The Bride (The Boss)

by Barnette, Abigail

  CHAPTER THREE

  After the weirdness of our first night in town, our visit was surprisingly stress-free. I showed Neil around what small amount of town there was, and we borrowed Mom’s snowmobile so I could take him out on the trails. It felt good to be home and somewhat back to normal after my long year in London.

  On our last day at Mom’s, we woke to the sound of aggressive scrambled egg making.

  I lifted my head from Neil’s back and squinted through the split wall of the kitchen. “Mom? What are you doing?”

  “I’m making breakfast.” Though the hands on my old Hello! Kitty wall clock said it was only seven-thirty, Mom already wore a full face of makeup. She never let strangers see her sans eyeliner, and she’d even made me sneak lipstick into the recovery room after her gall bladder surgery.

  I rubbed my eye—definitely not perfectly lined and beautifully mascaraed—and sat up. Neil stirred beside me, blinking, and said, “For a moment, I forgot where I was.”

  “You’re at the North Pole, judging by the weather report,” Mom said. “Sorry to wake you up so early, but I thought you might want to get on the road before the snow comes.”

  “Snow?” Neil reached for his glasses on the end table and slipped them on. “I hope we can still fly out this evening.”

  “We’re supposed to get a foot of snow between three and ten tonight,” Mom said, turning to flip bacon in the pan.

  “Perhaps I should call and ask for a revised flight plan?” Neil asked apologetically. “I don’t wish to tear you away from your family, but—”

  “We don’t want to get snowed in, either,” I finished for him. “I totally understand.”

  “Here.” Mom tossed Neil the cordless handset, and he fumbled to catch it. Our cell phone reception was spotty up here. “You can use my bedroom.”

  “Thank you.” He got up and moved cautiously through the furniture that had been rearranged to accommodate the sofa bed.

  When he was out of the room, Mom said in a low voice, “He doesn’t want to get snowed in here with your mother.”

  “Well, would you find the arrangement very comfortable? You guys would have alcohol poisoning in no time.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and began stripping the linens.

  “So, we needed something to loosen us up in the evenings. You put us both in a hell of a situation, Sophie.” Mom pulled bacon out of the pan and dabbed at it with a paper towel. “This is the microwave all over again.”

  Once, when I was a kid, I’d accidentally set my grandmother’s microwave on fire when I used an old plastic cup to make hot chocolate. I had very calmly gone into the living room, sat down, and waited a full minute and a ruined microwave before I’d gotten the courage to casually tell her, “The kitchen’s on fire.”

  Mom was right. This was exactly like that situation, only on a much weirder scale.

  The truth was, I’d always had a problem telling people things I should have let them know. I’d done it before with Neil, when I’d found out someone was sabotaging Porteras. I knew I had to stop doing it.

  “Does it help if I tell you I’m in therapy right now to get over that very issue?”

  She gave me her I-don’t-have-time-for-your-bullshit look.

  “Seriously. Neil and I almost broke up over this kind of thing. I’m working on myself. This is the last time it’s going to happen.” I scrolled through my mental inventory in a panic. Was there anything else I hadn’t told her?

  Neil came back and Mom exchanged the phone for a mug of coffee, which he accepted gratefully. He took a sip. “Brent is going to call me back with an answer within the hour.”

  “So, you’re all going to Norway?” Mom asked over the screeching of the sofa bed frame as I folded it away.

  “Iceland,” Neil corrected her. “Reykjavik. Or, about forty minutes outside. My brother Runólf has a compound on a small private lake. I haven’t seen my brothers in…oh, five years now.”

  My mom laughed and clicked off the stove burners. “Sounds like you and Sophie have a lot in common. I haven’t seen her in a year.”

  I ignored her comment as I folded down the dinette table from the wall and retrieved the folding chairs that went with it.

  “I do apologize for that. We’ll have to have you in New York sometime,” Neil said over the rim of his coffee mug. “Sophie and I are looking for a house at the moment.”

  I cringed inwardly. How had I forgotten to mention that?

