The Cousins Series Boxed Set

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  I place my hands at the base of her throat and pull her back for a long kiss. Her response is hesitant at first, but after a few seconds, I feel her body melt into mine. Like it always does. As if it's just where it belongs. Intertwined with mine. I explore her mouth with my tongue. Making sure to revisit all it's nooks and crannies. Ending it with a soft pull of her top lip.

  "I missed you, Duchess."

  "Me too," she replies immediately.

  I pull my head back to take a long look at my girl. Elizabeth has been mine for almost a year now, and I want her more each day than I did the day before. I hate feeling like this sometimes, because I've always despised distractions. And Elizabeth has to be the biggest distraction I've ever experienced in my life. But I wouldn't do a thing to change it. In fact I pray almost everyday that I don't fuck it up. I fought really hard to get her, for her to accept her feelings for me, and to not worry about what others would think of how we met. How we're related. But sometimes I feel as if I'm fighting twice as hard to keep her.

  Her parents still aren't fucking okay with me, which I know has to be tearing her up inside, even though she will never admit it. The old man even kind of mentioned that if I really loved Elizabeth, I'd be doing whatever I could to make it right. It's not like I don't think about fixing this shit with her parents, but in all honesty, I don't see why we need their approval to be together. We're grown. And frankly I can't change who my father is, which seems to be the bigger issue.

  Her friends seem to be okay about us, but it's obvious that we won't be doing a lot of double dates or group outings with most of them. They're all fresh college grads that come from good homes. Normal homes. I'm from the streets. They've all got some sort of entry level job or are in graduate school, and I'm far beyond them with enough money to live on for the rest of my life if I invest wisely. And that doesn't make me feel superior to them, or inferior, it just makes us very different; in very different places in our lives.

  While I know how to make money, I don't know shit about how to make money doing what Elizabeth does. I'm flying blind in that world, and sometimes it bothers the hell out of me. I wish I could help her build a million dollar tech business, but I don't seem to be much help in that department. Not in the way she needs it. She needs a few ridiculously smart computer geeks on her team, or a high-powered publicist to spread the word about the app; not someone with my particular skill set. I could probably buy her those things (in particular a high-powered publicist), but I know she wouldn't accept them. She's very independent in that way, which I totally respect. So until she needs me to punk the shit out of someone, or blackmail someone, I'm basically useless to her.

  "What happened today?" she asks.

  "This skater boy in the park was making a spectacle of himself by belittling his girl, and I couldn't take the shit anymore. No one else bothered to step up to say anything to him, but you could tell everyone wanted to kick his ass."

  "That's interesting."

  "What is?"

  "Did he hit you first?"

  "Hell no!" I say it like she's lost her mind. Then I pay closer attention to her facial expression and the meaning behind it. "What? You don't approve?"

  "You never do stuff like this. You never seek out a confrontation. Not unless it has to do with work, and even then you try to avoid getting physical."

  This woman puts me on a pedestal that I don't deserve. She doesn't have an exactly accurate idea of what I do and what I don't do.

  "I was standing up for the girl. Women's rights and all that good shit. I thought you'd be proud."

  "I think being proud would definitely be overstating how I feel about this hand," she says as she finishes wrapping my knuckles in a bandage. "Clearly you sucker punched him. That's not necessarily heroic or necessary."

  Her words eerily remind me of similar ones said to me by my high school counselor.

  "Are you fucking serious right now?"

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  "What's going on with you?" I ask. I didn't expect a ticker tape parade, but I can't say that I totally expected this reaction.

  "What?" she replies nonchalantly, using very poor acting skills.

  "You're in there cooking, and let's be honest, babe, you don't do a lot of cooking. Plus, you're acting like I just committed a crime, when all I did was do the world a damn favor. So what's going on? Second time I'm asking," I warn.

  "Well there are a couple of things on my mind I guess."

  "Talk."

  "Well the first thing isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it's a great thing. You know that coder I hired a while back to work for me virtually? Well he's recently moved here to Philly. That's who I've been meeting with the last two days. We'll be able to work together in person and on a regular basis here at the house. I'll definitely get a lot more accomplished this way. You know how hard it is to work virtually with coders sometimes."

  She's practically puking words. Trying way too hard to convince me. I don't like this shit one single bit.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Remember that this was always the plan, Roman. Hiring someone who I could work with here in the house."

  "I remember," I say icily. "It was my fucking plan."

  I just didn't foresee the plan playing out quite this way. I don't know jack shit about this guy who she's hired to work for her, because I promised her that I wouldn't interfere in her business. Just like she doesn't interfere in mine.

  They've worked together for a while, but most of it was through chats and Skype, so I never felt the need to do a full background check on him. But him moving here. And her telling me after the fact. That's something totally different, and that's not something I can honestly say that I can just let ride. There are too many unanswered questions about the whole shit.

  Did he move here specifically for her? For this job? Do they talk about more than work shit? Is he single? What does he look like? Is he attracted to her?

  Wait, I've just bumped my head and lost my damn mind. Of course he's attracted to her. He's a man, and Duchess is a man's wet dream.

