by Claire,Ava
She waited a few more moments for the lightbulb to go off, but when no 'Eureka!' moment happened, she hung her head in disappointment. “Leila, I know you scaled back when you went to college and you probably wouldn't know what to do if you walked through those doors now, bless your heart, but I can't believe you're looking at me with that wide eyed confusion thing right now. You look just like your father.”
Generally when she brought up our likeness it wasn't meant as a compliment and today was no exception.
Skylar unloaded our drinks and I took a long, deep inhale of mine, fighting tooth and nail to not be disrespectful and tell her to get on with it. I loved my mother to death, but I had a feeling all this buildup and drama was just fueling her.
She let out an agitated sigh. “The baptism! I invited you two to lunch to talk about the baptism!”
The baptism? My lips worked but the only thing that came out was sounds of confusion. I sipped my tea, pretending it was a mocha latte. Coffee was easy. Simple. And clearly whatever I'd walked in on was complicated, messy, and unlikely to be solved over honey buns.
Silence swallowed up the conversation and I knew they were waiting for me to weigh in. I was raised in a God-fearing, Baptist home, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd stepped foot in a church. Jacob and I hadn't discussed baptism at all. I wasn't opposed to it and I couldn't imagine he had a strong vote either way. It certainly didn't seem like it should be worth drawing blood over or resuming the war between the two mothers.
“This-” I gestured between the two of them, my hand slicing through the air that was still ripe with tension. “Is about baptizing the baby?”
Mom looked at me like I was being ridiculous. “I may be getting up there in years, but I'm no fool, Leila. I know that you and your husband don't 'do religion’.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Or however you kids wanna put it. When I approached the baptism with Alicia, she let out this little chuckle and said, ‘people still do that?’.”
I bit my lip and even threw in digging my nails into my palm for good measure, struggling to hold back the laugh that bubbled in my throat. Bits of it escaped and my mother narrowed her eyes to tiny brown and green slits.
“Laugh it up,” she said, angrily stirring her coffee until it splashed on the table. She dropped the spoon unceremoniously, the clang making me jump. “I bet you won't be amused when she tells you the reason she thought a baptism was silly.”
Alicia looked taken aback, losing a bit of her color. “Really, Cheryl, I don't think any good comes from-”
“I said my part, Alicia,” Mom interrupted, chopping up Alicia's name with vehemence. “Now you tell yours.”
Alicia became very concerned with the state of her coffee cup, tracing the porcelain with a single blood red nail. “It was just a joke. Clearly our sense of humors are not aligned.”
“On that we are agreed,” Mom conceded. “I don't find joking about my daughter's sex life to be very funny.”
You know those moments when you wish that you had a super power? I was craving invisibility. Or super speed...so I could get the hell out of dodge.
I lowered my mug back to the table, suddenly feeling like I could bake a cake on my face because I was so hot with embarrassment.
“But that's not the worst part!” Mom proclaimed, her voice so loud that I was sure that everyone in the city could hear. “She told me that you two were-” My mother saying the word 'sex' was about as likely as her and Alicia becoming best friends. “You know, with her right downstairs!”
“Oh, the horror!” Alicia said, finally rejoining the conversation. Finally making me feel something other than trepidation.
I felt...relieved.
There was nothing wrong with my husband and I making love. If we were getting specific, what were doing kinda fell on the 'fucking' side of the sex spectrum, and was definitely rude, all things considered, but it was no excuse for this parade of drama and animosity.
Alicia's comment told me she agreed with me.
Something about that sentence didn't feel right.
Alicia Whitmore and I agreed on something besides not being huge fans of one another.
If that wasn't cause for celebration, I wasn't sure what was.
Without a word, I finally lifted my eyes from my lap and locked them on Alicia. She arched her brow, likely expecting a similar disgusted, outraged response from me for divulging something so personal. To be honest, I lost that vote when I said yes to Jacob in the first place, knowing full well that the odds were very high that his mother would know exactly what was keeping us busy upstairs.