  Mom looked from him to me, exhaling the vapor from her e-cigarette. “Sounds serious.”

  Neil took a swallow of coffee. “I consider it so.”

  I reached across the pass-through for the plate of bacon Mom held out. “So do I. We just went through a lot together this last year.”

  “You two seem very happy.” Mom brought the scrambled eggs to the table and sat down. “I’m not going to say I’m thrilled with this, because I’m not. But we’re all adults here, and it’s not my place to tell the two of you what to do. So I’m just going to be grateful that my daughter found someone who loves her and makes her happy.”

  “I’m glad.” Neil smiled, and it was the first genuine smile I’d seen out of him since my confession in the car on the drive up. “Because Sophie is one of the best parts of my life.”

  Mom sighed and unnecessarily stubbed her e-cigarette on the tabletop out of habit. “Just see that you get her out here to see us more than once a year?”

  * * * *

  Our changed flight plan meant we had to leave my mom’s house by nine, so in a flurry of hugs and promising to visit again—as well as an awkward handshake for Neil—we were tearing our way down highway forty-one to Marquette. It was the first time I’d truly appreciated how good he was at driving.

  I don’t know why it would surprise me, since he owned a car magazine. I’d been absolutely astonished when he’d taken me to his garage at a private track an hour outside of London and shown me the fleet of exotic cars he’d amassed over the years.

  We arrived at the tiny airport just as the pilot was finishing up his pre-flight checks. As we walked up the stairway to the jet, Neil’s hand fell to my butt and he gave me a quick squeeze.

  Oh, so it was like that.

  “It occurs to me,” he murmured against my ear, “that you’ve never officially entered the mile high club.”

  “You’re right,” I said with mock surprise. I was well aware of the opportunities we’d missed. Emma had travelled to New York with us on the flight from London. New York to Marquette had been riddled with turbulence, and the pilot had advised us to stay seated the entire time…not that creative things hadn’t been done under a blanket. We’d fooled around the first time I’d flown on his jet, but we’d never gotten a chance to go all the way.

  “Are we going to be rectifying that on this flight?” I asked as I stepped inside.

  Neil ducked through the door behind me. “Well, let me think. New York to Reykjavik is about six hours, add on five from Marquette, and with the weather conditions…” He paused thoughtfully. “Do you think it will give us enough time?”

  “Oh, shut up,” I said with a laugh.

  Our flight attendant, Micky, was a very polished, professional man who appeared to be in his early forties. He took our coats and informed us that we’d made a good call on switching our travel plans: “They are supposed to be getting slammed with snow today.”

  “So we heard,” Neil told him, dropping into one of the seats to unlace his boots. “Please tell me that the catering company came through. I’d hate to spend ten hours in the air without anything to eat or drink.”

  “Everything is on board. Do you have a particular time you’d like the food prepared, or—”

  “No, no.” Neil shook his head. “We’ll let you know. For the most part, we prefer to fly undisturbed.”

  “I understand you perfectly,” Micky agreed, and disappeared into the forward galley.

  I raised an eyebrow at Neil. “He understands you perfectly. Which me
ans he’s used to people getting nasty in midair.”

  “That is exactly what that meant.” Neil kicked his boots off and slumped down in his seat. The jet was set up with three rows of two-across seats, like a regular plane. Two flat-screen monitors were installed, so we could watch movies or check our flight’s progress by GPS, and to the rear of the compartment was a small hospitality station. A pocket door led to a compartment with more seats, and a dining area that converted to a bed for overnight flights. The jet was beautiful and comfortable, but practical; Neil didn’t even keep a full-time flight crew, but hired them when necessary.

  I took the seat next to him and buckled up while the flight attendant closed the door. “Well, I think our visit could have gone worse.”

  “Yes. If you had waited until we were at the door to let me know what I was walking into, it would have gone much worse,” he said wryly. He took my hand and kissed it to let me know he wasn’t as mad at me as he had been. “You know…your mother’s house is terribly small.”

