THE GOOD MISTRESS II: The Wedding

by Amarie Avant

  They’d become so attuned to each other that he didn’t even have to say the words. An intense ache sent goosebumps over her chocolate brown skin as Blake’s fingers finally left her hiding place. With his other hand still engulfing the top of her own, he guided her toward her wet and pulsating entrance. His left hand went to her lips. She had never tasted herself.

  “Close your eyes,” Blake commanded. He pushed himself closer between her thighs to have a hundred percent access to her beautiful body. As soon as her slender, silky fingers caressed the lips of her pussy, Mila let out an intense moan. She didn’t have a moment to take in the crescendo of heightened sensation since Blake was leading her fingers into her body.

  “Now, this pretty pussy is the sweetest taste I’ve ever known,” Blake murmured against her earlobe. His sexy lips were lined by a neatly-cut goatee. He was the epitome of masculine beauty. His voice was a mixture of pure testosterone, heavy and baritone. “Now, love yourself.”

  His hand left hers. Mila continued to love her body slowly. He sunk back, his buttocks resting on the back of his heels, and Mila took in his glorious naked body, ripped with muscle after muscle. Dark blond lashes shaded emerald eyes that did not leave her moist flower.

  Mila knew he was speaking to her. Those thick, ever pleasing lips were moving, but she continued to toy with her own pussy.

  Again, he spoke. “How does my pussy feel?”

  Breaths coming in gasps, Mila had no words. Damn, dick must love my body. It was soft, a most luscious feeling. As Mila worked the words around in her mind to utter a sentence, Blake’s hand gripped her wrist, and her fingers were quickly removed.

  An instant later, pain slammed through her nether regions. A pain accompanied by a firework of pleasure she had no idea existed. Blake had swatted at the lips of her womanhood. Harshly. It made her body quiver.

  “Fu-fuck me, Blake!” Mila gasped. Had she said those exact words? Had she strung them together correctly, coherently? She almost begged him to slap her pussy once more, but once again, Blake’s large hand enveloped her own, guiding her fingers back into her core.

  “Feet on the bed,” he ordered.

  Her deer-caught-in-the-headlights look compelled Blake to grab her ankles and place them on the bed. Now, her thighs were pressed against her breast, and she was damn near squatting at the edge of the bed. Blake placed himself before her. Mila’s opposite hand rested against the broad plane of his shoulder, steadying herself. He reached over, though his demeanor had darkened sinfully, and thoughtfully grabbed a few blankets, wedging them at her lower back. This gave new meaning to legs wide, pussy on deck, a request Blake often had.

  “Keep fucking your pussy, Mila.” His words lashed out, hot and vulgar, yet she delighted in every syllable. “Good. Beautiful.”

  A gulp of her own saliva slithered down her throat.

  “Now, who owns your pussy?”

  “You do.”

  His jaw clenched. Again, he grabbed her hand, leaving her pussy with no love. The subsequent pop against the meat of her second lips had her shoulders shaking, and her lips quivering in delight. He slapped her once more, this time with a bit more force, and she clung to him, whimpering. She needed his cock to fill the void between her thighs.

  “Now, love yourself once more, beautiful.”

  She did, gladly. This time, her fingertips glided inside so easily. Her pussy was beginning to rain down hard. She caught a good friction, imagining his dick once more.

  “If I say, ‘who owns your pussy?’ you begin with, ‘Blake owns my pussy.’ Got that?”

  “Blake owns my pussy.” In her desire to please him, she added, “Blake owns me.”

  For the third time, his fingers clamped around her wrist. When her hand went toward his face, Mila’s heart skipped a beat. She wouldn’t admit to the pleasures in pain or being slapped—hell, it went against how adamant she had been on their first encounter—but oh, she wanted him to slap her pussy. Then slam his cock right inside to smooth out the pain. Instead, he kissed the inside of her wrist where her pulse was vulnerable yet heightened. He took each of her fingers and placed them on his lips.

