by Alexa Blue
Holding his car door open, I allow him to step into his car and throw his car keys on his lap. He starts up the car, and the tires skid, leaving a trail of smoke as he drives off. Something tells me he won't make the same mistake of getting involved with the wrong crowd again anytime soon.
I walk back to the apartment, waving at the building guard who is staring curiously. I make a mental note to speak to Britney’s friend that owns the building to up their security. If my company looked after this building, random strangers wouldn’t just be allowed to parade inside at five in the morning.
By the time I get back to the apartment, Britney’s already waiting for me at the door. God, this woman’s beauty has no bounds. She looks just as stunning when she wakes up as she does any other time of the day.
Her forehead wrinkles up, and she opens her mouth to speak, but holds back her words when her glance lowers to my underwear. She just stares at my package for the next few seconds before breaking into giggles.
“First the shirt, then the shower, and now you’re running around the passage in your briefs? Boy, you really know how to make yourself at home. I’m… I have no words.” Her eyes begin tearing up from laughter.
I wrap my arms around her body and plant a few kisses on her neck.
This is no longer her home. This is our home. Whether I’m in her apartment, or she’s in my house, this is ours.
I pull her warm body into me and allow my mind to drift off. I need to start shopping for a new house. Mine is big enough, but I want a huge one, where our kids will have plenty of space. We'll get one of those houses with the white picket fence and two dogs running in our front yard.
“Mr. Carter, there’s a new note today,” Britney says, holding up the piece of paper that was slid under the door moments earlier. “I think they’re getting lazy because the wording is almost exactly the same as the previous note."
“I know. I caught up with the guy that left it here. A skinny guy named Ryan.”
Britney’s eyes largen. “Oh, thank God. I was wondering if you enjoy flashing or maybe sleepwalking.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, yeah? And? What happened with this 'Ryan’?"
“Let’s just say I gave him enough motivation to go back and tell them to back the hell off. It looks like he just got caught up with the wrong crowd. But one thing we know for sure is that Chaleur is behind these stupid notes. He told me he was sent by those fuckers.”
Britney runs up to me. She flings her arms around my neck and jumps up, wrapping her legs around my waist. “My hero!” She exhales, staring intensely into my eyes. Her large, green eyes dance back at me.
I drop her lower down my waist until her pelvis presses against my cock. My excitement is already building up.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” I say, a seductive undertone in my voice.
She sneaks in a little kiss. “Oh yeah?” She plants another kiss on my lips. “What do you have in mind, big guy?”
“My cupcake has been through a rough few weeks. I think she could do with a supper, cooked by yours truly.”
“Oooh.” She grins. "Sounds good. And do you plan on wearing any clothes for this event?"
“Play your cards right, and we’ll see how that goes. Supper at six. But I have one rule.”
Britney's face reddens. She is struggling to hold back her giggles. “Oh yeah? What’s this rule? Oh, wait. I know. Is it like a safe word… in case the food’s bad?”
I slap her ass, chuckling. “No. But I will need you out of the apartment from four to six. I need some time to prepare.”
I spend the entire day preparing for tonight's supper. I've decided today is the day I'm frank with Britney. Tonight, I plan on telling her exactly how she makes me feel, but I need to do everything in my power to make tonight special. I want her to remember this as the night she finally knew just how happy she makes me.
Britney leaves the apartment to spend some time with her best friend. I glance down at my wristwatch.
3:05.
I don’t have my time left. I climb in my car and speed off to the convenience store to pick up some candles, roses, and a few other things for tonight’s dinner.
Thankfully, I’ve already started cutting up all the meat and veggies, so I throw everything in a pot once I get home.
While the aromatic fumes of the Moroccan food fill the apartment, I begin with the decorating. I’m making tangia marrakchia and couscous, a dish I learned to cook seven years back when I lived in Morocco.
A knock on the door catches my attention.
Shit. She’s here.
“Just a second,” I call out and light up all the candles that reach to the door of her apartment. The apartment is filled with the fragrant smell of lamb and cumin.
With the candles fired up, I kill the lights in the apartment, and I walk over to the door.
“Something smells good,” she calls from the other side.
I tilt my head and face the dining room mirror to make sure my shirt is neatly tucked in and that everything looks perfect. I want this to be a night Britney remembers, so I cannot have anything out of place.
I open the door and greet my cupcake with a red rose—the stem clutched between my teeth. She drops her handbag to the ground and lifts her hands to her mouth, scanning her apartment in awe as she takes a step inside.
“Oh, my God, Carter. What is—”
“Shhhh…” I tell her. “Come on in.”
I pull on her hand and lead her down the trail of scattered rose petals. The route is lit by a series of candles leading the way to a picnic blanket laid out in the middle of the lounge. I had to move the couches to make this happen, but I’m sure she doesn’t mind. Judging from the look on her face, her misplaced couches are the last thing on her mind.
On the blanket, a picnic basket with a bottle of wine is laid out. I hope she drinks Chardonnay; I wouldn’t consider myself a wine connoisseur, but I’ve asked around and heard it goes well with a spread of different cheese and crackers. I’m hopeless when it comes to doing anything romantic, but Britney is worth every second of the effort.
