by Tia Sirrah
∞∞∞
I GAVE MYSELF A quick once over before opening the door for Conner. Since he couldn’t be naked twenty-four hours a day, Conner in a designer suit was the next best thing. He stood at the threshold looking debonair, in an expertly tailored black tuxedo and crisp white dress shirt. Conner’s tresses were finger-combed back with mousse, and I desperately wanted to run my fingers through it. He looked like a respectable gentleman with excellent pedigree.
"Hey, angel." He looked sexy as sin with his freshly shaved smooth jaw on his chiseled face.
"Hey, babe," I said as I shamelessly ogled him. "Don’t you clean up nicely." I stepped aside, letting him in. My apartment immediately felt smaller. Conner’s presence seemed to overpower every room he stepped in. He strolled into my place like he owned it. I came to realize that he did indeed own many of the establishments that we frequented, including the restaurant where we had our first non-date. I’d also come to realize that Gregorio no longer worked there. Apparently, he was let go on the same night Conner had accused him of flirting with me. The firing of Gregorio didn’t go over too well with me. Unfortunately, Gregorio never got his job back. Conner could be such a bastard sometimes. But he was my bastard.
"No nose ring tonight?" he asked as he kissed the tip of my nose.
"Yeah, I’m sure that would be a hit with your parents. I have it hidden." I tilted my head back and pointed to the flipped inward septum piercing. I slipped on my Stuart Weitzman silver stilettos and grabbed my clutch bag.
"Changed your mind yet about flying out with me tonight?" he asked as I locked up my place.
We linked arms as we headed to the elevator. "I can’t, babe. I have work tomorrow. As tempting as it is, I can’t bail. I’m teaching a new children’s sewing class this week. The roster is full." After the Brathwaite gala, Conner was taking his jet to Chicago for a quick business trip.
"You’re killing me, angel."
"I know," I pouted. "But I’m going with you to L.A. in a couple of weeks, and then to Chicago before the fall semester begins."
That seemed to appease him slightly. "Your ass looks amazing in that dress, by the way."
"Well, you know, I try." I winked. I had been working out daily and eating a lot healthier. I couldn’t have a boyfriend as fit as Conner and not put in a little more effort in working out. Conner was a total health nut. He rarely ate sweets or any high-calorie snacks. The only empty calories he typically indulged in was his bourbon. At times, too much, for my liking and comfort level.
We stepped into the elevator. "I’m excited about the gala tonight." More like petrified, but he didn’t need to know that.
"It should be interesting. Martina has hosted it every year for ten years now. I’ve never attended." Conner’s eyes focused on the elevator’s digital number display.
"You call your mother by her first name?" He gave a curt nod. "What made you decide to go this year?"
He shrugged. "My father wants to meet you. And I know how much you want to meet my parents. So, here we are…" He said it with as much excitement as one would express when getting a root canal.
I laced my fingers through his and looked up at him. His eyes were still focused on the elevators display numbers. Three more floors to go. "I read in the society pages that it’s a Suicide Prevention gala. That’s very admirable of them."
"Hmm," he murmured as the elevator doors opened. My anxiety increased by about tenfold.
We exited the elevator and headed to the front street entrance. Colin stood at the black Rolls Royce Phantom. "Good evening, Miss Dumont, Mr. Brathwaite."
"Hi Colin," I beamed, while Conner gave a curt nod.
Colin held the door open for me, and Conner assisted me in getting into the car. Once my gown was adjusted, Conner rounded the car and got in.
Once we were seated, Conner pressed the privacy button, and the glass went opaque.
"I absolutely love this car." We didn’t ride in the Rolls Royce often. Conner usually drove us around, either in the Audi R8 or in his red 1967 Corvette L88 Coupe. I eyed the spacious interior and looked up through the sunroof.
Conner shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.
"How long has Colin been with you?"
"For five years now." Conner wasn’t exactly a man of many words tonight. I wondered if he was as nervous for me to meet his parents as I was.
I cozied up next to Conner, and he lazily rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.
