by Vera Roberts
Ian grabbed both of my hands and held them behind my back as he met my thrusts with his. Screams are pouring out of me. Curse words and praises to God are echoing in the small room.
My brain is spinning. I feel dizzy. My sex is quivering around his cock. My body is on pleasure overload and I finally climaxed.
The pleasure is instant and white-hot. The orgasm rips through my body, reaching down to my toes and back up my spine. My body is shaking, my skin is tingling and hot to the touch. Ian comes a short time later, filling me with his seed. He grabs me by the neck and plants an intense kiss on my lips.
We silently laid in that position for a while. I felt Ian’s rapid heartbeat against my body. He gently caressed my hair and kissed my cheek. I felt the anger, frustration, and sadness dissipate from Ian’s body. It was replaced with love, hope, and relaxation.
No words needed to be said because we understood where each other was coming from.
Six
“Can you believe I’m a soccer mom now?” Emma begins as she pulls the Mercedes GLS out from the driveway of their mansion. Today we’re doing some pseudo-sister bonding as we spent our significant other’s money. Somehow, I don’t think either Gerald or Ian mind as long as we’re not boring them with our bullshit. “Gerald purchased this car just for me the other day. I wanted something big enough for the kids and all of their stuff but I didn’t want to drive a grocery-getter so here we are.”
“Here we are,” I relax into the leather seat. It’s not as comfortable as Ian’s Bentley but honestly, I don’t think anyone will ever be as comfortable as my man’s ride. I mean that in both ways. “So, what’s new with you, Ms. Emma?”
“Trying to stay sane. I’m starting a mug business online.” She proudly nods as she drives down the road. “I’m calling it F’N Mugs. Mean Mugs were already taken.”
“F’N Mugs, huh?” I nod. “That’s very un-Ferguson like.”
“And that’s why I’m calling it that,” Emma chuckles, “Gerald hates the name but he loves the idea I’m doing something with my time. I can only write in my day planner for so long before I’m about ready to chuck the damn thing across the room.”
Emma is such a breath of fresh air. “So, how’s it like staying at home?” I ask. Emma is a good look into my potential future with Ian. “I mean you have all the money and fancy things at your disposal.”
“It’s fun at first because you never have to worry about money ever.” She’s honest and I appreciate it. “It gets old quickly because while you don’t have to worry about money, you have to worry about reputation. Every choice you make will somehow be reflected on the Ferguson name. What school you choose, what jeans you’re wearing, what car you’re driving, what your hair color is.”
“Oh wow,” I instantly thought about my tapered cut and wonder if I’m about to unknowingly set a small scandal off in the land of rich and famous. “Ian told me if I get bullied online, he’ll hire someone to manage my social media and I just don’t think it’s that serious yet.”
“I think too many people would care more about what Ian’s doing than what color blush you’re wearing,” Emma chimes in, “but if it gets too bad, it’s not bad advice to take.”
So far, Ian’s fangirls have been on their best behavior. Other than the occasional snarky comments by the Feminists R Us crew, I never have any problems. Then again, most people don’t know we’re a couple and I haven’t taken that first step of posting an us-ie with Ian. Something tells me if I do that, I might make some cry. “We’ll see,” I shrug.
“What else is new with you? How’s the dance studio hunt coming along?”
“I found a place but I just need Ian to take a look at it and sign it off,” I pause for a beat. The only thought that’s in my head is what happened last week at the gala. Ian didn’t say anything else about that night all week and I didn’t push it.
Still, the thought bothered me there was more to the story with the Yates and Christensens than Ian was willing to tell me. If he was holding back, I was sure the other Fergusons would’ve felt the same. My only other option was Emma. “I need to talk to you about something in confidence.”
“Oh?” Emma briefly glanced at me. “What’s up?”
“The other night when Ian and I attended the gala, he ran into some people. He later told me they were responsible for Lula Jean’s murderer walking away.” I lightly sighed. “But he wouldn’t tell me any more than that. He told me to keep as far as away from Todd Christensen as possible but didn’t mention his son at all.”