  “I know. It helped me adjust to dorm life and New York apartments.” I snickered at my own joke. I’d been weirdly proud of my trailer-bound childhood when I’d first moved to the city. You think this is bad? I’d say when Holli complained about our dinky NYU dorm. You should have seen my room back home.

  “Would she…” he hesitated, and I knew what was coming. “Would she be terribly offended if we gave her money to build a house?”

  “Neil…we have a lot going on right now. We’re buying a house. You’re paying for Emma’s wedding. At like, the least cheap venue I can think of.” Emma had decided to get married at the Museum of Natural History in New York City, and as the wedding planning had gone forward, the totals had shocked me. Emma’s mother, Valerie, had offered to go halfsies, but she was navigating a messy financial split from her long-time partner, and Neil had insisted on covering three-quarters of the total to reduce her cost.

  “No, the least cheap venue was Lake bloody Bracciano,” he muttered.

  His ex-wife had insisted on marrying in Italy.

  I wondered if his bad marriage to Elizabeth had soured him on tying the knot forever. If that were the case, it was fine by me; I could live happily without ever getting married. Okay, maybe I was sour grapes-ing a little. I had just said no major life changes, but we hadn’t even discussed marriage since the last time he’d brought it up, during his chemotherapy. He wanted to buy a house with me, so I knew he considered us long term, if not permanent. But with all the talk of Emma’s wedding, I’d begun to wonder why my traditional—sometimes infuriatingly so—boyfriend hadn’t mentioned the possibility of one for us.

  “Don’t buy my mom a house. At least, not right now,” I told him, getting back to the original discussion. “She has a lot of pride, and she doesn’t like you very much.”

  “Fair enough.”

  It wouldn’t be the last time the subject came up, I knew. Neil hated running into problems he couldn’t throw money at.

  We fastened our belts for take-off, and once we were safely in the air and had the all-clear, we unbuckled and headed to the rear compartment.

  “No bed?” I asked, trailing my fingers over the tabletop between the two rows of inward facing seats.

  “I don’t think we need one yet,” Neil said, unbuttoning the sleeves of his chambray shirt to roll them back. It struck me that he was dressed pretty much the way he had been the day we’d met, except that beneath the open outer shirt, his tee sported the red, white, and blue target logo of The Who. That day at the airport seven years ago, he’d had on a David Bowie tour shirt. I wondered if he always equated classic rock acts of the seventies with air travel.

  “I have a game in mind,” he continued, sliding the pocket door closed. There was a little latch on it, and he flicked it down. “Are you interested?”

  “Always.”

  “Then get naked and get your ass on that table.”

  “Yes, Sir!” As I readily complied with his order, he took something out of a seat pocket. A deck of cards. So, it really was a game.

  “Is something funny?” he asked, a delicious hint of warning in his tone as he slid smoothly into his role as my Dom.

  I shook my head. “No, Sir. Just anticipation.”

  “If you enjoy anticipation, then you’ll very much enjoy this game.” He slid the cards from their box and shuffled them between his big hands. He waited until I was completely naked and sitting primly on the edge of the table, then he said, “Slide back, bring your knees up, and spread them. If you’d put your heels on the corners of the table, that would be ideal.”

  “But then I’ll be wide open, Sir,” I teased, slowly pushing back and lifting my feet up to rest where he’d indicated. There was such a naughty thrill at being completely naked in a situation where people normally weren’t naked. I mean, I’d never seen anyone so exposed on an intercontinental flight before. Maybe I’d been on the wrong planes.

  “While I explain the rules, I’d like you to stroke your clitoris. One finger only, no penetration,” he added sternly.

  I slipped my middle finger into my mouth and held his gaze as I sucked it down to the knuckle. When I pulled it out, it shined with my saliva, and I reached between my legs to do as he’d instructed.

  He pulled a card from the deck and held it up. It was a seven of clubs. “Clubs, denial.”

  I took a shaky breath. We’d played games with my orgasms before. It was the best—and worst—activity.

  He plucked another card from the center of the deck, glanced at it, put it back, and pulled another. Ace of spades. “Spades, ruined.”

