‘It’s amazing how brown you have become in four days.’
I look into his love-drunk eyes. ‘Wait until you see me at the end of the week.’
He leans back on the pillows, eyes half-mast, and watches me slip into a sultry, red knee-length dress with a daring décolleté. I slip on exotic, toe-ring sandals with straps embellished with turquoise stones. I brush my hair, apply mascara and lip-gloss, and dab perfume on to my pulse points.
‘Come here,’ he says.
I cross my arms across my chest. ‘Nope, I’m not having you ruin my primping. You can have me after you feed me.’
He bounds up suddenly, sending me screaming out of the bedroom and through the tall corridor with its gilded panels and oil paintings, then down the grand marble staircase. I stand at the foot of the stairs looking up, laughing and gasping for breath, and ready to bolt outside if he decides to come down after me, but he stands leaning on the banister.
‘There’ll be hell to pay if you keep it for later,’ he calls out.
‘Is that a threat?’
He grins. ‘Consider it an invitation.’
I grin back. ‘In that case, I accept.’
He nods and disappears back down the corridor.
The pool cleaner is right. It has to be the one of the best meals I’ve eaten in my life. It’s when we’re ordering dessert that our trouble starts.
I turn to BJ after ordering my sweet from the waiter, and he is scowling at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Stop fucking flirting with that waiter, or he’ll find his pepper mill sticking out of his fucking ass.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘Does it look like I am?’
‘I wasn’t flirting.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ I say very empathically.
‘So what the hell was all that hair flicking and the “si, si, sei troppo gentile” all about, then?’ he asks changing his voice to a mocking falsetto to imitate mine.
‘That was me being polite,’ I say, getting a bit irritated myself.
‘How would you like it if I did that with the waitress?’
‘I wouldn’t mind at all. Go ahead. Be my guest,’ I tell him.
A look crosses his face. ‘All right. Just remember you started this.’
He looks around and catches the eye of the most attractive waitress in the restaurant and lifts his eyebrow. When she comes to him he gives her a slow smile and asks if she could bring a bottle of their best champagne.
She trots off and he smiles pleasantly at me. I am determined not to react so I smile back.
When she returns, totally ignoring me, he blatantly begins to flirt and laugh with her, blatantly. My blood begins to boil. Yes, it’s true I did flirt with the waiter, but only lightly. He, on the other hand, was almost stripping her naked with his eyes.
At first I try my best not to show how furious I am. I tell myself that he’s doing it deliberately. It’s not like he truly wants her. He’s just punishing me. I briefly toy with the idea of calling the waiter back and flirting in exactly the same way with him. See who cracks first. But I don’t actually want to seriously flirt with another man on my honeymoon.
I could have held on and sat it out with my frozen smile if the quick-eyed slut had not given me a look that was at once pitying and triumphant. A look that said, hey, you’re a fool. Can’t you see what your man is doing? How totally into me he is?
Humiliated, I stand up. I don’t have the car keys. Not that it matters. I wouldn’t dare drive the powerful Maserati he has rented, especially on unfamiliar roads. Fuck him, I would rather walk the five miles back to the palazzo than stay here another second. Both of them turn to look at me. She seems glad that I might be leaving.
‘Going somewhere, babe?’ BJ asks sweetly.
‘Nowhere that concerns you,’ I answer with equal sweetness, and walk out of the restaurant.
Outside, I pause for a moment at the entrance. I am so angry I want to scream. How dare he behave like that on our honeymoon. I start walking fast in the direction we had come from. Fortunately, I am wearing flat sandals. I must have gone 20 yards before I hear the Maserati’s engine idling along beside me.
‘Need a lift somewhere?’
‘What? Not taking your tart back with you?’ I say huffily.
‘Well, well, look who’s all jealous?’ His voice is rich with laughter.
His mirth irritates me. ‘There is a difference between what I was doing and what you were engaging in! I was being polite and you were fucking her with your eyes.’
He laughs. His laughter is like smoke and silk. ‘It’ll take us forever to reach the palazzo at this rate.’
Even though the forecast called for a thunderstorm tonight, I am not prepared for the downpour that begins with large drops of hot rain that smells of dust. A couple fall on my head.
‘Get in, Layla,’ BJ says, his voice silky.
This time I open the door and get in, but I am determined to make him suffer for the humiliation he caused at the restaurant. I am going to give him the silent treatment.
THIRTY
BJ
I steal a sidelong glance at her. She was cute in the restaurant when she was acting all unconcerned while she was burning up with fury inside, but now that she is radiating waves of don’t-touch-me she’s smoking hot. It reminds me of what she used to be like. Having it inside this car with the smell of the thunderstorm raging outside, it’s as sexy as hell.
I need to fuck my new wife.
Through the lashing rain I suddenly see it coming up ahead, a forest. This is it, real freedom, a centuries’ old, living, breathing, magical wonderment. Sometimes we need to let go of life’s shackles and find oneness with nature. Feeling reckless, my dick steering the vehicle, I veer off the motorway and head down a winding country lane. I don’t need to look at Layla to know she is staring at me with narrowed eyes.