  He kissed the tips of each finger. His thick mouth becoming more glossed by the second. Blake clamped a hand at the back of her neck, brought her mouth to his, and feasted on her lips. He leaned further against the bed, bringing himself closer. Blake growled into her moans. Before Mila could beg, Blake’s cock slid into the ocean he had created.

  She expected a good fucking—ass smacking that matched the beastly thrusts of his cock—but what she got was even better. She received love. With every stroke of his cock along her soaking wet walls, Blake looked into her eyes. His mouth met hers. He kissed and loved her, moving with her as her head lay back on the pillow. Mila hadn’t known what total bliss meant.

  Each and every time, Blake Baldwin reinvented sex.

  He made barbaric fucking feel so good that it made her lungs grow raw.

  But now, this man that she loved with all her heart made her want to agree to marriage. Mila wanted to kneel before him and offer to propose to him as Blake’s cock slid in and out of her valley.

  “I love you, Blake,” she panted as his hand cupped her breast and stroked her nipple.

  His smile almost made her want to die in his arms as he continued to love on her. Their tongues collided, and she wanted to tell him that they could do it. Just do it, already. Get married.

  “Blake,” Mila began. Blake kissed her mouth. His cock sliding ever so slowly into her body.

  He whispered his love against her lips.

  “This is perfect.” She caught his gaze again, as he glided in, out, in. “This . . . what we have,” she found herself saying, “is everything.”

  His beautiful emerald orbs hardened.

  Mila closed her eyes momentarily. Damn, he knows I don’t want to get married. I just chickened out!

  Before she could speak up, Blake placed her legs over his shoulders. His hand slammed down onto the headboard, and his cock became a piston. The quick force of him thrusting in and out sent Mila’s brain to another level. She screamed and panted and thanked him.

  “I love—”

  His hand gripped her thigh. In a second, Mila was face down with her ass in the air.

  “I love you too, Mila,” he growled, as his cock once again entered her. Blake slammed in and out of her until her voice was all but gone. When he came, his entire body stiffened above hers. Hot torrents of cum squirted deep into her valley. She loved it.

  ***

  Later that night, Mila’s body molded against Blake’s rock-hard frame. Darkness surrounded them. As the strength of his arms encircled her, that smile from multiple-satisfying orgasms wavered. One day he’d stop proposing to her. He won’t keep at it forever, will he?

  Even Yasmin, her oldest sister, had broken down and told Mila that she needed counseling. It wasn’t that she had a fear of Blake cheating or growing listless with her. Her fear resided in the engagement. To be a fiancée for the third time? It was the in-between that scared the wits out of her and kept her from those two choice words. She wouldn’t mind waking up married to him already, not at all. But the dreaded engagement . . .

  Blake

  Lush snow blanketed the trees and the roof of the luxurious cabin Blake owned. Swirls of smoke puffed into the air from chimneys around the vast building. Blake stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee

  On the onyx countertop was his iPad, the screen displayed the meeting room of his Santa Monica office. Five senior members of his computer tech team, basically nerds, were before him. Each member wore a t-shirt that depicted some sort of anti-political statement or cartoon. They were pigging out on calzones.

  “Are you hitting the slopes?” Donald asked. He had been the only member who had voted for their annual team building vacation to be held in the winter at a ski resort instead of in Hawaii, which was a favorite tradition for everyone else. Blake had laughed. What had Donald expect?
Most of the nerds running his company were all surf bums, if they weren’t hacking and coming up with new ideas, then they were seeking the biggest wave to surf.

  “Hell yeah,” Blake replied, “Next year, we’re all gonna switch gears, by the way. There’s some really cool stuff up here you all would like once you give it a chance.”

  There were a few moans and groans from some of the true Californians. In the end, he knew they’d all agree to the team-building activities that were offered with a trip to cold weather.

  “Now, back to the matter at hand.” Blake rubbed his palms together. “We bulldozed Twitter, and now, we have a hand in Pinterest. What are we doing to dethrone the Instagram app?”

  “Aren’t we working on China?” Claud asked. “Since some areas don’t use Facebook.”

