Keeping His Promise (Year of the Billionaire Part 3)

by Falls, K. C.

  I sucked up my courage and made my presence known. As casually as I could muster, I strolled over to the table and put the box of goodies down in front of my mother.

  "Hi everyone," I said brightly. It sounded brittle and fake inside my head, I hoped the others didn't hear it that way. "I brought yummy things from Ferretti's Bakery." I didn't; I couldn't look him in the eye. I went to the kitchen for something to drink and nearly cried when I saw that my mother had a stack of eight plates in position next to the stove. There was a big hot casserole covered with foil, a bread basket with a cloth, and two bubbling pots--one with water and the other with Mom's escarole steaming away. It was obvious we had company for supper.

  "Well, sounds like we have a plan, Tristan," my father said as he rose from the table. "I'm starved. Let's get this table set for dinner." Mom came into the kitchen and I yanked her into the pantry out of earshot of the men.

  "Mother, why did you spring this on me?" I hissed.

  "It was spur of the moment. Should I have called you?" She acted innocent, but I was sure the whole scene was no accident.

  "It would have been nice to be forewarned."

  "I didn't think it made that much difference."

  "How can you say that? Of course it makes a difference."

  My mother turned to me. "Raina, you came home the night after the kidnappers released me and went straight to your room. From that point on, you have not spoken one word about what happened between you and Tristan, if anything happened at all. You left me to speculate. I chose to believe that it wasn't important enough for you to discuss."

  "So you assumed it was totally cool to force me to sit down to dinner at our table with him?"

  "I'm not forcing you to do anything. Please yourself."

  "Are you mad at me because Tristan and I stopped seeing one another?"

  "No. I'm hurt that you didn't see fit to take me into your confidence. I thought we were closer than that." I saw her lip quiver and it hit me in the gut.

  "Mom, I'm sorry. It's so complicated and I . . . I really didn't know what to say. I haven't even sorted out how I feel yet."

  "Did it ever occur to you that I might have been able to help you sort it out?"

  "Yes, it did."

  "Then why not talk to me about it?"

  "Truth?"

  "Truth."

  "I'm embarrassed. I think I really screwed up. I think I acted like a stupid adolescent."

  "Well, we can't spend all night in the pantry discussing it now. Help me with dinner." She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her. "Just try to act normal."

  I gave her a weak smile and followed her back into the kitchen. Easy for you to say, Mom. Act normal. I wasn't sure I knew what normal was anymore. The day had gone so well. My life seemed to be righting itself. And now this. I watched Tristan out of the corner of my eye as I put the garlic bread into the basket. I knew it was inevitable, but I wanted to crawl into the dishwasher and hide when I saw him approach me in the kitchen.

  "Anything I can do to help?" He casually put his hand against my shoulder and the sizzle shot down to my toes. I wanted to scream "don't touch me!" Instead, I told him to take the foil off of the chicken parm. I couldn't tell if it was the oven or his body that was producing so much heat. He stood only a few electric inches from my side.

  He leaned into me and I felt the warmth of his breath against me. He poured liquid words into my ear. "I've missed you. I've missed touching you."

  I swallowed hard and gathered up the silverware bundles. I placed them in front of all the chairs but he followed behind me with the bread basket. He managed to graze my ass with his groin as he reached in to put the basket in the middle of the table. Oh God.

  "I mean it, Raina. I need to see you," he insisted as he slowly backed away from the table. The others were taking their places. Dad sat at his end of the table. George sat at his right hand and Archie at his left, Kwan and Hoc filled the places beside George. I was trapped into sitting next to Tristan. I chose the middle, leaving Tristan to sit next to my mother.

  Everyone was excited about the plan to put the sting on the union thugs. I listened, half-heartedly. I was distracted by the pressure of Tristan's hard thigh up against mine. Big as he was, it was hard to avoid touching me. Eight normal sized people were a tight squeeze at our table. Archie was a skinny little guy; he barely filled the chair seat. But Tristan filled all the space he had and then some.