I lifted my glass and for a few unsure, terse moments, I wondered if she'd ignore my attempt at solidarity. We were still on opposite sides; still had so much work to do and things to account for if we were to become anything more than two people who tolerated each other because we were connected by marriage. A marriage that she never seemed to care much for or find anything good or amusing about.
Until now.
Alicia clinked her mug against mine, a chuckle spilling from her lips.
I didn't dwell on surprise, or look a gift horse in the mouth. I just threw my head back and laughed, letting it all out. Letting myself believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a human being beneath all that ice.
Tears streamed down my face and I could feel my mother fuming. Or glaring at us both for our crassness. I was the product of the very act that she couldn’t even say out loud. To my mother, there were certain things you just didn't talk about, and sex was one of them.
“You two should be ashamed of yourselves!” she hissed, glancing at the tables around us like some scarlet letter was hovering above me and Alicia.
Her horror just made us laugh harder.
I swiped at my eyes after a few more guffaws and Alicia and I smiled at each other. I felt like we’d taken the tiniest step to somewhere unknown.
Content to be Debbie Downer, my mother took an angry bite of her honeybun, chewing it in a way that told me she did not approve of our laughter and was not okay with the topic of conversation.
She nailed me in place with her eyes, her tone serious as a heart attack...and the tiniest grin on her lips.
“You try that with me and I'm dragging you to church, whether you want to go or not.”
Chapter Eleven
Hearing that his mother and I bonded, and over sex no less, should have gotten some response from Jacob.
Shock, awe, annoyance—I would have put my money on some combination of all three.
I would have lost big money because he didn't even acknowledge that I'd said anything. I doubted he noticed the world was turning all around him.
If I needed any further proof that Jacob Whitmore had left the building, he didn't even bat an eye when our driver swerved at the exact moment I paused for dramatic effect, trying to set the tone for the big reveal.
My mother confessed that she orchestrated the whole thing to talk about the baptism. I was confused as to why that would force me to play referee between the two women. That's when my mother said she told her part, and now it was Alicia's turn.
I got the shock from Martin, who thankfully righted the Royce. He did something even more dangerous, eyes leaving the road and shooting to Jacob. I was used to seeing the edges crinkle when the friendly man asked how I was doing, a bright smile on his face. Tonight, I had a feeling the lines beside his eyes were because he was cringing. Preparing for my husband's wrath.
I almost leaned forward and patted his shoulder, letting him know that he could relax, because Jacob barely noticed that he was in a car, headed to an event that we'd spearheaded, let alone that we'd swerved into oncoming traffic.
I settled for pursing my lips together, taking care of the whole awe thing all by my lonesome. Jacob was beside me, but he may as well have been on the other side of the planet.
“I'm glad that Martin's at least listening to my story,” I muttered under my breath.
“Hm?” Jacob finally
offered, still giving 99% of his attention to taking down whatever and whomever had the unwise idea to hack Alicia's phone. To get to us.
I knew I should be grateful that I had a partner that would go to the ends of the world to protect me. I rounded my belly with my palms as I smiled, that goosebumps inducing fluttering inside me taking away a bit of the sting. To protect us.
“It's nothing,” I lied, flashing him the smile too. I could have just kept it to myself because he didn't bother abandoning his mission for long enough to make eye contact.
Ignoring the sting in my throat and the burn of emotion since it took very little to make me tear up these days, I turned my attention out the window. Day or night, ignored or not, the city invigorated me. I watched the buildings ripple past, concrete and metal and rising and falling. The people were masked by the hour, on their way home or headed on their own adventures. The streetlights twinkled like stars, lighting the way like some urban yellow brick road that was taking me to Oz, a land of beautiful people where I was not only invited, but was one of the reasons the invitees were putting on gowns and suits and paying exorbitant amounts of money to drink and dance and be merry.