“My lady,” I tell her and help her find a seat on a cushion placed on top of the blanket.”
“Carter… I… I have no words, except…” Her lips curl into a perfect circle to form the word “wow.” She lifts her head. “Carter… thank you!”
“No need to thank me.” Seeing the way her eyes glisten is the only thanks I’ll ever need from Britney.
Britney's legs are crossed, and she bobs her head at the Eastern music playing in the background. I even pause to take a few moments to admire my handiwork. I have managed to turn this place from an ordinary apartment in Eastwood to a scene straight out of the Middle East.
“Carter,” she says after a while, “this is… like, no one has ever done anything like this for me before.”
I go down on one knee, staring intensely into her eyes as I do. My gaze trails down to her full lips, and I remain on one knee as my hand extends forward.
Britney lifts her hand to her mouth, letting out a half-shriek as she does. “Oh, my God. Carter, what is going on?”
Her eyes are massive, and her voice trembles as she speaks. I lower my gaze down to my sneaker. “Oh, this? Yeah, I’m just tying my shoelace.”
Britney drops her head. The heaviness in her breathing overpowers the sound of the music. She reaches forward and slaps her palms against the side of her head. Slowly, she lifts her head to look up at me. Under the light of a hundred candles, I see her cheeks burning up. Her lashes flicker. I may not have given her what she thought would happen. But now I know she wants me as badly I want her.
“You idiot!” she says, pulling the cushion out from under her and bashing it against my head.
With a satisfied grin, I lean forward, wrap my hand behind her neck and pull her into me. Our lips smack passionately together as she meets me with a kiss.
I pull back. “Wait. Cupcake… you didn’t think that…”
; “Oh, shut up.”
My laugh dies down, and my lips press into a thin line. “Britney,” I breathe.
She shoots me an annoyed glare, but I can see she’s loving every second of this. She looks away, pretending to be annoyed. “Yes?”
“Britney, from the moment you first bashed my head in with a pot, I knew there was something special about you. I knew that I would not leave until you at least give me a chance. Now that you’ve given me the chance, I have fallen madly in love with you.”
Slowly, she looks back at me. Her looks are piercing, as if she’s gazing into the deepest wells of my soul.
My heart thumps inside my chest, and my palms feel sweaty, but at this moment, none of that matters. Nothing other than the glint of love I see sparkling in her eyes. Even the music in the background sounds distant. I brush the few loose strands of her silky blond hair behind her ears.
“Britney Darcy, I love you.”
Chapter Seven
Britney
“You kidding me?” Carter says as he sits up in bed, his eyes large with glee.
“I’m not,” I say with a hint of uncertainty. Surely this is some dream. This almost sounds too good to be true.
In my moment of excitement, I manage to yank off the bed covers. Shifting my glance to Carter’s underwear, I see the tent formed in his briefs and grin. I’d love to have another look, but I have to read this article again.
I can’t seem to close my mouth, no matter how hard I try, and with a million thoughts racing through my mind, I scan through the article on my phone one last time. I need to make sure I’m not making this shit up.
I read the article one last time and slap myself on my cheeks before handing my phone over to Carter. “Yeah, it says it right here, their days of rule are over. Check it out.”
Carter reads the article published this morning in New York Now. I study his face as he reads. The more time he spends skimming through the article, the larger his eyes grow.
Now I know this is not just in my head.
Prominent modeling agency Chaleur Models has shut down after claims from ex-employees surfaced regarding the illegal distribution of hard drugs to their employees.
According to a few sources, Chaleur Models has actively encouraged the use of these narcotics to enhance productivity and aid in weight loss. Crystal meth, cocaine, and even prescription medications such as Phendimetrazine have been used as confirmed by numerous sources to keep these girls as skinny as possible.
Following a public outcry and major shareholders withdrawing from the organization, the company has shut down with immediate effect.
LiveFree and Parktown House, two addiction and recovery centers in New York, have volunteered to assist with the medical treatment for all girls affected.
When questioned, the founding owner, Andrew Stanford, refused to comment on the accusations.
Carter’s eyes glimmer and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “What?” he shouts. “This is incredible. It’s everything you’ve wanted. I mean, this is the very reason I got to meet you in the first place.”
I throw my legs around his waist and reach down for a kiss. Even though his cock has softened slightly, his semi still nudges at the space between my legs.
My phone feels like a pocket vibrator. Instagram notifications from celebratory images to inbox messages highlight the screen of my phone, ranging from the more serious 'well done' messages to pictures of David telling Goliath that he doesn't scare him.
This is victory is huge, not just for me, but all the people that have stood by my side. Hundreds of my followers joined in and stood up against Chaleur Models, and it feels good knowing that the little guys have finally bagged a win. This win is not just us, but for everyone that may think their voice is not loud enough to make an impact.
I turn back to Carter. He stares at the wall, seemingly fixated on one spot. I turn my head and try to see what he’s looking at. His eyebrows are pulled together, and he bites on his lower lip.
Placing my palms under his chin, I shift to his face so that he looks at me. “Carter? Is everything okay? We should be celebrating, not frowning.”
