His Sword

by Holly Hart

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “And that’s changed how, Mr. Bond?”

  Carson laughs as he pulls away from the trailhead parking lot and onto the winding road that will take us back down to Bardolino and the villa we’ve booked for the wedding.

  “I met you,” he says, having to raise his voice over the sound of the engine and the air rushing into the cockpit of the convertible. “That was when I learned what life is really about.”

  Awww. I want to squeeze his hand, but it’s busy working the gearshift. So I figure I might as well take advantage of the opening he’s given me to fish for a compliment or two.

  “And what, exactly, would that be?” I ask.

  He grins.

  “Sex with virgins.”

  Oh, you little…

  I smack his rock-hard shoulder.

  “Try again, Romeo,” I say. “And bear in mind that we’re just up the street from fair Verona.”

  “Two households, both alike in dignity,” Carson says, reciting the opening lines of Romeo & Juliet. Show-off. “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

  “Exactly. So if you don’t want any grudges or mutinies or civil blood, I suggest you come up with a better answer.”

  He gears down in an attempt to keep me from losing my headscarf as we round a hairpin curve. It works, allowing me to maintain my Grace Kelly vibe for a little while longer.

  “Life,” he says, “is really about connection. That indescribable feeling you get when you realize that you’ve found the missing part of you that you didn’t even know you were looking for. Sharing your life and your heart and your experiences with that person.”

  Geez, even after all this time, he can still make my heart swell up. I take the silly scarf off my head – it’s not going to do any good for my crazy, curly mop – and dab at the corner of my eyes.

  “Not bad, eh?” he asks.

  I sniffle. “Been practicing that one, have you?”

  We reach a straightaway and he takes his hand off the gearshift to squeeze mine.

  “I just opened my mouth and that’s what came out,” he says. “That tends to happen when I’m with you. You bring out the best in me.”

  His hand slides down the hem of my dress and back up the bare thigh underneath.

  “And the worst,” he says with a grin.

  “I’ll be the judge of which is which,” I say, opening my legs a bit to accommodate his touch.

  He teases me for a couple of minutes, until he can’t avoid gearing down any longer. The road gets steeper the closer we get to the village, so I pout a bit and close my legs again.

  “Can I have a rain check?” he asks with just the right amount of begging in his tone.

  “If you play your cards right,” I say. “Maybe I’ll practice my own manual shifting with you later.”

  He flashes me a look that combines lust and theatrical surprise, eliciting a hearty giggle from me.

  Later, in Bardolino, we sit at our table at a little café across from the marina. It’s a tiny place, downscale, but that’s why we love it. It has an unbeatable view of the water, delicious food and wonderful staff.

  Carson and I have both learned over the years that value doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with cost. My oversized D&G knockoff sunglasses, for example, were twenty-four dollars at the airport in Milan. His deck shoes were thirty-five dollars at a shop up the street from here. And we have to get used to living on less.

  I kick off my sandals and run my bare foot along the muscles of his calves under the table.

  “So,” I say. “Ready for the wedding?”

  He takes a sip of his after-lunch grappa. He’s developed a taste for it; I’d sooner drink kerosene myself.

  “Not really that much to it,” he says. “But it’s always easier for guys. Throw on a tux and show up. How about you?”

  I smile, thinking about the gorgeous dress I’ll be wearing tomorrow. Then I sigh, because it reminds me of the night Carson bought me that plum-colored Oscar De La Renta gown that eventually ended up on the floor of our suite at the Regent Hotel.

  God, what a crazy time that was. Then again, it was that crazy time that brought us together. Fate must have been tripping on LSD when it came up with that plan.

  “I can’t wait,” I say. “The planner has everything under control. Flowers, doves, orchestra, meal. I have to admit, having money makes it a lot easier to put on a wedding.”

  Carson raises his glass in a toast.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he says.

  I frown and return the salute with my glass of Orvieto.

  “I’m going to miss being obscenely rich,” I sigh.

  “Well, would you look at that?” I say. “Another hill. Better gear down.”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, gear down. Just like that.”

  “How many speeds are there on an Aston Martin, again?”

  “Suh-six.”

  “Six. Plus reverse. That’s back this way, right?”

  “Right,” he moans. “Oh yeah, that’s perfect.”

  Our pool is in the shadow of the villa, so it stays cool through most of the day. Which is good, because we’re both about as overheated as you can get.

  Carson floats on his back in the shallow end while I practice my “shifting” on him. I love watching his face twist and his mouth drop open as I go through each stroke. Meanwhile, his hand is under the water, working his fingers in and out of my opening in time with each of my shifts.

  Luckily, we’re still obscenely rich for the next few days, which means this place is gated and locked, and we can prance around as naked as the day we were born without fear of being disturbed.

  We’ve developed a rhythm during our years together, one that puts us in sync with each other’s movements and allows us to anticipate where the other is on the pleasure scale. Like right now – I know instinctively that Carson can’t take much more of this without going further, and he knows I’m on the verge of my first orgasm.

  He slides himself out of my hand and turns over in the water, leaving me the one lying on my back. He quickly manipulates his way between my legs, lifting them up onto his submerged shoulders. His eyes gleam and he flashes me a cocky grin as he wades his way ever closer to my slit.