This was our first solo event for the Whitmore Foundation, a non-profit started by Alicia, dedicated to helping address the needs of the city I loved. Hunger, homelessness, addiction, displaced women and children who needed a safe place to go; the list of the issues that we were trying to tackle was a long and worthy one. Every cent collected tonight would be put to good use, rounded up from people who had so much, given to those who had so little.
I pulled my eyes from the window and rejoined reality. I swept my fingers over a floral appliqué, white lilies swirling in the moonlight.
I remembered with crystal clarity the moment I knew this was the perfect dress for the event. The soft, onyx material whispered over my body, cradling my new curves, skimming my belly, and clutching my hips before it cascaded to the floor. Even if I would have rolled out of bed, thrown it on, and walked out the door without bothering to clean the crust from my eyes, I would have still been a force to be reckoned with. A look, a fit that would light up the blogosphere long before the event even ended. A dress that would remind my husband that whomever sent the text was trying to take tonight from us, trying to make us live on edge, isolated, holding our breath for the next blow.
The only thing I was worrying about at the moment was the fact that I'd have to be my own date tonight. Make the most of the state of things, comforted in the fact that he was handling it, just like he said he would—and the cost of that was smiling, looking pretty and pretending that was enough.
I reached for my clutch, popping it open to retrieve my compact. I brought it to my face and still had to remind myself that it was me reflected in the glass. My makeup artist, Lola, had worked her usual magic. Generally, we opted for something low key, colors and hues that would pop and not overwhelm when the bulbs flickered and the paparazzi barked their commands as I awkwardly struck poses.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, I came to drop jaws.
I'd lost count of how many red carpets I'd walked and I still felt out of place. Like I was living someone else's life. It wasn't the reason I got all dolled up, to become a hashtag or to duke it out for the 'Best Dressed' for the evening. Getting fancy for an event let me live out dress up fantasies I never knew I had, playing whatever role, telling whatever story my ensemble wrote out. This story was ‘Old Hollywood glam’. My curls were in full effect, a pearl and Swarovski studded clip glittering above my right ear. Mahogany spirals were defined and bouncy, cascading down my bare back and shoulders. The makeup transformed me from 'Jacob Whitmore's wife' to a star in my own right. My wings lined up perfectly and the smoky, daring eyeshadow turned my irises into caramel. Every flutter of my eyelashes, elongated with some extra help, was a seduction. A tease if you were lucky enough to catch my eye as I reeled you in and broke your heart with the glossy red lipstick. My lips shone like forbidden fruit and I rubbed them together slowly, trying to not take offense, recalling the Cinderella moment when I walked down the stairs after Lola finished and Jacob glanced up from his phone long enough to give me the kiss of death.
“You look nice,” he’d offered.
No woman wants to look 'nice'. We know it's a code for 'I'm busy with more important things but I better spare a compliment or I'll pay for it later'.
I snapped the compact closed and pushed it back into my clutch with a sigh. I had no interest in making Jacob pay, and I wasn't fishing for compliments. I just wanted him to be present. To not let this bump in the road, force us to live in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I refused to live that way.
For the baby. For us.
For Jacob, the threat of danger seemed to bring him alive in a way that I didn't understand. That built a whole new wall that was impossible to scale.
I tilted my chin in his direction and couldn't help but steal a peek at his screen. He was texting with his contact, asking for an update on Eichmann. I took some solace in the fact that all was still quiet and unremarkable.
Jacob clearly didn't.
“So, what do you want me to say when the reporters ask why you storm right past the photo call, narrowly avoiding a collision because your eyes are locked on your phone?”
His blue eyes lifted and met mine. I couldn't help but feel a little victorious, despite the annoyance that framed them. “Is that your passive aggressive way of telling me to put away my phone?”
I readied my retort, something that would ensure that we'd both be annoyed all night long. I didn't want to fight with him. I just wanted him to be here. Really here. Not just present physically and wrapped up in whatever he was plotting and figuring out.
