Cinq A’ Sept

by Mj Fields

  She pouts her bright red lips at him then shakes her head and makes a tsking sound. “You think you can run an empire, Bastien dear?”

  “I think I can manage in the industry just fine.”

  She reaches out and runs her finger along his collar. “You know your way around a woman, Bastien. You know how to smile, you know how to pose, and you know how to fuck. You do remember who taught you all those things, don’t you?”

  “I remember being eager to fuck a woman my father was seen with in tabloids.”

  “And I have videos.” She runs her finger down the length of his shirt to his belt, and he catches her hand before she can travel farther.

  “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m not worried about a sex tape, Ines.”

  She pulls her hand back. “We had a verbal agreement.”

  “You had an agreement with me years ago. An agreement brought on by a woman on her knees, sucking me off. I’m pretty sure it’s not legal or binding. I’m also fairly certain Maisie has video surveillance footage from that weekend, so go right ahead and release your tapes. I can’t promise she won’t do the same.”

  She looks angry, fuming mad, as she starts toward the exit, stilettos clicking against the marble flooring. “This isn’t over.”

  “It was over two years ago,” he tells her in an even tone.

  At the door, she turns and spats, “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

  “I know exactly who I’m fucking with, and I’m not even a tad bit concerned.” He waves his hand toward the open door. “Goodbye, Ines.”

  After he closes the door, he looks at me. “That woman doesn’t need to know a damn thing about your daughter.”

  “I—”

  “Trust me, Angela.” He nods toward the kitchen. “Come have a drink. You look like you could use one.”

  I walk into the kitchen behind him. “Just water is fine.”

  “What excuse will you use then?” He smirks as he grabs the bottle of wine Alfred opened.

  “Someone once told me that I can’t blame it on the alcohol.”

  “He must have been wise beyond his years.” Bass winks.

  Before I have the chance to respond, Alfred walks in. “Eight a.m., I need you, Angela. Nine a.m., I’ll need you, Bass. Tomorrow I’ll be reading the will.”

  “I’m extremely tired. I hope you two don’t mind, but I’m going to bed.”

  “Goodnight, Angela.”

  “Goodnight, Alfred.” I look at Bass. “Goodnight.”

  He just nods.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bass

  When she leaves the room, I look at Alfred. “Why do you want to see us separately?”

  “It was his wishes,” he says then takes a big drink of wine.

  “I’m confused.”

  “I’m just as confused, Bass.” He finishes his drink. “How do you suspect Ines is going to retaliate?”

  I laugh. “The way most scorned women do.”

  “I’m a gay man, Bass; feel free to enlighten me.”

  “She has some video footage.” I lean back against the counter and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Of …?”

  “Us fucking.”

  He nearly chokes on his wine. “And this doesn’t bother you?”

  “Not one bit.”

  He stares at me for a few moments, then tells me, “I’m heading to bed.” He stops and looks at me. “If you need me, send a text.”

  I chuckle. “You look like you need a vacation.”

  He nods and smiles a bit. “I had hair before I began working with Jean.”

  I laugh. He doesn’t.

  He runs his hand over his bald head. “It was really good hair.”

  I clamp my hand over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Alfred.”

  “You, too.”

  As soon as he leaves the room, I walk outside, light up a cigarette, and look around. This place is sick. I have seen, slept in, and have been a long-term guest in beautiful homes, penthouses, Maisie’s place on the beach … But this … mansion is by far the most elegant I have ever stepped foot in.

  Taking Jean out of the equation and my anger and resentment toward him, I would never want to live in a fucking place like this. A damn museum.

  He could have the fucking river; I want the beach.

  I toss my cigarette butt into an ashtray then walk back inside.

  After I shower and dress, I find myself standing outside her room. I knock on the door, and when she doesn’t answer, I wait a few moments before knocking again.

  I know damn well there is no way I will fall asleep lying in bed thinking of her. I also know damn well she is probably doing the same, and if not, I don’t give a damn. I would rather watch her sleep.

  I crack open the door and step in. Looking at the empty bed, I feel panic set in. I rush to the other side, worried I will find her lying there.

  “Angela!”

  “You scared the hell out of me, Bass!” She looks down and pulls the robe she’s wearing closed. “What’s wrong?”

  I take my hand off my chest and smile. “Not a damn thing.”

  “Then, what are you doing yelling for me? Is Alfred—”

  Two steps and I have my arm around her back, pulling her against me. I lift her chin with the other and seal the space between us with a long, desired, and much-needed kiss.

  She releases her robe and pulls her hands from between us, immediately tangling them in my hair harshly and pulling me closer. She grips my lower lip between her teeth in a more controlled move than she has ever displayed when my lips were on hers. Then she sucks hard, pulling at my lip, and I move in to grab hers.