  I couldn't help but notice that Tristan had my parents eating out of his hand. They laughed at anything he said that was meant to be the least bit funny. They liked him. Possibly more important was that my father obviously respected him and my mother trusted him. What a strange position to be in. I almost felt like I owed it to my parents to give our relationship a better shot.

  What would they say if they knew why I had cut it off? My mother had already hinted to me at the Plaza that perhaps I wanted more 'touchy-feely' from Tristan than I had a right to expect. And, I was pretty sure my father would feel the same way. But would they really endorse a relationship based on no holds barred sexual adventures, hedonism and, in Tristan's own words, "no expectations"? Maybe I didn't know Marjorie and Donald Harding at all. Maybe Tristan represented the kind of youth they wished they had--the kind they wanted for me. Maybe they had their regrets about a young marriage, early parenthood and a bland middle class existence.

  Philosophic musing aside, his physical presence was exacting a toll on me. I was close enough to smell the faint fragrance of his skin. I felt intoxicated--giddy--even though there was only iced tea in the glass in front of me.

  "I got a job today," I announced during a rare lull in the conversation. My voice kind of squeaked out of my constricted throat. I sipped my tea and continued. "Yes, believe it or not, I did. It's at a tiny little bookstore on the upper Westside. I'll be assistant manager."

  "That's wonderful, Angelcakes!" my father exclaimed. "Good for you."

  "I'm also going to be setting up a computerized system for the store as well as a website for online shopping."

  "You mean to tell me there's actually a business left in Manhattan that doesn't have a website?" Mom asked.

  "The shop is run by a very, very old and very sweet man. He told me he doesn't have the patience to learn about computers--he wants to spend his time with the books."

  My father said he could certainly sympathize with that. He cursed every time he had to upgrade anything--cell phone, TV, even appliances--because of all the new bells and whistles involved.

  "There's more," I smiled. "I'm also going to be renting the apartment above the shop. It's perfect for me and Mr. Clemson is practically giving it to me." I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Tristan hadn't made one comment. Maybe I surprised him by getting a job on my own.

  "Congratulations, Raina," he said at last. "It sounds like an ideal match for your skill set"

  Was he mocking me? What did he know of my skill set? He'd seen me stage manage an amateur play. For all he knew my greatest talent was giving a blow job.

  "Actually, it is. Between courses I took at Bennington and my work on the Tanglewood system, I'm confident I can do exactly what Mr. Clemson wants done."

  "I'm sure you can. When do you start?"

  "A week from Friday."

  "So soon? Are you going to move in right away?" my mother asked. I could see that it dawned on her: I was really going to leave the nest.

  "Mom, don't worry. I'll be close and visit a lot. I didn't see any washer and dryer in the apartment."

  "Laundromats are expensive." Mom took the hint.

  "I promise I'll bring every load home."

  We finished the meal and the pastries were a big hit. I passed. After Mom's meal, I didn't need anything else. Tristan remained quiet and subdued after dinner, but he cornered me in the living room as everyone prepared to leave. Archie had said his goodnights, Kwan was already outside waiting at the car and George and Hoc were helping Mom in the kitchen before they wen
t downstairs. My father was taking the garbage out back to the dumpster.

  "We're going away this weekend." It was a statement of fact and typically Tristan.

  "Oh?" Any snappy retort I might have come up with wasn't going to help. I wanted to let Tristan speak his mind.

  "You don't start work for almost two weeks, so don't tell me you can't take a couple of days. I made a promise to you in France and I intend to keep it."

  I half remembered that he had said he would one day open up and tell me about his past. I didn't really count it as a 'promise'. Even so, I was kind of glad he considered it one.

  "Give me just a little time to . . . just let me show you . . ." He was at a loss for words. I was flattered that I had the power to fluster him even a little. "Maybe if you know more about me, you can forgive me."