  Ruined orgasms were the worst. But they made every one that came after them so much more intense, because it took longer to get there.

  “Sir?” I asked. “Do the number values on the cards have any bearing, or are we just going by the suits?”

  He considered a moment. “Which would you prefer?”

  I thought about how frustrating a ten of spades would be, and decided, “Let’s just go with the suits.”

  “Numbers for another time, perhaps?” he suggested with a lascivious smirk. He pulled another card. “Diamonds—”

  “Mean I can come?” The hot flush of arousal that pulsed between my legs intensified at the word.

  “Mean I get to decide the action.” He stepped between my legs and traced the edge of the card from my ankle to my knee. “I’ll give you a command, and you’ll obey.”

  “That sounds like just another day at the office,” I challenged him.

  He moved the edge of the card down the slope of my thigh, over my hip and stomach, between my breasts, up to my throat. He dropped the card and gripped my jaw, the rough touch sending darts of desire through me. “Do you want a spanking?”

  I lifted my leg and rubbed my toes across the front of his jeans. “Always.”

  He grinned down at me and leaned in for a languid kiss. I savored his mouth on mine, darted my tongue along his lower lip. His beard pricked my chin, and I rubbed my cheek against his. He released my face and sank his fingers into the hair at my nape. I rolled my clit in slow circles while he kissed me, the shocks of desire there echoed by the delicious tingling in my lips and tongue. My leg caught between us as he pressed me down. When he pulled back, I flexed my foot, feeling the thickness of his erection through his jeans.

  With a maddening half-smile, he picked the cards up again and shuffled them, then withdrew one. “Hearts mean you’re allowed to orgasm. Do you understand the rules of the game?”

  I nodded, my breathing increasing in tempo to match my rising desire. “I understand, Sir.”

  He put the cards down on the table between my legs and drew one from the top. A heart.

  I thought he would be disappointed that his game had so quickly rewarded me. If he was, I saw no sign of it as he brushed my hand away from my mound and spread my labia to expose my engorged, throbbing clit. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, and dropped to his knees to give me a slow lick.<
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  I groaned and leaned on my elbows, letting my head fall back. My hair hung loose, brushing my shoulders, and I sighed happily as Neil’s lips closed over me. He alternated rolling my clit between his fingers and lapping and sucking at it with his tongue. I squirmed against his mouth. After a year together, he knew everywhere I needed to be touched. He could get me off almost as fast as I could get myself off, which made sense, since he’d studied me doing it enough. I whimpered at the intensity that built without faltering, and, mindful that we weren’t alone on the plane, I breathed deeply through my nose to keep from moaning.

  His facial hair chafed my thighs and labia in the best possible way. He slipped a finger into me, and I clutched on him, rocking my hips against his face. He found my g-spot like he’d grown up in the neighborhood, and my hands curled on the polished wood tabletop. My calves cramped and my knees hugged his head. I managed to subdue myself to a low groan as I climaxed.

  He withdrew his finger, but kept the other hand busy on my over stimulated clit as I panted and tried to wriggle away. He took another card and held it up, and my brain registered that it was a spade even as I climbed toward a second orgasm, one I would be cruelly denied at the last possible second. Neil had ruining an orgasm down to a science. My pussy clenched, the sharp edge of pleasure twisting tighter and tighter, and just when I thought I would come, just when I desperately wanted it, he pulled his hand away.

  “No, don’t!” I begged, but I didn’t say “red,” the word I used when I really wanted to stop, so he didn’t give in.

  He laughed low and said, “Oh, Sophie. Begging for mercy? Have we met?”

  I ground my teeth together as he reached between my legs and rubbed me with the tips of his fingers; it was like I’d already had an orgasm, though I hadn’t felt it. “When are you going to draw another fucking card?”

  That earned me a quick, sharp slap to my vulva, and I hissed at the pain.

  “Talk to me like that again and you’ll get worse,” he warned, and my body throbbed in response. It was almost worth it to sass him again, just to see what “worse” meant.