  “You tell me. Donald, how are you guys with fixing the kinks in the app prototype?” Blake asked while adding a bit of cream to his mug. “If we’re going to try to shift gears, and I’m blowing money out of my ass, I need to feel confident that when we make a request to meet with Kiyota, he will not laugh at our newest baby.”

  Kiyota owned one of the largest marketing firms in China. With Blake’s resources and Kiyota as the face of a new social media brand in Asia, it meant more riches than they could ever imagine.

  Donald perked up. “I think our app is—”

  “No thinking, Donald. Feel that shit.” Blake placed the mug down. “Your lack of assurance makes my investors leery. Clearly, you’re not ready to pitch it to me, let alone to Kiyota.”

  Along the top of the screen, a notification indicated that Zenobia Washington was FaceTiming him. Blake brought the discussion to an end. “I’ll be back in town by Monday. Have something for me that will interest Kiyota, or we scrap half a year of coding.” Blake cut the screen for his video conference and picked up the connection with Zenobia.

  Zenobia was the younger sister of his best friend, Isaac, whose mother had taken Blake in when his own teen mother had gone to jail for petty theft. Serenity Graham, his mother’s best friend, had raised him as if he were her own. She’d kept him from a foster care placement, which he would be forever grateful for.

  “Hello, Zennie,” Blake said.

  “Hey, Brendan.” Zenobia called him by the name he hated. She had always been a thorn in his side as a child, so there was nothing he could do but allow it. She had her hair in a different style than usual. Braids that were as thick as his thumbs were neatly draped over her shoulders. Zenobia peered around, and Blake stepped closer toward the iPad.

  “What’s up, nosy?” he asked.

  “Nothing much. Just wanted to see if Mila left you, yet.”

  “And why would she do that.” He reached over to grab his coffee.

  “Like I told you, you had a few sistahs when you were a kid. Taking them to Micky Ds or that nasty ass Jack in the Box, back in the day, always helped you get some coochie—but—black women only like pretty picturesque snow when it’s posted up in a frame. Taking her to the snow? You really aren’t trying to get Mila to marry you.”

  Blake hid a smile as he drank some of his coffee. “Okay, Zennie, whatever you say.”

  “Don’t okay me. Dang. I’m rooting for you. It’s slim pickings for us girls doped up on melanin. I’m trying to help you, but feel free to continue with your shenanigans.”

  “I will. I more than appreciate the advice.”

  She smirked, changing the subject. “What’s the next proposal concept after the snow?”

  “Bungee jumping,” he joked, aware that it would just give Zenobia more ammunition. She had a mouth, and she loved to use it.

  “Right,” she chuckled. “Where is Mila?”

  “Asleep.”

  With a wag of her finger, Zenobia said, “You just don’t want me to speak to her.”

  “Now, why would I keep you from Mila?”

  “Because at our get-together last month, I almost screwed up your proposal. Though, I doubt that it matters since you popped the question a handful of times since then.” She smirked.

  “That’s very observant of you. And I’ll ask until the day I die if we aren’t married by then.” Blake smiled.

  Blake had proposed at The Butterfly House in St. Louis, where he and Zenobia’s family were from. A flurry of beautiful butterflies flitted around. Within that flurry was a micro drone perfectly replicated to look like a Richmond Birdwing Butterfly, a rare species of black butterfly. The prototype, which had cost Blake a fortune, had an engagement ring tied to its middle. Mila had said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She had looked like she had wanted to shout “yes” from the highest rooftops, in his opinion. He had not understood why she held back.

  The fiasco had ended up as one for the books. Once they returned from the Butterfly House—Zenobia and her big mouth—she just knew Mila had said yes. It was awkward after Zenobia had eagerly asked to see the ring.

  “I don’t hold grudges,” Blake began.

  Blake tried to clear the image of what he assumed was the most romantic proposal from his mind while kneading the back of his neck.

  “Yeah, right,” Zenobia quipped. “You don’t hold grudges? Then why do I recall a few pranks at my expense?”

  Hearing the sound of footsteps, Blake glanced down the pathway to see two shapely, bare legs. Mila wore his shirt, the one he had tossed off yesterday, and damn, she looked even better in it. The shirt softly caressed her hips, those luscious handles that made bouncing on his cock all the better. Her hair was in a flurry, a lopsided ponytail flopped as she descended the last step.