"What should I expect tonight? How do you think your parents will respond to me?"
"It’ll be fine. And if they don’t like you, fuck em’."
My smile vanished, and I chewed my bottom lip. "Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Why did you even invite me? It’s obvious that you don’t want me to meet them."
"I’m sorry, angel. I just fucking hate these galas. My temperament hasn’t nothing to do with you. Forgive me? You know I can be an asshole." He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about tonight. No matter what, I won’t let anyone disrespect you."
I believed him, and my nerves calmed somewhat. I smiled and stroked his jaw with my hand. He kissed my open palm. "Will there be lots of press there?" I was hoping no, but I assumed yes.
According to the blogs and social media followers, the writing was on the wall. Our fling wouldn’t last. Conner was still labeled a playboy who was only temporary cooling his heels and trying "something new." I was labeled as a gold digger who had moved on to deeper pockets. From an NBA star to a billionaire business tycoon.
Conner’s eyes searched mine. "Yes, I suspect there will be. Are you okay with that?"
I wordlessly nodded.
"Come here." He gestured for me to sit on his lap with the lift of his chin. I pulled my dress up to my thighs and eagerly straddled him. "It’s just you and me, okay? No one else there will matter." I felt as if he was saying it to himself, as much as he was saying it to me. An unfamiliar glimmer of anxiety was etched around his eyes.
He grazed the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, as he often did. I seductively skated my teeth across his thumb, before taking it in my mouth and sucking on it. I twirled my tongue around it, before releasing it from my mouth. "How much time until we get there?" I asked.
Desire pooled in his smoldering eyes. I ran my tongue along his jawline, planting kisses along the way. "We’re about ten minutes out," he said, his voice strained with lust. "But Colin will drive around for as long as we want." His hands were now traveling up my bare thighs.
"Five minutes is all I need," I said confidently, as I kissed him on the mouth and sucked on his tongue.
His eyebrows climbed. "Oh, really?" he lightly challenged as his large hand gently clasped around my throat and hungrily kissed me.
We moaned into each other’s mouths as I ground my hips against him. Thank goodness for the privacy screen, I thought, as I unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants. Lowering myself to my knees in front of him, I made efficient use of the time.
∞∞∞
WITH A STUNNED LOOK in his eyes (he got this way every time I went down on him), he pulled me up by my shoulders and crashed his mouth into mine. The car slowed to a halt, resulting in us reluctantly breaking our kiss. We looked out of the tinted windows and realized we had arrived.
"Shit, we’re already here," I said as I quickly climbed off him. "I need a minute." I hurriedly fixed my hair and reapplied my lip gloss.
"Give us a few minutes," he barked into the intercom at Colin. He tucked his heavy cock and his shirt back into his trousers. I readjusted my dress. "You ready for this, angel?" he asked, as swarms of photographers waited outside our car. The tension that was etched on his face ten minutes ago was back in full force.
"Let’s do this," I said.
∞∞∞
COLIN ROUNDED THE CAR and opened Conner’s door. After exiting, Conner buttoned his tuxedo jacket before taking my hand and carefully assisting me out of the vehicle. We were immediately as
saulted by the bright lights of cameras flashing in our faces. Conner’s face was impassive and regal, an icy glint in his eyes. I smiled gracefully for the cameras, trying my best not to squint from the harsh lights.
"Conner, Conner! Over here! Conner! Novalee!" Reporters and photographers vied for our attention. It was all a bit overwhelming. Conner must have sensed my apprehension. He leaned down and brushed his lips against my ear. "It’s alright. Let’s go." He placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me towards what looked like a museum of sorts. "Welcome to my childhood home," he said as we neared the entrance.
His family home was an imposing mansion in Sugarland, Texas. It was surrounded by lush gardens and trees. No other properties were in sight. Opulent flowing water fountains adorned the vast outdoor landscape, with acres of lush green lawn sprawling out as far as the eye could see. I halted my steps, taking in the lifestyle to which Conner was accustomed to. He took my hand and gently nudged, "The ballroom entrance is around the back."