  The sun sizzles on my face and breasts as his tongue darts in and out, combining to take me out of myself and onto a floating wave of sheer ecstasy. I entwine my fingers into Carson’s hands, gripping them tightly as I float closer and closer to the moment of release.

  So many times he’s done this to me, and each time is just as good as that first night in New York. As the pressure of his tongue gets stronger, my orgasm builds, relentless as a storm, until I can’t hold back any longer and I give in to the power of it.

  In my spasms, my hands release his and slap at the surface of the water, sending up splashes right into Carson’s face. It has no effect on the evil grin there.

  As my convulsions slow and the sensations ebb away, I float forward and wrap my arms around Carson’s neck. We bob there together for several moments, breathing in time with each other, feeling the delicious cool on our bodies, in stark contrast with the baking sun on our heads.

  When I have control of myself again, I let go of him and turn to face the side of the pool. I kick myself forward and reach out, grabbing the rungs of the ladder.

  “Um,” he says. “Excuse me? Where are you going?”

  I pull myself up two rungs and stop, bending slightly at the waist. As I do, I drop a smoldering look over my shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just left my scarf up on that top shelf. Do you think you could help me reach it?”

  Carson’s eyes light up and he crosses the gap between us in two seconds, despite having to wade through thigh-deep water. He glides up behind me and suddenly the heat of his erection is pressing against my bare ass.

  “Of course,” he breathes into my ear. “B
ut we’d better hurry. Don’t want someone to walk into the coatroom and get the wrong impression.”

  “No,” I sigh as he slides the tip of his shaft between my lips, back and forth, front to back, back to front. “A girl could get a reputation that way.”

  He covers my shoulders with kisses as I grind my hips in time with his movements. His hands reach up and gently massage my wet breasts and rock-hard nipples.

  “I think it’s just a bit too high for me,” I groan.

  “No problem,” he pants. “Let me get that for you.”

  He takes a step forward and upwards, finally thrusting his stiff cock into my slick entrance. I shudder with pleasure as it penetrates deep inside me.

  I steady myself with the railings as Carson grabs my ass with both hands and I can tell he’s barely able to control himself. His powerful hands grip me tight and pull me toward him as he thrusts harder, faster. My second orgasm begins to radiate upwards from my core even as I feel his building inside me.

  “Cassie,” he rasps in my ear, giving voice to his urgent need. I can’t help myself – I let go of the railings and drop forward, hands on the pool deck, allowing his cock to go as deep as possible inside me. His hips move so fast and hard that it all blurs into a sprint of orgasmic delight, until I finally let out a cry that startles the birds in the copse of beech trees next to the pool into flight.

  Carson explodes inside me in a wave of heat and pressure that sets me off one last time, wracking my body with shudders of passion and leaving me a shaking mess. If it weren’t for his hands holding my hips, I’d simply collapse in a heap on the pool deck.

  He leans forward, still buried deep inside me, panting in my ear. His chest is like a bellow against my back, expanding and contracting. His arms are wrapped around me like he’s holding on for dear life.

  “How is it we keep getting better at this?” I moan, trying to catch my own breath.

  “Practice makes perfect,” he pants.

  The cool shower was glorious, and the nap was even better. But alas, nothing lasts forever.

  “Honey,” I say, rolling over onto my back and stretching. “You need to feed me or I’ll fade away.”

  Carson’s already bringing a tray of fruit and cheese into the bedroom. Apparently he can read my mind while I’m asleep, too. He’s even dressed, which is more than I can say for myself.

  He hands me a small plate of provolone, gorgonzola and grapes. I snatch it away and dig in.

  “You’re the bestest billionaire in the whole world,” I coo.

  “For a little while longer, anyway,” he sighs.

  I smile and shake my head.

  “We’ll still be able to afford cheese and grapes,” I say. “Just not in a $50,000-a-night villa.”

  “Probably supermarket cheese,” he mumbles morosely.

  I stick out my tongue, which is probably pretty gross from his perspective, given that it’s covered in green-veined cheese.

  Carson glances at his Rolex. “Just about time to get ready for cocktail hour,” he says.

  I stretch one more time, giving him an unobstructed view of my boobs. He smiles appreciatively.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll get dressed if I absolutely have to.”

  As I rise from the bed, the electronic chime of the intercom system goes off. I reach over and hit the “talk” button on the tablet next to the night table.

  “Yes?”

  A cold male voice with a thick Russian accent fills the room.

  “We have your son,” says the voice. “If you ever want to see him again, I suggest you let us in.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Just a second, Maks.”

  My finger taps the “unlock gate” button and I continue into the en suite bathroom and walk-in closet.

  “I hope they fed Leo,” Carson says absently. “He’ll go down for his nap more easily if he’s had a snack.”

  I pull on a camisole and a pair of capris before stepping into my sandals.

  “You know who you’re talking about, right?” I say, running a brush through the briar patch of my hair. “I didn’t come up with the name ‘Tricialicious’ for nothing.”