‘Why the hell have you left the motorway?’ she asks with a scowl.
‘There’s something I’ve always wanted to do,’ I reply.
She stares at the rain lashing down on the windshield, the continuous streak left by the wipers. ‘Well, whatever it is, count me out. I’m not going out in that rain.’ she says in her best Ice Queen tone.
Excitement surges through my veins. I say nothing. Just stop the car, then make my way around to Layla’s window.
I stand outside for moment, eyes focused on her. The gesticulation of her hands and exaggerated facial expression clearly indicate that she thinks I’m a raving fucking lunatic.
‘It’s bloody pouring,’ she shouts, her voice barely audible.
I swipe at the water streaming down my face. Yeah, like I hadn’t fucking noticed.
‘If you don’t get out now, I’ll drag you the fuck out.’’
Her mouth drops open. A look flares through her eyes. I know that look too well. She’s going to fucking lock me out. Before she has time to react, my hand is on the handle and the door is open. I grab her and haul her out while she struggles like a wildcat.
‘What the fuck has gotten into you?’ she yells in my face.
Her fury is pure bliss against the backdrop of the thunderstorm. It makes my blood sing for her. I let go of her.
And she takes a step back. I watch the rain drench her, her dress becomes transparent. She’s not wearing a bra. Her chest is heaving. Her nipples are as hard as stone. God! My wife is so beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe she is mine. My cock starts straining for release as if it is a loaded missile zeroing in on its target.
Her mouth drops open as it dawns on her exactly what’s on my mind. ‘If you think I’m going to have sex out here in the middle of nowhere after the stunt you pulled in the restaurant as well, you better think again.’
I start to laugh.
‘What’s so bloody funny?’
‘You babe.’
‘You have a sick sense of humor. Letting your pregnant wife freeze to death in the rain,’ she shout
s.
‘You’re not freezing. On a hot steamy night like this, rain is lovely.’ I grab her arms and pull her body tight against me. ‘We,’ I growl in her ear, ‘are going to fuck like we’ve never fucked before.’
‘You HAVE got to be kidding!’ Rain splatters onto her face and flows in her gorgeous mouth.
‘I don’t kid around about how, when, and where I fuck my wife.’
‘I’m not rolling around in the mud while an avalanche of rain is being dumped on me from the heavens,’ she snaps.
‘Why the hell not? What could be more perfect? There’s no one around for miles. It’s hot and steamy. The rain beating down on us will be kinda sexy.’
‘Quite frankly, because you don’t bloody deserve it. How dare you flirt like that in front of me? I was humiliated,’ she spits at me furiously.
‘Next time remember that before you start giving other men the come-on.’
‘Oh!’ She stamps her foot in frustration. ‘I was not giving him the come-on.’
‘Well, in future bear in mind that we have different ideas about what equates to a come-on.’
‘So you’re not going to apologize?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you should.’
‘I think we should have sex.’
‘What about our clothes? How will we get them dried? How will we drive back in this condition?’
I grin. ‘We’ll turn up the temperature in the car and drive home nude,’ I tell her.
‘Oh BJ, this is really crazy.’
‘No, this is exactly what we need.’
Layla raises her eyebrows disdainfully, but she’s not fooling me. Her true resistance is actually gone. She, too, wants to have her hormone-loaded little pussy filled in the rainstorm. ‘I’ve always imagined what it might be like to have wild, animalistic, outdoor sex in a steamy climate. OK, maybe it was without the rain, but right now, that just adds to the fantasy.’
There is a burst of thunder and it startles her. She jumps against me. I take that moment to grab her hand and pull her to the front of the car.
In the glare of the headlights she looks even more fuckable.
Her long hair is plastered to her body, and the outline of her hardened nipples, aching to be free from that dress, is even more pronounced. Naked, spread-eagle, and trapped under me is how I want her.
I move closer to press my rock hard cock into her pubic bone and pull her hair backwards, until she is arched across the hood. For a second I simply stop and look at her, spread out, the rain exploding like liquid bullets on her body. Mist, the steam rising from the hood of the car, surrounds us.
She is a work of art.
Leaning over my Princess, I run a hungry tongue along her slender neck, tracing the stretched muscles. She tilts her head back even further, and looking up at the sky, exhales deeply. Just like that I know she’s ready. It’s surrender, pure and simple.
I use my knees to spread her legs, then trace my hand up the inside of her leg under her dress and rip off her panties in a single action. The tearing sound mingles with the drumming of the rain on the hood of the car. Her body clenches in anticipation. I get a good feel of her pussy quivering and sweet with honey.
Using both my hands I tear her dress open and expose the firm, tanned flesh underneath. For a moment I lift my bulk backwards and delight in the sight of her magnificence, her naked breasts glistening in the rain and her pale stomach just beginning to swell writhing against mine. I place my lips against hers, undo my jeans and yank the clinging material away. Her rain-soaked mouth is sugar. Ah! Layla. Layla. Layla. It was always only you.
How could you be jealous of any other woman?
