by Pete, Eric
I shook my head and counted to ten as I gripped the sides of the table to keep myself from going off. I could not believe I was about to get cursed out again by my old man for not answering my phone, and it wasn’t even my fault.
I was almost afraid to ask Junior, “What were you calling for?”
He tilted his head in the direction of the door, so I got up and followed him outside, where we could have some more privacy. I didn’t even look in Ruby’s direction as I left.
Outside, Junior blurted out, “The shipment’s been hijacked. Somebody stole the truck with the Roadster on it.”
I suddenly wished I hadn’t eaten so much at dinner, because I felt like I was about to throw up. “Not the shipment. Tell me you’re fucking kidding around.”
Junior shook his head solemnly. “Dude, I would not joke about this. Pop is damn near ready to have a heart attack.”
As the recently appointed head of Duncan Motors, I had to keep my bearings. I wanted to flip out, but I tried to remain calm as I asked, “Okay, look, any idea who could’ve done it?”
“Nope, but Pop wants us all back at the dealership ASAP. I’m sure he’s got some thoughts.”
“I’ve got a few of my own. I’ll meet you back at the shop.”
“Cool. Don’t take too long,” Junior said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” I said over my shoulder as I headed back into the restaurant.
At the table, Ruby was sitting there with a contrite look on her face, but if she thought she was getting off that easy, she was mistaken. What the hell was she thinking, turning off my phone? This was what I got for breaking my own damn rule, I guess.
I snatched my phone off the table, and sure enough, the screen was black. I hit the button to power it back on.
“Orlando, I—”
I cut her off quick. “Look, it’s too late to apologize. Something’s come up, and if I had gotten the call when I was supposed to ...”
“I’m really so—”
“Look, you don’t get paid to touch my fuckin’ phone, got that?” I snapped. She looked ready to cry. “I’ll have Remy send a car to pick you up here.” I threw some money down on the table to pay for dinner, then left without another word.
London
22
The water running down my body had turned icy cold, but I barely felt it as I leaned against the wall, still trembling from the powerful orgasm I’d just given myself. I’d been doing a lot of that lately, pleasuring myself like a horny teenager. Instead of fantasizing about my husband, though, I found myself thinking about Tony, the guy who saved me from that mugger outside the dry cleaners.
Maybe it was kind of cliché, you know, the damsel in distress falling for her knight in shining armor and all that; but once I got past the fact that he’d saved me from an attempted rape, it didn’t take me long to notice that Tony was pretty damn hot. Coincidentally, his look reminded me a lot of my ex-boyfriend Jesse—the same guy I’d been fighting about with Harris. Maybe that was why I took Tony’s number when he started flirting and offered it to me.
Speaking of Harris, he was still barely talking to me. Oh, he showed a fair amount of concern when I told him about the mugging, but that only garnered me sympathy but for so long. We made love that night, but he’d hardly looked in my direction since. I assumed he was still mad about the whole Jesse thing, but he wasn’t the only man in the house who was out of his mind lately. My father and my brothers were all on edge too. I didn’t know all the details, but I knew some serious shit had gone down, and it had every one of them stressed out. When I approached Harris one night and asked why he hadn’t made love to me in a while, he actually told me he had too much on his mind to think about sex. He suggested I take care of myself, and so I’d done just that. I figured, hell, if Harris was too busy and stressed out, fantasies about Tony would do the trick just fine.
When the tremors between my legs subsided, I turned off the now frigid water and stepped out of the shower. I wrapped myself in a huge, fluffy Egyptian cotton towel and headed into the bedroom, where I thought I’d lie down and watch Regis and Kelly for a while. I was so glad my father had taken Mariah to preschool so I could have some time to myself.
The peaceful moment was soon interrupted, though, when I heard a ringing sound coming from my walk-in closet. At first I thought it was my phone, but as I got closer to the door, I heard Harris in there answering his phone.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said warmly. He lowered his voice almost down to a whisper. I was sure he didn’t realize I was on the other side of the door and could still hear everything he said. Whoever he was talking to sure had him upbeat and happy.
