stuttering. My father was a devout believer of practice makes perfect, so I sat across his work table every night without fail. The reading sessions went on for an hour. It took a whole year until my speech disorder slowly disappeared.
“You brought so much love and happiness to our lives, my little one. Never forget me or your mom. Remember the great memories we shared. I love you, my darling girl,” he softly murmured before closing his eyes.
“I love you, too, Papa.”
He couldn’t stay awake past chapter two before exhaustion finally set in. My heart ached each time my eyes grazed his pallor. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could vividly picture him so full of life, bouncing off ideas to the next person, lecturing me about the importance of purpose and finding’s one’s passion. Life worked in such mysterious ways; one couldn’t fully know what tomorrow might bring. And even though his time was numbered, my father lived a brilliant life, the way he envisioned it.
Little did I realize it was the last time I’d get to spend time with him. My father peacefully passed away in his sleep. He died with a smile on his face, as if relieved to be free from carrying the burden on his shoulders.
Seeing the peaceful smile on his pale face was like a balm for the heavy pang in my heart. Upon learning the news, Blair and Vivienne immediately came home to be with me. We rallied once one of us needed love and protection. Without their silent strength keeping me together, I wasn’t sure how I’d manage going through the private memorial and burial.
Jared deflected the attention from the grieving only daughter to the new head of the company. He also succeeded in limiting the media coverage by keeping my pictures from being plastered anywhere. He simply took charge without needing to be told, and for that, I was forever grateful.
Jared and Thomas worked together to arrange everything without troubling me. My input would’ve been appreciated, but I couldn’t for the life of me muster enough brain energy to figure out what food we should serve the guests.
Most of my father’s colleagues and the particular ones he mentored shed a lot of tears. Jared, who seemed composed all the time, had moisture in his eyes. Though he hadn’t openly spoken about it, I knew Peter Weber was the closest thing he had to a father, too. But unlike me, he was functional and could efficiently mobilize by taking charge.
Wyatt Rinaldi was also in attendance, but it was so hectic I barely had the chance to properly speak to him. Besides, with Blair around, I hardly wanted to tempt attention drawn towards her. His sister was perceptive, and she was too sharp not to pick on the tension I had with him.
A childhood friend unexpectedly showed up. Dexter Berg graduated from Harvard and was home to jumpstart his own law firm. Seeing a friendly face amongst the sea of strangers was a welcome sight. However, after an hour’s worth of polite sentiments, sympathies and condolences, I quietly retreated to my bedroom, selfishly leaving Jared, Thomas, Vivienne, and Blair to take care of the guests.
I couldn’t stand there any longer, enduring their pitiful stares or fake notions of friendship. Some even had the audacity to wonder how much of my father’s estate I’d be inheriting. Why should I withstand their presence when I could barely stand my own company?
It was the second night after the funeral. School was in five days, and for the life of me, my addled brain was too unfocused to even fathom going to Stanford. I was majoring in Computer Science, minoring in Psychology, but at the rate my brain fog was progressing, I doubted anything could register and absorb in my head. Heck, it was so beyond disconcerting that even reading a nutrition label felt as though I was deciphering Morris code. The idea of overloading my mind with database systems, algorithms, and software engineering would unquestionably inflate my seemingly incapacitated brain. Aggravating, it ensures setting off all the stressors in my body.
Then again, as much as I dreaded the thought of school, I knew my father would be highly disappointed if I used his death as an excuse to miss classes. He rarely demanded things from me, but missing school mainly triggered his wrath. My father never raised his voice even when furious. Instead of yelling, Peter Weber would properly use a chilling voice—one encumbered with silent threats—successfully implementing it with a cutting glare, shriveling any happiness in me. I comprehended since first grade that pretending to have a fever wouldn’t cut it with my parents. Unless I was close to dying, missing a school day was out of the question. According to my father, it was as good as betrayal could get for him. Rather unconventional, but he disciplined me not to surrender when the going got tough.
Five days to train my mind. Surely,
the timeframe was enough to accomplish such a task, right?
“You really need to start eating, Gisele.” Jared’s concerned tone broke me out of reverie.
I blinked a few times.
“I’m trying,” I said without glancing at him. The formal dining area felt too barren of warmth. He rigidly sat across from me. My father’s empty chair left a gaping hole in our little dynamic. It sucked the energy out from between us. And I knew we simply couldn’t go on like this. Something had to be done. Tomorrow, I’d like to suggest to Thomas that I’d truly appreciate it if we could dine in the kitchen, instead. He’d be displeased; he loathed impropriety, but what the hell? It was either that or I’d request a tray in my room. The latter did not appeal to me at all.
“You had a bite off a sandwich all day. That’s hardly considered a meal,” he grumbled. Nothing ever escaped his hawkish attention to detail.
“You can’t force me to eat.” Eyeing him waspishly, I was about to blow my gasket when his worried face truly dawned on me. Did he believe I intended to kill myself through starvation?
I’m in mourning, not suicidal!
For the first time in days, cerulean blues sparked fire again. “I won’t have to. I’ll bring in the big guns to force feed you.”
Big guns? Yeah, nice try, Aussie man. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Try me.” His menacing eyes didn’t waver from my sullen appearance. “I’ll warn Blair and Vivienne if you don’t finish half of your dinner.”
Big guns, ha. He was beginning to grasp the simple makings of my life. He knew my friends meant the world to me. And he understood after spending time with them that they could be downright insufferable when given leverage. They’d been pestering me, and Jared’s call for emergency assistance would only fuel their over-the-top smothering.
Halfheartedly, I began to lift the fork, pierced a piece of lamb chop, and brought it to my mouth. The thought of food made me want to hurl, but if I didn’t get my act together, Jared surely would exhibit how he could easily make my life hell. Not that I didn’t love my friends, but I could do with some solitude and much needed silence.