  He kisses my neck as we step out of the master suite and head for the parlor one floor below.

  “I just hope Maks didn’t try to set him up with any girls,” he says.

  My heart sings as I see the familiar strawberry blond mop on Leo’s head. He’s holding Tricia’s hand, until he sees me: then he drops her like a hot potato and makes a beeline for the base of the stairs.

  “Mommy!”

  I scoop him up in my arms and hug him fiercely. It’s only been a handful of hours, but it might as well have been years. He wraps a pudgy arm around my neck and lays a wet kiss on my cheek.

  “My mommy,” he says absently, looking around the expansive room from the elevated perspective of my arms.

  Carson tousles his hair and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey buddy, did you have fun today?”

  “Uh-huh. I saw a clown.”

  “Really?” I raise my eyebrows. “Where did you see one of those?”

  Tricia grins, and her own brows go up.

  “Down by the marina,” she says brightly. “He was rummaging through the garbage outside the bar and started talking to us.”

  “Ohhh!” I say, beaming at Leo. “And did he smell funny, too?”

  “Yup,” Leo says, barely able to contain his boredom. I set him down and he trots over to his MathMat and starts solving the equations it electronically dictates.

  Carson heads to the antique bar that takes up a good chunk of the wall by the stairs.

  “What can I get you guys?”

  “Mojito,” says Tricia. “By which I mean a bottle of rum and a lime.”

  “What about the mint?” I ask.

  “Okay, throw in a stick of gum.”

  I smile sympathetically.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” I say, sitting down beside her on the sofa. “All we have to do tomorrow is get you dressed and get you to the church. Sophia is taking care of everything else.”

  “What about you, Maks?” Carson calls from the bar.

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  He’s looking a little green. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was hung over, but his bachelor party was weeks ago. Carson took him and the rest of the groomsmen to the Boom Boom Room.

  “Everything all right, buddy?” Carson asks.

  “He’s worried about his family tomorrow,” says Tricia. “I keep telling him they can’t be worse than my clan. My cousins make the guys from Jersey Shore look like Mensa members. I’m pretty sure Leo could beat their SAT scores.”

  “What’s SAT?” Leo says from his MathMat.

  “Nothing you have to worry about for a few years,” I say.

  Although, judging by his progress, not much more than a few years. He’s already figuring out how to read by watching the phonetics skits on Sesame Street. He may have inherited my red hair, but he got his father’s gray eyes and gifted intellect.

  Too bad he also inherited my own father’s overly serious disposition. But we’re working on that.

  Maks smiles, but it seems a bit forced.

  “Maybe I am overthinking,” he says. “I just don’t want it to be – awkward?”

  He looks at Tricia. “Is that the right word?”

  She gives him the thumbs up.

  “Perfect, babe,” she says, taking a sip of the mojito Carson hands her. “We’ll have you saying those vows right yet. Although I still have nightmares about you telling the priest that ‘I am taking this woman to be awfully wet and wife.’”

  Carson takes a seat next to Maks and chucks him on the shoulder.

  “It’s one day of your life,” he says. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Easy for you to be saying,” Maks says glumly. “You eloped.”

  I smile at the memory. It was just the two of us, in a little church in Siena.
Our folks weren’t overjoyed, but we had a big party when we got home and that helped smooth things over with them. Well, with our moms, anyway. Dad was put out. Of course.

  But he’s coming around. It’s pretty hard to argue with a billionaire son-in-law who once offered to give up his entire fortune for your daughter.

  Of course, he probably wouldn’t agree with what we’re about to do. But it’s not his decision to make. It’s ours.

  “Don’t worry,” says Tricia. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll just blame Cassie and Carson. They’re the ones who paid for everyone to fly here first class and stay at the resort.”

  She lays her head on my shoulder and snuggles in. I put my cheek on top of her head and we both stretch our legs onto the priceless eighteenth century coffee table. When Leo sees this, he ambles over and crawls up, stretching out across both our laps.

  “I want your life,” Tricia sighs, stroking Leo’s head.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Carson and Maks sit down in the armchairs across from us.

  “I know this might not be the right time,” Carson says. “But have you given any thought about what you’re going to do when we go public?”

  Tricialicious is on the verge of launching its initial public offering of shares in a few months. It’s been a lot of work over the past few years, but we managed to exceed our every goal. And I’m proud to say we did it without a single penny of Carson’s fortune.

  Our best estimates predict Tricia, Maksim and I will be able to sell our one-third shares for $29.3 million each, or $88 million total. That’s about eight times our initial investment. I’ll be honest – sometimes the thought that I was able to do it all myself makes me so proud I want to cry.

  Or at the very least phone up my dad and lord it over him.

  “Oh, we’re cashing in,” says Tricia.

  “Yes,” says Maksim. “No ifs, ands or asses.”

  Carson snorts a laugh. Tricia and I manage to keep ours under wraps.

  Maks sighs. “What this time?”

  “It’s ‘buts,’” Carson says with a sympathetic look.

  “Butts, asses,” Maks grouses. “What is the difference?”

  I give him a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly fine, Maks,” I say. “So you’re ready to walk away with sixty million bucks?”