I move my mouth down to her right nipple, flicking and teasing while I roll the left nipple between my fingers squeezing intermittently. Ever since she became pregnant her nipples have become even more sensitive. The slightest touch is enough to get her going. She groans helplessly while I suck and run the edge of my teeth and tongue across the hard buds. I let my fingers play with the inviting softness of her slickly swollen pussy. She responds by involuntarily raising her head and chest.
I push her downwards to the metal again, spread her thighs wider and put my left arm under her shoulders so I can control her body. I insert two fingers into her honeyed pussy.
‘Yes,’ she moans.
But I don’t give her what she wants. She wants speed, thickness. I deny her both. I keep my fingers moving slowly and using my thumb work her clit, feeling the frustration mounting in her body.
She thrusts her pubic area restlessly towards my hand.
Just as she’s about to climax, I stop and withdraw my fingers from her begging pussy. Rearing back, I swipe the water from my eyes and wrap my mouth around one of her erect nipples. Sucking hard, I plunge my throbbing cock into her depths.
‘Oh. My. God. BJ!’ she screams, her body arching like a pulled bow.
I swoop down on her other nipple and bite it. She screams again. I lift my head and watch the rain flow over the bitten nipple. I move closer and her whole body tenses as I trail my tongue on the other nipple. She trembles with anticipation.
She raises her head and looks at me, water running down her slack features.
‘Were you flirting with that waiter?’
‘No.’ She swallows.
I slide my hands along her wet thighs.
‘Are you sure?’
She nods.
‘Don’t lie to me, Layla. We can’t move from here until you tell me the truth.’
She licks her lips. ‘All right. Yes, I did it to make you jealous.’
I squeeze her thighs and ram my blood-filled dick deep into her.
‘Ahh…’
‘You like that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what is going to happen to you if you do that again?’
She shakes her head.
‘I’m going to fuck you for days. I will fill your belly with my cum and have it running out of every orifice. Do you understand?’
She nods.
‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘Yes. I understand,’ she mutters.
‘Good,’ I say and bite her other nipple. Her mouth opens in a scream and I cover it with mine. I plunge my tongue into her warmth, hook her tongue into my mouth, and suck it hard as I thrust into her.
I feel her pulse change and her muscles tighten around the base of my shaft. I release her tongue. She digs her fingers into my ass cheeks as the erratic spasms of pleasure erupt deep within her body.
‘Oh God,’ she cries, ‘I’m coming.’
I feel her nails embed themselves into my ass, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m oblivious to any pain as I hear her cry out in ecstasy as her orgasm rips through her body.
My cock pulsates and throbs and I drive to the hilt one last time. With a jerk I start filling her pretty little pink pussy with my hot cum. Wrapping her legs tightly around my waist she milks my body expertly.
-You are the color of my blood-
THIRTY-ONE
Layla
My mother says I must have been born under a lucky star: I’ve not experienced any morning sickness. I wanted to carry on working until the baby was due, but neither my family or BJ will stand for it. What’s the point if you are planning on giving it up after the baby is born anyway? I suppose they have a point. Still, I would have preferred it to be my decision.
I stand in the shower, water sluicing down my shoulders onto my braided hair and dripping over my growing belly. In the fast-moving water, my growing mound looks like an eyeball. I imagine his tiny transparent fingers clutching and unclutching at nothing. An animal instinct makes me curve my hands around my belly protectively.
It is a constant source of wonder for me, knowing that a human being resides inside me. I think of his tiny little heart beating, his mouth opening and gulping amniotic fluid. During the ultrasound, it showed as a black bubble in his stomach. But the miracle that makes me smile the m
ost is the thought that every half an hour or so his tiny bladder is emptying. My rude son is peeing inside me!
I wonder what he will smell like, how his story will unfold.
BJ wants to call him Tommy. Over my dead body, I informed him in no uncertain terms. I want my boy to be called Oliver or one of those really cool American cowboy names like Sundance or Texas Jack. At the very least, something proper like Charles or Phillip.
But Tommy is a proper Irish name, BJ insisted.
I love my husband to death, but Tommy? Ugh. No. Never. Like I said, over my dead body. I get out of the shower and rub rich coca butter on my tummy and hips before I get dressed. BJ is in the gym. A one-hour loop of Lost Frequencies Are You With Me is playing in the background. I listen to it so often I am sure my son will be born humming this tune.
The phone rings. It’s the hospital.
‘Mrs. Pilkington?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is St. James Hospital. This is Nurse Mary Varenne.’’
‘Hello.’
‘Dr. Freedman would like to see you and your husband as soon as possible.’
Alarm bells start ringing in my head. I clutch the receiver with both hands. ‘Why?’ My voice is a frightened whisper.
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. But it is urgent that both your husband and you attend his surgery immediately.’
‘What’s wrong with my baby?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Pilkington, but I am just passing on a message. I have two appointment slots available.’
‘Give me the first one.’
‘Can you make it at two o’clock today?’
I swallow. Today! They want me to come in today! Shit! How urgent is this situation? I feel cold inside. ‘Yes. My husband is busy all day. Can I come alone?’
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Page 32