I followed alongside him; our fingers laced together. Dozens of people surrounded the grounds, taking pictures, mingling, and leisurely making their way to the ballroom. We were stopped along the way as guests greeted us, seemingly surprised that Conner was in attendance tonight. Conner never let go of my hand and introduced me as his girlfriend. Most of the men’s eyes lit up with fascination at his introduction of me, while some of the women’s eyes lit up with something else entirely. All were very polite or pretended to be. A long and wide red carpet led up to the entrance of the ballroom, flanked with even more photographers on both sides.
Conner’s face softened from its usual cold mask as he leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. I briefly closed my eyes, savoring the touch of his lips on my skin. Our intimate moment was interrupted by the intrusion of photographers. I didn’t think I would ever get used to the attention that Conner and I garnered as a couple.
We bypassed the Suicide Prevention banner. Conner was adamant in not wanting to pose in front wall flanked with teal and purple ribbons. Instead, we were photographed near the main entrance of the ballroom and refused to answer any questions other than confirming the status of our relationship.
The ballroom was imperial, with its gleaming marble floors and crystal chandeliers. It felt as if I had stepped into a glamorous 1950’s Hollywood party. Hundreds of people dined, mingled, or danced to the full orchestra lead by a Frank Sinatra impersonator.
Conner placed his hand on my lower back. "My parents are coming this way," he said against the shell of my ear. "Let’s get this over with." I furrowed my brows as I examined the tension in his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes. It was evident that he was dreading this moment. Being here, in this place with his parents, conjured up memories from a past that he desperately wanted to forget.
This was all for me. He was trying to make an effort and let me in. My heart bloomed and broke at the same time. Guilt and worry gnawed at my core.
An extremely attractive and regal couple approached us. "Son," Mr. Brathwaite said, firmly shaking Conner’s hand and patting him on the back. His sage green eyes held so much warmth as he focused on me.
"Father."
Mrs. Brathwaite leaned into Conner and kissed both of his cheeks. He patted her on the back in an awkward hug. "Martina," Conner acknowledged.
Mrs. Brathwaite giggled an airy laugh as she palmed the side of Conner’s face. "They grow up, and suddenly they don’t want to be fussed over by their mothers." She lovingly smiled at him. She had yet to acknowledge me.
"He’s a grown man, dear. Give him some space," Mr. Brathwaite joshed as he laughed heartily.
I smiled politely and looked up at Conner. There was a delay in his returned smile. "Martina, Father, I’d like you to meet Miss Novalee Dumont." All six eyes turned to me. Conner looked down at me lovingly. Piqued curiosity reflected on his father’s face, while his mother stared at me with the same imperturbable expression that Conner donned on most days.
"We’re delighted to meet you, Novalee." Mr. Brathwaite’s smile widened, small creases forming around his eyes. He was handsome. Gorgeous even, like his son. But other than having the same eyes, Conner and his father didn’t resemble one another. And unlike Conner’s dark brown mane, Kenneth’s hair was dirty blond.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir," I said as I extended my hand to him. "Mrs. Brathwaite, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well." I politely smiled and extended my hand to her next. She smiled tightly; her handshake was limp.
"Please, call me Kenneth," Mr. Brathwaite interjected.
My southern upbringing made me uncomfortable with his request. "Mr. Kenneth, sir," I acknowledged.
"Very nice to finally meet you, dear." Mrs. Brathwaite’s indigo blue eyes held the same fire as her son’s. Her eyes surveyed me with a hint of scrutiny, causing me to subconsciously smooth a curly tendril back from my face.
Amy wasn’t kidding. Conner was the masculine carbon copy image of his mother. Mrs. Brathwaite was quite stunning. Every bit of a top model. Just as intimidating as her son.
Conner’s hand rested on the small of my back and gave it a gentle rub. He had to know how formidable his mother came across. With the death of her other son, I could only imagine the fierce protectiveness she had of her only living child. "So, this thing between you two. Is it serious?" Mrs. Brathwaite inquired.