Even though I felt like I had every right to call him on the fact that he'd barely said two words to me all day and was well on his way towards stretching that out into all evening, I let it go. “I'm sorry.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket, all traces of annoyance being swapped for genuine surprise. “It's been a long day so I'm sure that I misheard you. It sounded like you, Leila Whitmore, the most beautifully stubborn person I know, just apologized.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don't push your luck.” I gave as good as I got. “And you may want to pull up the camera on your phone and flip it before you give me the gold.”
One side of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “Touché.” The playfulness wavered and he blinked, eyebrows drawing together as he scanned my face slowly.
I reached for my clutch. “Did I miss something? Lipstick on my teeth?”
His hand shot out to stop me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You look beautiful, Lay.”
I bit my lip, realizing that I didn't need blush if he kept saying things like that. Looking at me like he saw me with new eyes, and was kicking himself for wasting a moment not taking in every inch of me.
Every.
Inch.
His perusal veered from my lips, where he lingered hungrily, making me tingle between my thighs, and slowly worked his way downward, stopping at my breasts.
He swept his tongue across his bottom lip. Even dressed to the nines, oozing respectability and class in his ebony tie and glittering cuff links, he pulled me to our bedroom. The look in his eye strapped me to the bedposts. It commanded me to surrender.
Suddenly, breathing, and keeping my hands to myself, was no longer an option.
I reached forward, keeping my eyes on his, knowing that I was waking the beast as my fingers stretched towards his groin. I reached my destination and his eyes smoldered as his jaw locked. I claimed what I wanted, stroking him beneath the fly, almost pulling him right out and taking him in my mouth.
He captured my wrist with one hand, holding me still, his cock pulsing in my grasp. He used the other to roll up the partition he'd requested. I'd joked when he had the thing installed, saying we'd ride around like foreign dignitaries having secret meetings. He'd told me he had other thing
s in mind and I'd turned red as a tomato.
A similar blush clutched my cheeks when I realized that he'd installed the partition for moments just like this.
The partition clicked closed and he pinned me in place with his gaze. “Is this what you wanted?” His grip was iron, not fierce enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind me who was in charge. He spread out my fingers, curling them around his growing arousal.
I nodded like my life depended on it. "God yes."
He used his other hand to cup my cheek, but his tone was anything but romantic. It was jagged, deep and lustful. “Yes what?”
I smiled deviously. “Yes sir.”
He skated his fingers to my lips, his eyes hot with longing. “Say it again.” Desire seized my core. Robbed me of my voice. Submitting to him made me wild. Made everything but having him irrelevant.
I swept my tongue across my lips, tasting his fingers. “Yes sir.”
A moan echoed from deep in his throat and I knew that we were about to really give Martin a reason to swerve.
~
I was a modern woman.
I felt like if my favorite sociology professor from college, a terse woman named Dr. Brown who gave no fucks about insulting anyone with her brusque take on how society was out to get us; to keep the women obedient and submissive to the media and their men so we didn't rise up and take on the world, would frown on the lifestyle. To her, a woman submitting to her man was probably all kinds of wrong. Before I learned the ins and outs of domination and submission, I too saw a woman on her knees before her man as antiquated.
In reality, my submission was my power. My choice. My gift to my husband. He wasn't my owner or my master. He was my partner...and learning the balance of this relationship and the freedom the ritual provided was the most freeing thing I'd ever done.
It was there in his eyes as he threaded his fingers through my curls, studying me, craving me, waiting for me to give him permission to use my body as he saw fit.
“Tell me what you need.”
My body cried out that it should have been obvious. The dress was tailored to clutch my breasts and the couture, midnight colored fabric could barely contain my hardened nipples. My skin was a sea of goosebumps, the slightest touch from him threatening to push me over the edge. With him leaning back against the cream colored leather, dressed in a suit that I wanted to claw from his delicious body, my pussy dripped with want.