  "There's nothing for me to forgive, Tristan. It isn't a crime to want different things. You've been up front with me from the beginning. The other day, I was just doing the same. Our relationship was causing me more anxiety than pleasure."

  "You know, Raina, pleasure is simple until we choose to complicate it."

  "That may be true, but for me at least, feelings aren't a choice."

  "Okay, just listen for a moment. I told you at Carcassone that I would tell you about my past. It isn't something I'm looking forward to, either."

  "You don't have to do it, then. It isn't going to change our fundamental differences after all."

  "But it might lead to a better understanding." He put his hands on my shoulders and squared them with his. His eyes flashed with their autumn lights. "How much harm can it do you? Just say you'll come with me. This time you don't even need a passport."

  Five

  Once again I found myself peering into a closet filled with a wardrobe I hadn't selected. This time, it didn't look like the plane was headed for some beach resort. I ran my hands over the softest, silkiest sweaters I had ever touched. I had never owned anything made out of Cashmere but I suspected instantly that that was what made the garments feel like kittens. There were slacks and skirts, two coats--one short and one long, a blazer, a couple of pretty knit dresses and even a pair of jeans. Everything hung on padded hangers that filled the air with the scent of their lavender stuffing. I knew that the drawers would have just the right undergarments and accessories. Tristan called me to take my seat before I had a chance to examine the soles of the half dozen pairs of shoes, but I already knew they would be red.

  "You know I still have three unopened boxes to return to you from the last trip. What do you have against my regular clothes?"

  "The only things I have seen you in, other than what I have purchased, are jeans and T-shirts that have seen better days. Why begrudge me the pleasure of a well dressed companion?" He was right of course. Everything I owned had been worn forever and none of it was of much quality to begin with. I was already sweating how I was going to manage to look decent for my new job. I didn't need to get all dressed up, but I knew I had to have something better than ratty jeans and shirts decorated with cartoons or worse.

  "And, I promise you that if you return the clothes from France I will throw them all in the garbage making them a complete waste. If you're too proud to keep them for yourself, be a fool and donate them to Goodwill. I am sure there is some needy person out there who would appreciate a fifteen hundred dollar pair of shoes more than you do." He huffed out the last part with disdain.

  "That's like blackmail." I had to smile at him. He was so funny when he got all high and mighty.

  "You don't seem to understand how much pleasure I get in giving you things, and especially things you need."

  "But it's so much. Who wears six different pairs of shoes in a weekend?"

  "The clothes in there," he pointed a thumb back over his shoulder, "will be perfect for your new job. That's part of why there are so many pieces. I thought you could use them."

  "That was very considerate of you. But . . ."

  "But nothing." He bent over me and buckled my seatbelt and pulled it snug. "Safe and secure, just the way I want to keep you."

  As he took his seat next to me, I mulled over that throw away remark. Yes, it seemed that all I had to do was say the word and he would 'keep' me in fine style as long as I didn't back him into a corner. The other interpretations of keep weren't part of his vocabulary.

  He rested his hand casually on my thigh reminding me of the real reason I was on that plane at that moment. Sure, I wanted to hear what he had to say. But I also wanted to touch him again. God how I wanted to touch him again. Touch and be touched.

  The days had seemed endless even as I occupied myself with looking for a job. I was spoiled by what we had together. Tristan had quickly and thoroughly conditioned me to unbridled and relentless arousal of all of my senses. He had taken me far beyond anything I had ever known or imagined could transpire physically between a man and a woman. He had brought me to great dizzy heights of desire. He exhausted me in complete satisfaction. His pull on me was like gravity and just as irresistible.

  I waited for the airborne seduction to begin. It hadn't been even two weeks since we last lay naked together but I ached for his cock, his tongue and the music of desire he made when he fucked me. I was a disappointed to learn that the flight would be short and dinner awaited. I would not be joining the mile-high club again that night. The delicious and perfectly prepared duck was wasted on me, as was another one of Tristan's masterful wine choices. I pushed my food around my plate trying to make it look like I had eaten more than I had. It looked like he was doing the same with his.