  "I'm going to need to run a check on him obviously," I say to her. "What's his name?"

  "Really, Roman?"

  I ignore the attitude.

  "What's his fucking name?"

  "I've mentioned it to you a thousand times. Now you want his name again, because he's moving here?"

  "Do I have to ask a third time?"

  "Blake! His name is Blake Harrison," she yells.

  "Now what else did you have to tell me?"

  "Sloan got a promotion."

  "And why the hell would I care about that?"

  Elizabeth hits me on the shoulder.

  "Because she's my best friend idiot, and because the two of us are going out Friday night to celebrate."

  "Friday," I say stoically.

  Fridays belong to us.

  Elizabeth calls them our "date nights." I call them our go out and do something, before I fuck her senseless nights. This is something we organically established about two months ago. Something I watched the old man do with Juliette, and I figured that out of all the things he's done wrong, at least my father got his relationship with Juliette right. So I don't mind following that blueprint, even if I never will admit to the shit.

  "Her idea no doubt," I grumble.

  That bitch Glamazon is always plotting against me.

  "I know what you're thinking, but Sloan's whole team is taking her out to celebrate, and she invited me to go too. I couldn't very well pick the day. Most office employees go out at the end of the week. It's just one Friday. We'll have plenty more."

  Elizabeth talks to her whacked out Barbie doll girlfriend every damn day on the phone. Do they have to hang out on our night too? I'm going to have to remind the Glamazon of who the fuck I am in a little bit. I've let her get away with entirely too much meddling, and I'm sick of her shit.

  "Am I invited?" I ask.

  As if I was really going to fucking go, but whe
n Elizabeth turns her lips up as if I'm being ridiculous for even asking, the shit rubs me the wrong way. At least give me the chance to say no.

  "Well am I?"

  She huffs. "Why would you want to go? You barely like Sloan, and you definitely don't like any of the people she works with. You wouldn't have a good time."

  The brush off.

  "Am I your dirty little secret, Elizabeth?" I jest. Sort of.

  "Oh please. You're hardly anybody's secret. Her whole office knows who you are. You've made sure of that on more than one occasion."

  I chuckle to myself. That's true. I know all about that horny Thomas asshole Sloan works with who's been after Elizabeth since forever. I warned him once to stay the fuck away from her, but he's not a good listener. So I've had to make an appearance a few more times to remind him and anyone else who's considering making a play that Elizabeth belongs to me.

  "So I'm not invited? I just want to be clear."

  "Oh my God, Roman–"

  "All right, all right." I cut her off, before she really gets mad and doesn't give me any pussy tonight. "You're right. I don't want to go out with those uptight pricks anyway. They act like they're curing cancer or something, when all they are, are drug pushers."

  She rolls her eyes.

  "Is there anything else?" I ask. "Neither of those things seem worthy of this five star meal, that I'm about to risk my life for."

  "Very funny. Can't I just do something nice for my boyfriend?" she asks while twisting several strands of her hair.

  A dead giveaway.

  "You absolutely could, but I know better, Duchess. What's up?" I pull the hair she's twisting out of her hands and between my fingers. "If I have to keep asking, you're going to have to pay for it later, and I promise that you won't like it. You won't come at all, and I'll enjoy every minute of watching you squirm."

  "All right already," she exhales a puff of air then continues, "I want you to meet with Joseph again."

  I knew it was some dumb shit like this.

  "Uh, hell no."

  "Why?"

  "Haven't you and Juliette learned your lesson yet? It didn't work last time, and it won't work again. The two of us will talk if and when we're ready to talk. We're grown fucking men. Leave well enough alone."

  "If we leave it up to you, you two will never talk. You both are just alike. You both think that you don't need anything but money and sex, but that's not all you need, you two need each other too."

  I almost laugh. She's watched too many family dramas where things end up neat and tidy and in a perfect bow. That's never going to happen with us. We've never been that. We never will be. And I'm very much okay with that.

  "I said no."

  "I'm asking you to meet with him again, because a letter came for you."

  "A letter?"

  "Yes, it was delivered to the house. A few days after J and J returned from their Alaskan cruise, I stopped by and Juliette told me about it."

  J and J is Elizabeth's new nickname for the old man and Juliette.

  "What's with all the clandestine maneuvers? Why didn't Juliette just call me to come by and pick it up?"

  Elizabeth hesitates for a moment.

  "Because of Joseph."

  "What about him."

  "He wasn't necessarily going to tell you about it."

  "Is that fucking right?"

  I feel a lethal mixture of tension and trepidation swirling around in my gut. There could only be one person that Joseph would give that much of a damn about me having any contact with.

  "Is it from ... her?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth answers in a careful tone.

  "Did you read it?" I ask hoping that she didn't. I have no idea what the letter says, but I definitely don't want Elizabeth reading any of my mother's crazy until I do.

  "No."

  "Is there a return address on it?"

  "No, but the postmark is from Vegas. If you want to read it, you should go over there and get it, Roman. It's your letter, and you're a grown man. Uncle Joseph can't just keep it from you. Just go over there and ask him for it."

  So my mother's in Vegas, huh? How fucking cliché.