“Yeah, I miss you too, but things are a little hectic right now at the office.... I’ll be free this evening. I’m not gonna have much time, so it will have to be quick. But I’ll make it count. You got my word on that.”
I’d heard enough. The least the messy bastard could have done was told the heifer he’d call her back when he left the house he and his wife shared. “Make what count? And who the hell is she that you miss her so much?” I blurted out as I pulled back the partially closed door and stepped into the closet with him.
“Damn it, London!” Harris snapped, like he was pissed that I was interrupting his call with his mistress. Like he was mad at me for talking so that she could hear me. He quickly hung up the phone, and when I went to reach for it, he pulled away.
“Give me the phone, Harris,” I demanded. “Who is the bitch? Have some balls about your shit. Man up and let me have the fucking phone!”
He wasn’t giving it up without a fight, that was for sure. I could feel my towel loosening as we tussled, but I didn’t care. I was determined to find out who the hell was coming between me and my man.
“London, you’re acting like a fool. Stop it!” Harris shouted, still holding the phone out of my reach.
I continued to press forward, trying to grab the phone out of his hand.
“Did you hear me? Stop it!” Harris followed up with a slap that I swear made me lose my hearing for a few seconds.
I stood there, still a little damp, with the towel now at my ankles. I was holding the side of my face and head where he had laid one on me. The pain was excruciating, enough to make me cry.
Harris had put his hands on me before, but this time there was so much rage behind it. So much power. Even he could tell he’d landed a mighty blow. It showed in the look of instant regret that shot across his face.
“London ... oh my God. Baby, I’m sorry.” He took a step toward me, but I jerked back.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” I held the side of my face gingerly. “Harris, I swear, if you ever put your hands on me again, I’ll kill you,” I said in a low growl.
“What?” His regretful tone suddenly vanished. “Look, I said I was sorry, but don’t make this worse by making idle threats. You ain’t got the guts to kill me.”
He was right. I didn’t have the guts, but I knew who did. “Maybe, but let’s see if I have the guts to tell my father you’ve been hitting me. I didn’t have a problem telling Vegas that time, did I?”
The first time he’d ever hit me, I told my brother Vegas, and it wasn’t pretty. I actually had to tell Vegas I was lying to stop him from killing Harris—and I made sure Harris understood that I’d saved his life. Now anytime things got too out of hand, all I had to do was threaten to tell my father or my brothers, and Harris would snap right back in place.
“You’d do that? You’d tell your father something like that and ruin our family?” Harris shot back. He was forever trying to play the family card. What he failed to understand was that husband or not, I was a Duncan long before I was a Grant, and I wouldn’t hesitate to play my own family card if he ever got too heavy-handed with me.
“I will do whatever I have to do to stop you from hitting me,” I threatened, although I had already decided that at least this time he was off the hook with the family. There was too much drama with the business rig
ht now for me to distract everyone with this bullshit. Besides, this whole fight had started because of a stupid phone call. Last thing I wanted to do was start some shit between my husband and the family. Then my marriage would be over, and the home-wrecking bitch would have won.
“I am not your punching bag,” I reminded him.
He sighed, taking a second to reflect. “Look, I know that. I’m sorry, but you just know how to push my buttons,” he replied, walking over and gently touching my shoulders. “If you want, I’ll go to counseling. I’ll do whatever it takes, but I want you to keep this between us.”
“I don’t know who she is, Harris, but get rid of her before I get rid of you. That punch I just took woke up a lioness that’s about ready to go on the prowl. You don’t want to see that side of me.”
“You wouldn’t,” he challenged.
I countered with, “Let that disrespectful bitch call you one more time and I guess we’ll both find out, won’t we?”
He stared at me for about three full seconds. He was breathing heavily and was clearly still agitated. For a second I thought he might wind up and smack me again, but then he turned and stormed out of the bedroom.