How the heck was I supposed to answer that? "Yes. Very," Conner interjected. The calm and subtle intensity on Conner's face challenged a less than favorable response from her.
I smiled up at Conner before looking back at his parents. Both were momentarily stunned silent, but Mr. Kenneth recovered first. "That’s wonderful, son." He uncomfortably glanced at his wife, also with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.
Mrs. Brathwaite cleared her throat and smiled, almost graciously before grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter and taking a healthy swallow. "Well, isn’t that wonderful. Congratulations, dear," she offered to me. "Aren’t you a lucky girl." The condescension was apparent.
I pressed my lips together in what I hoped resembled a smile.
"I’m the lucky one, Martina," Conner interjected. Interesting that he called her by her first name, but called his father, Father.
"Of course," she defensively replied.
"We’re just so glad that you were both able to make it tonight," Mr. Kenneth elaborated.
"We’re not staying long," Conner deadpanned as he looked at his mother. Her eyes were bright and glistening with what appeared to be unshed tears.
"What a shame," his father responded with a bit of dejection in his voice. Mr. Kenneth looked somberly between the three of us. "Well, then." He cleared his throat. "You two enjoy your evening. Novalee, again, it’s a pleasure." He slightly bowed before escorting Mrs. Brathwaite away.
"Home sweet home," Conner said, trying and failing to lighten the mood.
I stared off at Mrs. Brathwaite. She blended seamlessly into the crowd, gracefully greeting and mingling with the other guests. It stung a little when she hugged and air-kissed Sasha.
"I’m sorry about that," he said. I felt his eyes on me while my eyes were on Mrs. Brathwaite and Sasha.
"Not your fault." That your mother doesn’t think I’m good enough, I wanted to add.
"We can go if you’d like."
"And not get the chance to dance with you?" Dozens of couples waltzed around the dance floor. It looked like a scene from an old black and white movie. I turned to face him, a smile curving on my lips. "I’ll have you know, my parents made me take waltz lessons when I was a child. I was a debutante girl. So, you have to at least allow me to put my dance moves to good use."
"God, you too? I wanted to break my own damn legs when my parents made me take waltz lessons." I smiled at another known fact from his childhood that he had shared with me. The singer on stage began to sing Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me. "Shall we?" he asked as he smiled and held his hand out for me.
; I took his hand and allowed him to escort me to the dance floor. "Ready to make me the most envied man here? Most of the men here have been eye-fucking you since we arrived," he murmured.
I giggled as he playfully and aggressively pulled me toward him, our bodies now pressed against each other. After kissing me chastely on the lips, we stood in position and began to waltz. Our bodies were effortlessly in sync.
"We have quite the audience," I said as I noticed more than a few couples smiling fondly and curiously at us. Sasha downright glared at us, as she waltzed with her dance partner.
"You have an audience. They’re looking at you." His glowing green eyes hungrily took me in. "You’re the most beautiful woman here."
"You’re such a charmer." I playfully swatted at his chest before gingerly running my fingers over the hard planes of it. He grabbed my hand and kissed it.
"Keep touching me like that and I’m going to lift you over my shoulder and carry you out of here," he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.
"You wouldn’t dare," I challenged.
He sardonically laughed. "I wouldn’t?" He had gone all caveman on me before, flipping me over his shoulder. I didn’t want to test his challenge.
∞∞∞
MANY PEOPLE VIED FOR Conner’s attention throughout the evening. We spent most of the night conversing with various political figures, media personalities, and fellow businessmen and businesswomen. Throughout my childhood and early adulthood, my parents had exposed me to various charity functions, debutante balls, and social clubs, so I comfortably blended into several conversations.
"Have you seen Quentin and Amy?" I leaned over and asked Conner while we ate our four-course meal.
"Quentin texted me earlier and told me that something came up." The waiter brought over a double shot of bourbon as Conner requested. As he swallowed the amber liquid, I noticed Mr. Kenneth eyeing Conner sternly from across the table. Conner boldly stared back at his father and downed the entire contents. My hand gently squeezed his leg underneath the table when he signaled the waiter back over for another drink.