Deliciously British

by Scarlett Avery

  I pull my eyes up towards her to admire what I’ve done to her. She’s struggling to regain her breath. I don’t rush her and neither does Ethan. He simply holds her in his arms, stroking her moist hair away from her face and dropping quick kisses against her cheek. His tenderness catches me off guard.

  Delilah is still shivering underneath me, but I’m not ready to let go of her yet. I ease away from her pussy and trail a string of soft kisses between her thighs. I sit back up on my knees and grin at her. “Bringing you pleasure is even more satisfying than my own orgasm,” I confess. I know for a fact it’s never felt like this with any other woman. “Let’s go upstairs to my bedroom so we can do it again.”

  She writhes against Ethan and flashes me a meek smile. “I’m not going to survive another orgasm, Xander,” she manages.

  “Oh, yes, you will,” Ethan says. “In fact, you’re going to survive at least three more. Remember, I need to fuck you and so does Xander. Not to mention that I can’t allow Xander to be the only one to taste you tonight. I need my lips on you as well.”

  Ethan is a master at putting things into perspective.

  CHAPTER 60

  Ethan

  Since Ashley was booked solid for the last week and I’ve been flying back and forth to Nice, it’s taken longer than I wished for us to finally coordinate our schedules. Ashley suggested we postpone our lunch meeting until after the gala, but that’s not possible. The gala is fast approaching and we need this out in the open—even if it’s to disclose only a part of what we really share. I need to talk to her well before the big night.

  I picked Ashley up at the gallery to give me an excuse to see my beautiful girlfriend. Since I had an eight o’clock meeting this morning, Xander is the one who dropped her off at work. When I walked in the gallery, Delilah was sitting pretty behind her desk. She’s a cheeky one. From her casual, “Hello, Ethan, it’s good to see again,” you’d never know she was riding my cock while begging Xander to come down her throat before her first coffee of the day. God, that woman is perfect.

  Ashley and I were supposed to have lunch at Café Clink—one of her go-to spots for lunch meetings—but when the taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant, the huge ‘closed for renovations’ sign forced us to change our plans. Since the meter was still running, I suggested we pop over to Bailey’s Room instead, to which Ashley promptly agreed.

  There are so many incredible places to eat in London, it’s sometimes a challenge just to choose. After all, we boast an impressive number of one-, two-, and three-Michelin-starred restaurants. Okay, we’re far behind the French, but it’s nothing to sneeze at. That said, Bailey’s Room remains one of my favorite spots.

  It’s already a quarter past two by the time we get there. At this late time of the day, we’re lucky enough to bypass the busy lunch hour. Thank God. Since things are so quiet, Mitchell Keeland, the owner, serves us personally. Mitch took over the restaurant from his dad six years ago and turned a fairly nondescript restaurant that served a mishmash of bland British foods into the number one deluxe hamburger eatery in the city. There are hamburgers and then there are the creations Mitch’s chefs concoct. The difference is like night and day. Once you sink your teeth into one of these juicy handmade burgers, there’s no going back. Only in America can you hope to find anything comparable.

  Ashley and I are so famished that we wolf down our food for the first five minutes in complete silence. You can only hear a round of satisfied moans as we chew animatedly.

  Ashley looks up at me before her eyes roll into the back of her head. From the huge grin on her face, I already know she’s a happy camper.

  “Ethan, this is a brilliant recommendation. I haven’t been here in ages. God, why be content with a lowly sandwich when you can eat this?” Ashley takes another bite of her classic hamburger. “I wish we had a location closer to the gallery. I’d be here every day.” She laughs.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying lunch. I have to say I never tire of eating here. In fact, if I don’t get my fix once or twice a month, I go into withdrawal.” I laugh. Ashley joins in. While she picks at the plate of sweet potato fries, I take another bite of my Bailey Chorizo—a hamburger topped with grilled onion, jalapeño pepper and Brindisa chorizo sausage from Spain. Spicy pork and juicy all-natural Angus beef, sandwiched in a warm sesame bun, splattered with a generous layer of homemade garlic mayonnaise—what more can you ask for?