  A fog of sleepiness and what appeared to be her searching for something disappeared from Mila’s eyes when she saw Blake watching her. Her sexy almond eyes widened some, and her mouth curved into a genuine smile. She had found him.

  Damn, he loved her with every bit of him. Blake almost felt like tossing her over his shoulder and dragging her to the Justice of the Peace. It almost hurt knowing that he had yet to fully claim her in all aspects. A man could lay with a woman. And indeed, he’d had Mila Ali in every sense of the word. But to lay with her as his wife, that would be a treasure in itself.

  “Um . . . hello?” Zenobia spoke.

  Mila reached him. At that moment, her smile was the closest thing to family Blake had. He’d forgotten all about Zenobia until Mila bypassed their morning embrace.

  “Zennie, what’s up, girl?”

  “Hey,” Zenobia brightened. “Just making sure you haven’t frozen to death.”

  “It’s toasty in the cabin,” Mila replied.

  She placed her forearms on the countertops. Her ass tooted up somewhat as she spoke. Blake stared at her. Did she not know her appeal?

  “I swear it wasn’t as cold yesterday. As long as I’m allowed to stay inside for the duration of our trip, I may survive.”

  “You actually went out?” Zenobia’s eyes bugged.

  Mila laughed, telling her about jumping from the ski seat and almost doing the splits.

  “You could’ve died!”

  “I almost did,” Mila agreed. “Not like you think. Nevertheless, I did take a serious fall on the slopes.”

  Blake took that as his cue to walk away and allow them to finish their conversation. It wouldn’t have mattered. There was no stopping Zennie; she had that damn mouth.

  ***

  Wooden pillars dissected the enormous room, and windows lined the exterior walls. The serene snow falling outside almost calmed the ache in Blake’s heart. Proposing to Mila had been a challenge, one that he enjoyed every moment of. But he was beginning to think that marriage wasn’t in the cards for them. The thought didn’t stop him from still thinking about ways to make it happen though.

  I’ll purchase her her very own island and write a marriage proposal in the sand—fuck, my friend Daniel did that last year.

  I could rent the Golden Gate bridge for half a day. It would piss off the folks from San Fran but fuck it. I could do that. Then what? Fuck!

&
nbsp; Blake’s thumb cruised over emails. He knew that the more wealth that he had, the more damn emails he would get. Most of them he deleted, as he thought about marrying Mila.

  The sarcastic idea of bungee jumping he just mentioned to Zenobia popped into his head. Blake leaned back into the couch and had a good laugh while muttering to himself. “Might as well tell her I’m gonna go run with the bulls if you don’t marry me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Blake sat up. Mila stood about thirty yards away on the opposite side of the living room with two cups of coffee in her hands. She gestured to his cup. “I warmed it up after getting off the phone with Zennie.”

  Just the gorgeous sight of her transported Blake into the past. They were at Warren Jamerson’s funeral when they met. His mind had been inundated with the nastiest of thoughts all throughout the proceeding—at a church no less. Damn. If Blake had known the man’s fiancée was so fucking hot, he’d have made a fool of himself a lot sooner.

  “Here.” Mila handed his cup over.

  Shit. He hadn’t even noticed that she had walked over to him.

  “Blake, what’s wrong?”

  He shrugged as she looked down at him.

  “Really?” She placed her drink on the coffee table as he sat his on the side table.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mila.”

  His woman sank to her knees, planting herself before him. Mila’s soft, tiny hand caressed the stubble along his jaw. “Blake, please talk to me.”

  And say what? I’m gonna marry you come hell or high water.

  “Blake!” Her hands slammed down onto his muscular thighs, but the only pain to be had was in her eyes.

  “What, Mila? We don’t have a problem. Don’t make one.”

  “Are you sure?” She asked, searching his eyes.

  Fuck yeah, I’m sure. We don’t have a problem yet. I’m not an easily dissuaded man. If it comes to it, I will drag you down the aisle.