I walked over to the mirror and observed the area where he’d just hit me. It wasn’t too bad considering how hard he’d hit me. Thank God my mother and father had both already left the house. Rio was the only one home, and he was asleep, no doubt.
What hurt almost as much as the slap was my bruised ego. I couldn’t believe the disrespect Harris had just shown me by answering that call—and in our bedroom, no less! Well, I thought, let’s see how he likes being disrespected.
I found my own cell phone on the dresser and picked it up to dial. After the first ring, Tony’s voice penetrated my ear. It was like an instantaneous healing.
Paris
23
I checked my watch as I stepped onto the elevator at the LaGuardia Airport Marriott. It was a little after eight, so I had about one hour to accomplish what I’d set out to do. On the seventh floor, I stepped out and headed for room 726. I knocked, and when I saw the light disappear from the peephole, I knew he was on the other side of the door, looking out at me. I smiled seductively and held up two fingers.
“I come in peace,” I said.
Miguel opened the door and stuck his head out, checking left and right down the hallway.
“I’m alone,” I reassured him. I couldn’t blame him for looking. My brothers and my father had a knack for scaring off men I was interested in.
“Señorita Paris, how did you find me?” He sounded a little nervous, but still sexy as hell with his accent. He had that Tony Montana-Scarface swagger, and it turned me on—hence, the reason for my visit.
“Shhh.” I placed a finger over his lips and pressed my body against his. He took a step back, but I didn’t mind, because it just gave me space to enter the suite. “We don’t have time for twenty questions. Your flight leaves in two hours, so you’ll be heading to the airport in an hour, right?”
“Sí.” He nodded.
“Then you need to stop wasting time.”
“I don’t understand. Wasting time?”
I guess the language barrier was greater than I thought, because he really wasn’t getting it. Oh well, time to be blunt about it. “You’re standing here talking when we could be fucking.”
I closed the distance between us. Every time I stepped closer, he moved back, until his legs were against the couch. All it took was one slight push against his chest and he was sitting down. I wasted no time, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms across his shoulders.
His mouth said, “Holy mother of God, your father’s going to kill me,” but the rise in his pants told me he liked the position we were in.
“Don’t worry about my father. He’s not going to kill you, because he’s not going to find out about this. But what I’m about to put on you ... yeah, it just might kill you.” I pressed my body against his and started grinding. I wanted him to feel the warmth that was radiating between my thighs.
“No, señorita, please.” He placed his hands on my hips to stop them from swaying. “That is what he told me. He said if I touch you, he will kill me.”
Damn, damn, damn! My father must have really scared the crap out of him, because very few men could resist me once I gave them the green light. I was beginning to think I was wasting my time here. I climbed off his lap.
“So you want me to leave?” I looked down and saw that his dick definitely didn’t want me to leave. His face, on the other hand, still wore a mask of concern. Fortunately, after a moment of hesitation, his dick won the battle. He reached out and pulled me back down onto his lap.
I leaned back a little so I could gain access to the bulge in his pants. I caressed the raised outline, tracing along its considerable length, until I came to his plump, swollen head. It jerked and throbbed noticeably to my touch, like a dog standing on its hind legs for attention.
I approve this massage, his dick said. I liked that.
A moan escaped from Miguel’s mouth, and finally I could see the lines in his face relax. That was all the encouragement I needed as I went to work, grinding my pelvis against him again.
“You a bad girl, huh?” Miguel uttered, his smile indicating he’d completely forgotten about my father.
“Si,” I replied softly. “Wanna spank me with your stick?”
His hands were on my ass in no time. He pulled me in even closer and pressed his delicious hardness up against me. When he started whispering in my ear in Spanish, I thought I might come right then and there.
Miguel kissed me deeply, and I was brought back in time, to someone I met in boarding school in Europe. He was a Spaniard who maintained the school’s security; much older than I was, but I learned a lot from him. He was dangerous, like this one, and perhaps where I first developed a taste for the thrill of danger.