  “Honestly, someone needs to get these away from me before I finish the plate. And I will. Anyone who’s known me long enough knows that fried food is my demise,” Ashley says as she sticks a handful of chips in her mouth. She’s still chewing, but it doesn’t prevent her from turning her attention to the plate of Bailey Fries we also ordered. Why have plain chips when you can order them sprinkled with Parmesan cheese? Is there anything sexier than watching a woman enjoy a meal? That’s one of the many things I love so much about our girlfriend.

  Although I’ve known Ashley since before she was married, we never dated. She fits my criteria for the full-figured woman. On top of that, she’s sharp as a whip, she studied at the prestigious University of the Arts London, she has an easy-going personality, she makes everyone feel at ease and she speaks German fluently. I’ve always had a thing for women who can talk dirty in a foreign language. It doesn’t matter if I can’t understand. It’s all about the fantasy. Even with all of these attributes, for some reason Ashley and I have always remained friends and colleagues. It’s never gone past that. It’s not like the opportunities weren’t there—on the contrary, we’ve had many late-night brainstorming sessions where it was just two of us, but I guess the sexual chemistry was never there.

  After a few minutes of watching Ashley try to resist the Bailey Fries before caving, I laugh out loud. “Your facial expression is hilarious. You’re fighting this so hard.”

  “You find me amusing?” she asks, pushing the plate away from her, but not before popping a few more in her mouth.

  “Why are you imposing such ridiculous restrictions on yourself, Ashley? You seem to enjoy these chips, just go with it,” I say before finishing off my hamburger.

  “Says the man who is a wall of muscle and who doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his body,” she retorts.

  “Have you been checking me out again?” I joke. It’s my turn to reach out for the plate of Bailey Fries.

  “Honestly, one would have to be completely blind not to notice you. I might be happily married, but I’m not daft. I can still appreciate a good-looking man when I see one, even if I don’t touch.”

  “Well, I’m flattered,” I respond, lowering my eyes for a beat before meeting her smiling ones. No one in their right mind would ever call me shy, but I always get a kick out of Ashley’s candor. The best thing about it is that she doesn’t need alcohol to say it like it is.

  “Don’t play coy with me, Ethan Gordimer. You know exactly how handsome you are.”

  I laugh. “Oh, come on, Ashley. You’re going to make me self-conscious.” I’m being facetious and she knows it.

  “Right.” She rolls her eyes. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve always been in phenomenal shape, but lately it seems like you’re considering switching careers from art buyer to athletic male fitness model or something,” she says, waving her finger at me.

  “If we’re exchanging compliments, you should know you look perfect just the way you are. You’re just a hot little mama and you don’t even know it.” I’ve always thought that Ashley was more attractive after giving birth to her babies. The two pregnancies have rounded out her curves beautifully.

  Ashley shrugs. “You sound just like Samuel. He likes my curves more than I do,” she confesses. Pity.

  “Maybe that’s because your husband has great taste.” I wink.

  “Touché,” she says, drawing an exclamation mark in the air with her index finger. Visibly she’s impressed. “You definitely know what to say to boost a girl’s ego.” She grins from ear to ear.

  “I’m si
mply speaking the truth.” My words silence her. I’ve rarely seen Ashley blush this hard.

  “Between your good looks, your irresistible charm, a stature that gives new meaning to suit porn and the fact you know how to butter up a girl, it begs the question…”

  I sit back against the banquette and stretch my arm out over the headrest. “And which one is that?”

  “Is there a woman out there who will one day be able to put an end to your philandering or will you remain a bad-boy bachelor until you’re in your nineties?”

  I laugh. “God, I hope not. That would be a dreadful life. I’d never dream of being alone for that long.”