  We were both biding time. We were both resisting the urge to tear each other's clothes off and slam into one another's body. The very air in the plane was electric.

  "Would you like to know where we're going?"

  "I didn't think there was much point in asking. But, yes, of course I want to know."

  "Chicago. City of the Big Shoulders, place of my birth, home to Michigan Avenue, Marshall Fields and Bradley Alexander King." He said his father's name formally, coldly. "I thought that as long as we are going to have a weekend picking at scabs, we might as well go for the biggest and bloodiest of them all."

  "You're taking me to meet your father?" I asked incredulously. This was so not what I expected.

  "Among other things, yes, a meeting with the King has been scheduled."

  "But first, other things. Fun things. I want you to enjoy the Windy City and I want you to enjoy me." He held my hands in his and leaned across the table to give me a lingering, soulful kiss. His tongue searched my mouth igniting in just that touch a pent up fire inside me. "Will you try to do that?" He kissed me again.

  "You make it easy to enjoy you," I answered. And he did. All the over thinking, all the analysis, worry and speculation seemed to fade when his mouth met mine.

  Kwan announced the beginning of our descent. "Thank God," Tristan drew me close again and whispered against my ear. "I can't wait too much longer to strip those clothes off of you and fuck you senseless. My cock is begging to be buried inside your beautiful body."

  My clit tightened at his bold words. I closed my eyes and let the lusty moment carry me away to where there were only two bodies, naked and alive, pushing and pulling, taking and being taken.

  ***

  Tristan had told the front desk to hold our things until we called for them to be brought up to the rooms. The elegant elevator moved at the speed of the last ketchup in the bottle. I felt his hand massaging my ass as we crawled up to the top floor. The elevator was quite small and we weren't alone. I pressed back against him and felt his hardness giving me a preview of coming attractions.

  "You always have to get the penthouse," I teased in a whisper over my shoulder. "It's going to take all night just to get there."

  "The Drake's an old hotel. Opened in the 1920's."

  "Maybe we're riding in the original elevator."

  "I think you're right."

  Our suite looked like it hadn't changed
much since the twenties, either. Everything was new and perfectly clean, but decked out in brocades and satin, and furnished in Italian Renaissance style, the rooms had a decidedly old fashioned elegance.

  From the windows of the suite I could see a patch of beach illuminated by the lights on Lake Shore Drive. I had never seen one of the Great Lakes and I was looking forward to getting a good look at the inland sea the next day. The half-moon glinted on some choppy water but didn't shed much light there.

  Tristan came up behind me and circled my waist with his arms as we looked out over the lake together. "When I was a little kid, we had a lake house for a while near St. Joseph, Michigan. It's a real challenge to swim in that lake."

  "Why is that?"

  "Scrotum scrunching cold. Mom would force me to get out when my lips were blue." He turned me around to face him and possessed me with a kiss. Our desire, fueled by the separation, burst into flames between our hungry bodies.

  As I knew it would, his touch wiped away any thought of hesitation. I was molten under his knowing hands. Our clothes quickly formed a heap at the foot of the big hotel bed. He fed the fire in me with his devouring mouth, first against my lips, then my neck, and down to nibble and suck on my nipples that strained for him.

  I reached for his erection and he curled his long body so that I could take him in my hand. He was completely hard and the silky skin on his cock pulsed with heat. I looked at the beautiful instrument of my pleasure and sighed at the sight of it. All of his rigid length stood at attention. For me. For my body.

  He held my arms above my head as he teased and nipped at the little buds. I arched my pelvis against his chest, urging him lower, pleading for his attention on my sex. He released my hands as he traced down my skin with torturing slowness. I could feel the brush of his cock against my thighs. I was wet with lust. I wanted to pull him back to my mouth and feel him mount me, but I knew his ways. He would tease me first, satisfy me before he satisfied himself and only then would I know the prize of penetration. He liked it that way. Torment, delicious torment, was always part of fucking Tristan.