“Well, he’s right about Todd. He’s as slimy and pathetic you can get.” Emma shook her head. “He’s the type that will sell a lemon to an elderly woman on a fixed income.”
“What about the other thing?” I cautiously ask. “What about the son?”
Emma lets out a soft breath. She quickly blinks behind her Dior sunglasses and it’s clear she knows the whole story. She’s debating if it’s something that would ultimately harm or help me. Even I can’t answer that. “If I tell you this, this can’t be repeated at any time, any place, or to any one.”
Oh shit? It’s like that? “I’m not sure if I want to know if it’s that deep.”
We arrived at our shopping destination first stop – Chanel – and Emma parks the car. She lets out another sigh and licks her lips. “Lula Jean was the core of the Ferguson family. This is something everyone knows. Every debutante, every socialite, every family with a bit of money knows this. I never met her; she passed long before Gerald and I met but I feel we could’ve been good friends. It seems everyone adored her and she always had the best stories.
“The family made a name for themselves in New York and England before moving to L.A. Anthony preferred L.A. but Lula Jean wanted to stay in New York. They compromised on one thing – they would spend the holidays in New York as long as they spent the rest of the year in Los Angeles and Britain. She agreed.
“From what I’ve understood, Lula Jean never saw the car coming. The guy careened into her and only stopped when he hit six parked cars. He walked away without a scratch; she was killed on impact.
“Anthony, Ian, and Gerald were devastated, naturally. When they learned it was a member of the Christensen family, they wanted to resolve it privately and quickly. They all wanted jail time. The Christensens didn’t and wanted to pay off the Fergusons so their son wouldn’t do any jail time at all. Well, when Matt was arrested, that’s when things went to shit. The Christensens claimed Anthony, Ian, and Gerald were purposely targeting their son because Matt and Ian were rivals.
“Rivals?” I ask. Talk about a plot twist. “It doesn’t seem like Ian cares for that type of thing.”
“He never has and he still doesn’t,” Emma shook her head, “but whatever Ian did, Matt was better at it. Even the things Matt had absolutely no interest in, he did because Ian liked them. He’s just an asshole like that. Of course, when Matt was doing all of that, he became the talk of the town, and naturally, everyone’s favorite frat boy. He stayed drunk.
“So, when he killed Lula Jean, there was a bit of remorse but not much. His dad and their attorney painted Matt as a choir boy who never hurt a fly. The judge bought it and sentenced him to six years. He only served three.”
“WHAT?” I shouted.
“Just wait, this story isn’t over yet.” Emma held up a finger. “When he got out, the Christensens threw Matt the biggest party ever, complete with new car, new home, and a million dollars in cash. It was like he went on vacation and came back.”
Lifestyles of the rich and blameless. “Did they pay the Fergusons at all?” I ask.
“They gave them some, ‘Oops, our bad’ money but what’s a human life worth, you know? Lula Jean will never come back and their family is permanently destroyed.” Emma shook her head. “So the family took the money and invested in properties around the world.”
“Okay,” I nod. I received more detail but still no concrete answers on what happened to Matt. “and that’s it?”
“Well, not quite…” Emma looks around to make sure there was no one around. “…as I mentioned before, Matt loved being the life of the party. He loved to drink. He also traveled a lot.” She softly gesticulates as if I’m understanding what she’s saying and honestly, I have no fucking clue. “Okay, let me give it to you straight and no chaser: the Fergusons kept track of Matt’s every move. Whatever he did, they knew about it. They knew what he was doing even before his own family knew.
“Whenever Matt traveled, Ian and Gerald would buy up the hotel rooms so Matt was forced to stay in one that had a bar. If Matt somehow booked a room, Ian and Gerald would make sure the bar service would be closed so Matt would have to walk to the closest bar. If Matt moved to a place, the brothers would make sure a bar was built within a short time. This went on for years.
“During the meantime, the Christensens put Matt into rehab numerous times, only for him to leave and repeat the same cycle. They finally moved to L.A. and had him stay at home. Matt loved going out and party still. There were two places he always loved to frequent – the college campuses to fuck the pretty co-eds and Santa Monica pier. He always wanted to open his own restaurant.”