  “I guess you’re still young. Since you’re not even in your thirties yet, you have plenty of time in front of you.”

  “Well…” I let my words hang.

  “Well what?” Ashley asks.

  “One of the reasons why I wanted us to meet is because I met someone I really like.”

  Ashley’s jaw drops. “You did?

  “Yes. I’m officially off the market.”

  “As in you’re only seeing one woman and you’re not jumping from one bed to another?”

  Technically, I’m still jumping from one bed to another, but it’s from mine to Xander’s with Delilah sandwiched between us. “That’s right,” I confirm.

  “I can hardly believe it. As flattered as I am that you’d share such epic news with me, I have to ask why.”

  “It’s because it’s someone you know and someone I intend on taking to the gala as my date. I want to be upfront and open about it.”

  Ashley narrows her eyes. “I know this miracle worker?”

  She’s hilarious. “Yes, you do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Let me guess,” she says playfully. She raises her eyes to the ceiling and shifts them from left to right. “Hmmm.” She taps her chin. It seems to me like she’s searching her memory bank to find out who the mystery woman in my life is. She’ll never guess. Not in a million years.

  “Let me give you a hint. She hasn’t been in London for that long.”

  Ashley flashes me a horrified look. What? “Oh, God. Not that new curator Evgeniya Elizaveta Zadorozhnaya who just started working at Loeb’s?” She says that name with a perfect pronunciation.

  “Wow. That’s a mouthful.”

  “You have no idea. That said, I’d switch things around.” I frown confused. “She likes having a mouthful. I’ll let you fill in the blanks.” Wow, that’s a pretty crude comment. “And there’s a reason her nickname is Double E… even if they’re fake.”

  “I can tell you really like this woman,” I mock.

  “Yeah, we’re BFFs.” Ashley rolls her eyes at me.

  “You’re what?”

  “Best friends forever,” she sneers. “You have to be a woman to understand.”

  “Right.” I nod. “Why does Evajananina Ebalaka—”

  “Evgeniya Elizaveta,” Ashley corrects. “Double E,” she stresses.

  “I doubt I’ll ever be able to pronounce her name and her nickname is preposterous.”

  “She insists on people calling her that—especially men.”

  Okay. “In any case, why does she rub you the wrong way?”

  “I was with her in the ladies’ room at the auction while she was applying yet another layer of thick makeup, fluffing up her already way-too-puffy dyed blonde hair and yanking her huge artificial melons up so they were more in your face—like anyone in that room hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra.” There she goes rolling her eyes again. There is no love in Ashley’s heart for that woman. “What a piece of work, that one.” Ashley exhales loudly.

  “I can see how fond you are of her,” I tease.

  “Please. That woman is so obvious, it’s sickening.” Ashley goes off on a tirade. “Don’t get me started on that vulgar red lipstick she applies so generously, that handkerchief she tried to pass as a dress, or the way she walks like a tramp in heat, sticking her ass and her inflated tits out like she’s desperate for a man to show her a lot of attention. If we do, I might lose my lunch all over this table.” When women don’t like each other, they go for the gut. “I digress. Evgeniya was going on and on about how much she wanted to bag you. She’s just a promiscuous slut. Greg has already had her”

  “God, that guy moves fast,” I observe.

  “Please tell me you have more taste than he does.”

  I nod. “You don’t have to worry.” I eliminate the risk of any erroneous assumptions on her part.

  “Thank God. Greg tells me that in the month that she’s been working at Loeb’s—and I’ve heard the same thing from other men as well—every straight guy she’s come across has seen her fanny.” That’s news to me. “Greg saw hers on her third day at the job. I sent him to a meeting on my behalf and she managed to lure him in the storage room and dropped to her knees in front of him. Once she was done—and yes, she did swallow—she offered her pussy, desperate for a good afternoon workout. Imagine that. That slut gives a whole new meaning to ‘from Russia with love.’”