He swallows hard. “Everything’s fine. But I’m not leaving,” he says.
“Leaving?”
“Yeah. Your dad asked me to look after you and make sure that no one hurt his daughter. Now with them out of the way, I guess there’s no need for me. But I refuse to leave. Either I stay with you or you move in with me. I really don’t care where I am, as long as I’m with you.” Carter sits up and grabs me by the back of my neck. He pulls me to him and gives me a soft kiss on the lips.
“Cupcake, just because there’s no need for me, that does not mean that I’m letting go of the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
There’s no need for him? Hell, I have never felt more alive in my life, and I know it’s because he’s here by my side. I need Carter like a plant needs water. I cannot imagine life without waking up beside him. I’ve heard people say that you only really fall in love once. That when you meet that someone, you should hold on to them because you will never love as hard again.
I’ve proven them wrong. With Carter, every time I look into his eyes, I fall back in love all over again.
Carter holds me tight, pulling every inch of my curvy body into him as he whispers into my ear, “Britney, I already know I have found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I can't promise much. What I can promise is that our forever is going to be amazing." He pauses and trails his fingers down my lips before whispering three sweet words. “I love you.”
His warm breath brushes against my neck, and I can tell he means every word. Not just him refusing to leave my side, but that he loves me. I know it by the way he holds me, or the way he looks at me whenever he tells me I’m his.
In my excitement of knowing that Chaleur Models has shut down, that they wouldn't be a problem any longer, I failed to realize that this might mean the end for Carter and me. But that’s not going to happen. Hell, we’re just getting started.
Carter stares at me with a piercing intensity. God, he’s intense, powerful, sexy, and best of all, he treats me like I’m a queen.
“Britney, I’m not letting you go," he says again as if to make sure I get the message. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go. You got that?”
My willing pussy contracts at the sound of him claiming me as his own.
I contemplate messing with him, but instead, I kiss him back. "I love you, Carter. My sexy, cute, adorable protector.”
I slip into a yellow skirt with a black button up crop top as Carter kisses me goodbye and heads out to finalize a business meeting.
“I’ll be home around five,” he says as he steps out of my apartment.
This is the first time I’ve been away from Carter in weeks, and I’m already missing him. While Carter attends to his business, I’m being forced into something I’d rather not do.
After almost half an hour of persuasion, Uncle Sam has spoken me into meeting my mother around lunchtime this afternoon. He has always insisted that I sit down with her and that all it would take is an open and honest conversation to iron out our differences.
He doesn't know her as I do. But I have a lot of respect for Uncle Sam, which is why I agreed to coffee. Lunch sounds like an awfully long time to be trapped and alone with Mother Dearest.
I walk into Uncle Sam's bakery, and that fresh smell of croissants brings an immediate calm over me. I could have the worst day ever, but as soon as I walk into The Cake Whisperer, and take in a whiff of his baked goodies, I instantly feel better.
My mom is already seated; with her upturned Amy Winehouse hairdo, she stands out like a sore thumb.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying my hardest to fake a smile as I pull up a chair across from her.
My mom rolls her eyes. "God, Britney, I swear you'll be late for your own funeral."
I glance down at my wristwatch. I’m two minutes late. I gnash my teeth
and hold my forced smile. “Sorry, Mom. Traffic was a little heavy.” We both know that in a small town like Eastwood, that’s perhaps the lamest excuse to come up with.
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t mind. But you know who will mind?”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.
“Future employers, Britney. They will never stand for this kind of lateness. Speaking of future employers, when do you plan on getting a real job? I mean, your dad and I paid a lot of money for you to get your degree in marketing, but you’re not using it. We both know how I feel about marketing, but you insisted that was what you wanted to do, so we let you. Brit, you're getting older now, and you need to realize that you cannot keep doing this social media posting thing of yours and expect that to sustain you. Do you have any idea how mu—”
“STOP!” The words shoot out my mouth like venom. My nostrils flare up, and my breathing has grown erratic. I shouldn’t feel like I’m moments away from having a heart attack, not at my age. I lower my glance to my wristwatch again. God, I haven’t even been in her company for a minute.
I skim through my handbag in search of an aspirin. Could she not wait until I at least ordered my coffee?
My raised voice catches the attention of a few people around us, including Uncle Sam, who nods his head at me. I shoot him back a look that says, I can’t do this, and see the words, Relax, you’ve got this forming on his lips.
I pop an aspirin and turn back to my mom, taking in a few more sharp breaths before planting that smile right back on my face.
“Mom, I feel like I need to say this now because if I don’t, I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to. I have listened to you insult me my entire life. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you.”
My mom tries interrupting me, but I’m not having it. I put out my hand and continue. This is my time to tell her everything that has been bubbling up over the years, just waiting to explode. "You've always insulted me about my weight, saying, You’re too fat to be a model. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe I like my body? And you know what? I’m tired of you always picking on my career. I love what I do, and many other people love what I do. I literally have thousands of followers, except for the person closest to me: my mother. Why can't you just trust that I know what I'm doing, and for once try supporting me? The insults, feeling like I’m not good enough, everything… I’ve tried brushing it off in the past, but you know what, Mom? It hurts.”