I felt the earth stop moving and my heart drop down to the pit of my stomach. I already know what Emma is about to say. “You’re fucking kidding me…”
“You guessed it.” Emma gave a brief nod. “Ian does love cuisine but he had an extra incentive. Long story short, Matt eventually died of alcohol poisoning. While no one can prove the Fergusons had anything to do with Matt’s death, it’s widely assumed they contributed to it. The Christensens talked about filing a lawsuit against the family but they had no basis and everything could be chalked up to coincidence. Since then, there’s been a lot of bad blood between the families. They really do not like each other. The Christensens want to destroy the Fergusons for good and are trying to figure out how. The thing is the Fergusons have always been ten steps ahead.”
My mind is more than blown; it’s flippin’ exploded. Everything makes sense now. It also explains Ian’s behavior the other night and why he had to call his father immediately. “I’m stunned.”
“Your reaction was the same as mine when I first learned about this so it’s completely normal,” she assures me, “but you don’t have to worry about them. I sincerely doubt you’ll interact with any of them at any point.”
I have a feeling this is not the end of everything. For some inexplicable reason, I have a feeling I’m going to play a bigger role in this. “Diana mentioned she wanted to take some classes of mine.”
Emma shrugs. “She could be serious or she could be playing a game. She does have an interest in dance, so you just might see her there. In terms of any one else of that family, stay away from them. If you need to have security around you, do so. They won’t dare mess with you when you’re protected under the Ferguson name.” She checks her makeup one last time. “Are you ready to go spend our guys’ cash?”
After what I’ve just learned, I’m ready to buy the whole damn store. “Let’s go.”
~~~~~
I shopped until I could shop no more.
No less than ten bags of expensive and overpriced shit was in the back of my Audi. I needed to update my wardrobe and I have a feeling shopping at Target was no longer going to do the trick. Hell with it, I’ll still go there, anyways. Their dollar bins can’t be beat.
Emma and I parted ways and she promised to meet me for cocktails sometime between orange slices and PTA meetings. Hearing the shock of my life deterred me from food but now that I’m alone and heading back home, I’m about to chew my arm off.
Since Sentiment is on my way back to the penthouse, I figured I’ll stop by there for dinner. At least I know I’m able to afford it.
I pull into the parking lot and am immediately greeted by the valet. “Good evening, Miss Kimbrough.” A Latino guy around my age sticks his hand out as I open the door. How did he know my name?
“Um, thank you.” I step out of the Audi and wait to receive my car ticket.
“Was there anything else, Miss Kimbrough?” An older gentleman asks me.
“Oh, I’m just waiting to receive my car ticket,” I nod.
“You don’t need one,” he insists, “we know which vehicle is yours.” He opens the restaurant door, “right this way, Miss Kimbrough.”
Ooohkay….that’s weird. They knew who I was but they won’t give me a ticket to retrieve my car because they know which one it is? Heh.
I walk inside the restaurant and am greeted by the maître’d. “Hello, Miss Kimbrough!” He smiles brightly at me as if we’re old friends and I honestly don’t know who homeboy is. “How can I be service to you tonight?”
“I know this is last minute but do you have any available tables? Just one, me.”
“Always!” He picks up a menu and I follow him to a private table. It’s one of the best tables in the entire restaurant. He pulls out a seat for me and I sit down as he places the leather-bound menu in front of me. “Will you be drinking tonight? If so, we can order a car for you and bring you back tomorrow to pick up your vehicle.”
“Um…” What in the hell is going on? “I don’t know yet. Can I just have a coke?”
“Sure,” the maître’d politely smiles at me. I get the feeling he’s being nice not because he’s a naturally charming person but because he has to be.
Am I in the Twilight Zone?
I look through the menu and can’t tell what I should order because there are no prices (read: you shouldn’t eat here if you can’t afford it). I still have some extra money Ian’d given me earlier so hopefully that’ll be plenty.