  “Wow. That’s quite the story. I don’t even recall meeting her that night at all.”

  Ashley snorts again. “She does. She kept swearing up and down that she’d never wash her hand again after you shook hers.”

  “I can put your mind at ease that I’m definitely not seeing, nor am I shagging the Russian curator. It’s someone you work with directly.” I put an end to this story before Ashley goes off on another tangent.

  “Huh?” Ashley scrunches her nose. “Everyone I work with is in a relationship. Katrina?”

  “Nope. She’s a lovely girl, but she’s not my type.”

  “Well, I guess there’s Piper now since it’s a no-go with Dermott. I thought she was still mourning that relationship. Are you seeing her?”

  “No. It’s more obvious than that. She’s right under your nose. You can’t walk in or out of the gallery without seeing her radiant smile.”

  “Who on earth can you be talking—” Ashley’s eyes bulge out of her skull. She inhales a long breath. In fact I’m surprised there’s any air left in the room. “No.” I nod. “No way.” I nod again with a huge grin stretching across my face. I think she’s figured it out. “My Delilah?” I think she’s ours now.

  “Yes.”

  “As in Delilah Babcock?”

  “The one and only.” I struggle to contain my happiness.

  “Did this happen outside of the gallery? The two of you barely exchange a word when you’re in the same room.”

  “Yes. We kept things as quiet as possible.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Ashley is still in a state of shock.

  “Let me start from the beginning.”

  Over the next few minutes I share with Ashley the clean version of how I bumped into the sweet little Texan and how we started seeing each other. Of course, I avoid divulging certain details.

  “I can’t believe this.” Ashley shakes her head. “Were you seeing each other when I bumped into you at the Barons Court hotel?”

  “Yes. We were. In fact, we had made it official a few days before you dropped that bomb in my lap.”

  “No wonder you looked so distraught.” That’s putting it mildly. “I thought you were just a caring person—which I have no doubt you are—but it was way more than that. I guess she didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head. “She’s too feisty for her own good sometimes.”

  Ashley laughs. “Tell me about it.”

  “To answer your question, no, I didn’t know. She wasn’t returning my calls and until then I couldn’t figure out why. She crawled into a hole after your devastating news. What you shared with me shocked the hell out of me, but it helped me put two and two together. When I confronted her, she told me she wanted to wait until you had that meeting with Mr. Walcott to tell me. She was trying to deal with everything on her own, which obviously, I frowned upon. I wish she had opened up the minute s
he stepped out of the office.”

  “I fought hard to keep her in London, Ethan.”

  “Yes, she told me. Thank you. I would have hated to lose her so quickly when we just started officially seeing each other.” The same goes for Xander. Guilt swirls in my gut. It’s weird to talk about Delilah without including him. Unfortunately, a ménage isn’t a common type of relationship. Very few people understand it, let alone accept it.

  “She’s worth it,” Ashley observes.

  “That she is.” I grin from ear to ear.

  “Not to mention, it’s time for Samantha to grow up. She’s thirty-one, for God’s sake, but you’d think she was pushing twelve. Her immature attitude needs to stop.”

  “I second that.”

  “My God. Ethan Gordimer and my little Delilah.” Ashley is still shaking her head and looking at me, bewildered expression on her face. “When women across Britain find out you’re no longer available, I’m sure they’ll start slashing their wrists, horrified by the prospect that all hope is lost for them. I doubt our hospitals will be able to keep up.” She purses her lips and bats her eyelashes furiously.

  “No need to be that dramatic. There are tons of available blokes out there.”

  “Ethan, you have no idea what effect you have on women,” Ashley says. “The other blokes are just that. You’re a man. That sets you apart and makes you very attractive.” Even though I know I’m a bona fide player—I guess I should say I used to be—Ashley’s words silence me. “Of course, I’m speaking on behalf of other women since I’m taken.” She laughs. “And quite happily married, may I add.”