I tugged on Miguel’s shirt, pulling the black cotton tee over his head and exposing his smooth, sculpted chest and abs. I could tell he had a nice body under those suits he always wore to the office, but now that I was seeing him in the flesh, I realized my imagination hadn’t done him justice. Papi’s body was definitely a ten out of ten. He looked like he could be on an infomercial for one of those exercise programs, like P90X or something. I wondered if he spent hours in the gym, or if his lifestyle just made it a necessity to be that hard. Either way, he looked damn good.
Miguel yanked my blouse loose from my skirt, then began unfastening it, each button yielding with only the slightest effort. He bit at my neck, almost to the point of leaving a mark, as his hand grasped at my back, pulling me closer. As I ran my fingers through his hair, he went for my bra. The straps went slack and fell off my shoulders, and Miguel cupped my bare breasts, placing his warm, wet mouth on each. He teased and nipped at my sensitive nipples and sucked on them with a passion that made my juices start flowing.
“Let me see it,” I gasped as I unbuckled his belt. He finished for me, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down, along with his boxers. His manhood jutted out at me in invitation, and I was glad to accept. I unzipped my skirt and discarded my last bits of clothing, except for my Louboutins. Placing my hands on Miguel to steady myself, I got down on my knees to serve him.
As I took him deep inside my mouth, he let out a loud, satisfied moan. Finally, he was relaxed, and I was determined to make sure his attention stayed focused on me, not on who my family was. I worked my lips, keeping a tight seal around his dick as I bobbed my head, making it nasty and wet for him. The more I gagged and slurped on the pole, the deeper he tried to go down my throat. He got so into it that he stood up from the couch and put his hands on the back of my head, thrusting against me. I sucked him long and hard, until I felt his body tightening. I looked up into his eyes, letting him know how much I was enjoying giving him pleasure and coaxing him to let it go like he wanted.
“Ay, caramba. Señorita, you are very good at this,” he said, smiling wickedly as his eye
s rolled back.
It didn’t take long before his body began to shake. I sped up my motion, and Miguel released himself with sounds of passion that could probably be heard by half the hotel.
“Shit. Where you been all my life?” he gasped approvingly in heavily accented English. I rose to my feet, not surprised by his compliments. Not to brag or anything, but my blow jobs always made men lose their minds.
“Just waiting on you, Daddy,” I replied, grasping his waning stiffness in my hand. Despite my mouth showing signs of my labor of lust, he kissed me with an abundance of passion. I liked that. It showed he appreciated me and what I had just done.
“Señorita, a man could fall in love with you very easily. The way you talk and act ... You are a very dangerous woman.”
“Much more dangerous than you can ever imagine. So don’t use the L word with me. I have a tendency to take what men say to me to heart.”
He looked right in my eyes and insisted, “I say what I mean and mean what I say.”
Damn, he sure knew how to talk that romantic shit, didn’t he?
“Now it is my turn to show you the stars and the moon.” He lifted me up with ease and carried me into the bedroom, where he placed me on the bed. I opened my legs so that my shaved, plump pussy was on display and ready to be sampled. He dropped to his knees before me and nuzzled his face into my lips, where his nose and then his mouth sought out my clit. He licked and probed first with a firm tongue, then pushed deeper into me, making my clit throb and my pussy cream. I convulsed, popping my hips toward him with each uncontrolled eruption on his face.
My body had barely stopped trembling from the first orgasm when he dove in for another. “Don’t stop till you get enough,” I teased, grateful for this man’s skills. I could fall in love with a man like this.
As he went to work with his tongue, I turned my head to the side and noticed a black handgun on the nightstand beside me. Miguel hadn’t even bothered to try to hide it. It was so close, I could have reached out and touched it if I wanted—which I definitely didn’t. Something similar had snuffed out Trevor’s life. A solitary tear escaped down my cheek as I closed my eyes.