  "So what's for dinner?" I ask abruptly changing the subject.

  There's no point in talking about this further. First of all I'm not asking Joseph for shit. Secondly, I'm not opening that letter. All I ever really wanted to know was if my mother was alive and she clearly is. I did sort of want to know where she was living, and now I do. She's in Vegas. It would also be great to know why she was such a shitty mother too, why she didn't want me, but I'll never get that answer. Not an honest one anyway. So I'm thinking that I just need to let all my fucked up mother issues go at this point. She's always going to disappoint me, so what's the point of caring anymore?

  Elizabeth stares at me for a moment. Waiting for some sort of reaction from me. Probably trying to figure out what kind of a mood I'm in now that I know about the letter, but I'm not going to let that shit bother me or bother us. I've got a good thing going. A great fucking thing, and I'm not going to let shadows from the past ruin that or ruin us. Never.

  "Dinner?" I ask again.

  "A crab bake." She smiles as if she's very pleased with herself. "I made crab legs, sausage, corn on the cob, onions and red potatoes smothered in garlic butter. Just the way you like it."

  That puts a genuine grin across my face for a lot of reasons. First of all, I am actually really hungry. I haven't eaten a thing today. All I usually have before a run is a protein shake. The second reason I'm smiling is because this dinner is symbolic.

  Over the summer Elizabeth and I visited the Jersey Shore several times. Like so many East Coast families, Elizabeth had been to the shore countless times with her family and friends over the years, but I wanted to show her my Jersey Shore, which is a little different than what she was used to.

  While I grew up on cheese steaks and salt water taffy at the beach just like she did, after moving in with Joseph as a young teenager, I was introduced to a whole other side of the shore. The side where the Philadelphia elite own summer homes and private boats. The side where families vacation in beautifully restored and modernly renovated Victorian homes with rich attention to detail, on freshly paved streets, alongside clean quiet beaches and lush landscaping. It's part of the shore I had no idea existed as a kid, because you drive past all of those areas when you're on your way to the family beaches in typical tourist towns like Wildwood or Ocean City.

  So I made reservations at my favorite five-star hotel in Avalon, New Jersey with a pristine private beach where we spent plenty of days playing in the water and plenty of nights with me playing in between her legs.

  One of the things we did for four nights straight was order a delicious crab bake and eat it on the deck by sunset. It's one of my new favorite memories, and I think it's so fucking cute how she's trying to recreate it. I just wish it wasn't because of that damn letter.

  "I'm going to punish you tonight for this," I tease.

  "For fixing you one of your favorite meals?" she asks incredulously.

  "No, for thinking that you needed to do all of this in order to tell me about a stupid letter."

  "I didn't think that."

  "You were nervous. You thought I was going to lose my shit."

  "I think I had a right to worry a little. You're already in a bad mood. You beat some poor kid's head in today for no reason. Or should I say not a good enough reason. I just didn't know how you would feel about it."

  "I don't feel anything," I say as I sit down at her dining table.

  "Then you're lying to yourself, because I know you, Roman Masterson. And just mentioning your mother's name makes you feel all sorts of things. Maybe one day you'll share some of those feelings with me."

  I rub the back of my neck to relieve some of the tension that has built by just talking about my mother for the last five fucking minutes. Evidently Elizabeth is right. My mother is a topic I like to avoid at all costs, because the sub
ject makes me more than just a little bit angry. It makes me feel something way more fucking scary.

  Sad.

  "So do you want to stop by their house to grab the letter after we eat?" she asks while placing a large, steaming bowl of seafood in front of me.

  "You really don't want to come tonight do you?"

  "I take it that means no. See, just the mention of your mother's name and you've already turned into the orgasm bully again. I thought we had a new agreement? Why are you killing the messenger?" Elizabeth chuckles.

  "Oh, I'm not going to kill the messenger." I grin sinisterly. "I'm just going to kill what's in between the messenger's legs. I promise you that shit."

  "Promises. Promises," she says in a flirty way that shoots straight from the base to the tip of my dick.

  "That mouth of yours," I warn.

  "Well somebody has to–"

  And before she finishes saying whatever snarky comment she was about to make, I slam my crab cracker down and shoot straight out of my seat. I've had enough, and I'm about to end all this shit right now. She knows it too, because she shrieks, and makes a beeline for the loft.

  "Stay away from me, you Neanderthal!"

  I laugh a little out loud, because my girl's reflexes are so slow. So slow that I could have easily caught her ass right by the forearm at the table, but where's the fun in that? I allow her to reach midway up the ladder to the loft, but then literally grab her ass off of there and throw her over one of my shoulders.

  "Put me down before you throw your back out!" she protests.

  I give her ass a quick whack.

  "What am I an old man now? It'll be a long time before lifting your tiny ass will ever throw my back out."

  "I'm serious, Roman."

  "I'm serious as fuck too."

  With one hand holding her in place, I use the other to quickly and dramatically swipe our entire crab bake to the floor, and then I toss her ass right on top of the table that we were just eating on.

  And then I eat her.

  Until she finally whispers with an exhausted smile and two orgasms later ...