Sentiment is a very fancy restaurant. It’s the type with heavy, leather-bound menus, wall sconces, the same boring-ass string violin music that if you listen to it carefully, you can recognize U2, Coldplay, or whatever music rich, white people like to listen to. It also has the good silver and plates your Granny takes out during special occasions.
A few minutes later, a server comes by with water, my coke, and bread and butter for apps. “Are you ready to order, Miss Kimbrough?”
“Um…” I think I made a final decision. Fuck it, I’ll just have to go for it. “Yeah, I’ll have the lobster bisque, and the Caesar salad to start. For dinner, I’ll have the jumbo shrimp with the aged filet mignon.” I look throughout the menu and still couldn’t find what I really wanted. “You guys don’t have French fries, do you?”
The server looks at me with widened eyes and an unmistakable, ‘Is this bitch serious?’ expression on her face. Well, yes, I am damn serious. I want my fries! “Um, I can see if we can make a special order.” She says order slowly, pronouncing it as ore-dur as if she knows they won’t do that here but she’ll just humor my request. “Is there anything else, Miss Kimbrough?”
“No, that’s it for now.” I politely smile. She takes the menu away and I casually glance out the window. It’s starting to become dark and the Los Angeles city lights bright up the city. Despite everything I’ve learned (and tried to unlearn) these past few days, my only focus is my dance class and Ian. Everything and everyone else can take a backseat.
I heard the strings switch songs and I recognize D’Angelo’s “Brown Sugar.” Oh, word? They know about D’Angelo and his baby-making music? Hmm…I wonder if I request “Niggas in Paris,” would they play it?
“I had a feeling when someone asked for fries, that was you.” I recognized Ian’s voice as he greets me. He leans down to kiss me and sits across from me at the table. He’s wearing a dark navy suit with open white collared shirt. My man looks every bit of sex and I suddenly I’m hungry for him. “How was your day, angel?”
“My day is much better now that you’re here,” I smile at him, “how’s your day?”
“Busy but manageable,” he softly nods, “do you mind if I join you for dinner?”
“No, not at all!” I didn’t want to eat alone and Ian is the perfect company. “Please do.”
“
Great,” he slightly beckons two fingers and a server is immediately at our table. “I’ll have the fruit salad, sweetbread, and rack of lamb. To drink will be iced tea and a cognac on the side. Thank you.” The server quickly leaves and Ian reaches over to grab my hand. “You look amazing, angel.”
I wonder if Ian is ever tired of complimenting me. I know I’m not tired of receiving them. More, please? “Thank you, honey.” I smile at him.
“Did you have fun with Emma today?”
I’m not sure if I what we talked about would be considered fun. When we shopped, though, we had a blast. Though she’s American and was raised in a middle-class neighborhood, she still hasn’t adjusted to the Ferguson life neither, despite being with Gerald for most of her adult life.
When we weren’t trying on clothes, Emma was shading the other rich snobs in the stores left and right. Emma is a riot. “I had so much fun with her. She’s really a great person.”
“I’m glad. Emma is amazing. How she puts up with my brother is something short of sainthood.” Ian chuckles.
The server comes back with our apps and it’s enough to feed us and a couple of friends. I have a feeling that was intentional. “Baby, can I ask a question?”
“Sure.” Ian starts preparing our plates. “What is it?”
“Why is everyone treating me so weird here?”
“Weird?” He stops and raises an eyebrow. “Like how?”
“Like, they’re calling me ‘Miss Kimbrough’ and the valet guy already knew what type of car I drove and told me I didn’t need a ticket.” I reply. “Like that weird.”
Ian chuckles and I immediately feel he knew I was the butt end of a joke. “They’re going out of their way of being respectful to you because everyone knows you’re my girlfriend. I told everyone specifically who you were and what you drove. If you were going to be drinking, I wanted to make sure you arrived home safely. They are prepared to have you eat here at any given time on a moment’s notice. There’s a reason why you’re sitting at this particular table; I had a feeling it would’ve been your favorite.” His eyes turn serious and the smile disappears from his mouth. “If you have any problems with anyone here, if they even look at you the wrong way, just let me know and I’ll fire them on the spot.”