  She pushes her tongue into my mouth and licks so fucking deeply and so hard that I’m nearly at a loss and not sure I much like this new role. But fuck, she’s thirsty … for me.

  I reach lower with one hand and grab behind her knee, jacking it up around my hip while grinding into her. She moans, and I step forward, wanting her back against the wall to show her just how much I want her, just how fucking hard I am … for her. When she releases my hair and links her hands behind my neck, pulling herself up so her legs are around me, I’m taken aback at another more aggressive move.

  “Jesus Christ, Angela,” I hiss as she crashes her mouth against mine … again.

  Pushing her against the wall, I grind into her as I unclip her hair and watch it fall down to her shoulders as she sinks her teeth into my shoulder.

  “Fuuuuck.” I thrust against her, needing a connection. “My cock is so fucking hard for you … my fucking Bridge.” I grind in as she licks up my neck.

  With my head sticking up out of the waistband of my cotton pajama pants, I immediately hit her bare skin.

  “Beauty, your pussy is so hot.” I grind against her. “So fucking wet.”

  “I need you,” she moans a guttural demand.

  “Me who?”

  “You dammit.” She buries her head in the crook of my neck as she reaches between us, grips my cock, and rubs it between her lips.

  I could fill her now, right this minute, but I hold back, because I want fucking answers. “Me. Who?”

  “Joe, you.” I feel warm tears dripping down her skin that’s against mine as I dig my fingers into her tight, round ass and drive into her fully.

  “Oh God!” she cries as her head falls back and hits the wall.

  I contemplate pulling out, making sure she’s okay, but when she starts riding me, grinding against me, fucking … me, I know damn well I’m not strong enough to deny myself or her.

  “Fuck.” I thrust in deeper, harder, faster.

  Her moans, her cries, the sound of our flesh connecting, our bodies becoming slick with sweat as we fuck, it’s like we have been apart for a lifetime.

  “Fuck yes,” I hiss as I pull her harder against me, turning us and walking quickly to the bed.

  I lay her down on top of the stark white duvet, grab her ankles, throw them up on my shoulders, and fuck
her through our first orgasms. My cock is still not ready to stop, my body not ready to disconnect, and my fucking soul needs to show her who her soul belongs to.

  “Your pussy is mine.” I slam into her.

  “Yes!” she cries.

  I lean down and take her mouth, fucking it with my tongue, pushing hers aside. “Your mouth, mine!”

  “Oh God,” she sobs out.

  I kiss and lick and scrape my teeth down her beautiful, long, slender neck. Then I take her nipple in my mouth and clamp down before sucking it out long and hard. Her body tenses then shakes as she grips the duvet and holds her breath.

  I push myself back up and spread her legs open wide as I drive into her, watching my cock slide in and out of her. “Your cum”—I drive in harder, faster, deeper—“mine.”

  As she cries out, “Yes!” she comes so hard, so exquisitely.

  I pull out and grip my cock, stroking it as I drop to my knees and lick her pussy until it’s dry.

  When she lies limply, panting, I stand up, still stroking myself.

  “Open your eyes, beauty. This is all yours.”

  She opens her beautiful blue eyes, her tear-stained eyes, and watches as I jerk myself hard and fast before coming all over her belly. Then I flop down beside her, rest my head on her chest, and use my fingertips to rub my cum into her skin.

  “No one else but me,” she sniffs, and her body shakes.

  “No one else but you,” I whisper before looking up at her. “No one ever again.”

  I hold my fingers up to her mouth. She wraps her hands around my wrists and sucks them clean.

  “Fuck yes,” I sigh.

  After several minutes—hell, maybe hours of silence—I lift my head from her chest and look into her sad eyes. I wipe the tears from beneath them.

  “You never loved him.”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “It wasn’t a question.” I look deeply into her eyes and wait for the realization to set in that I get it. I see it. I have accepted it. I don’t give a fuck anymore. When it does, I nod. “Then, why the tears?”

  “Time, Bass,” she whispers.

  “Go on.”

  “You’re twenty-five.”

  “So I was born in the wrong decade. I have no problem with it.” I sit up and look down at her, waiting for her next illogical reason so I can destroy it, too.

  “You’ve had women like Ines.”

  “Seriously?” I almost laugh but hold it back because, to her, it’s a legitimate issue that needs to be resolved.

  “She’s flawless.”

  I do laugh at that.

  She sits up and covers herself. “I could never be like her.”

  “Anyone could be like her,” I say as I pull down the duvet so I can see her tits. “There’re plastic surgeons everywhere who could ruin everything natural and beautiful about you.”

  She scowls. “She has no wrinkles.”

  “And if she gets too close to an open flame, she’ll melt.”

  Her mouth twists as she tries not to smile or laugh.

  “It’s true.” I rub her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “Imagine a world with no hot wax play, Bridge?”

  “What?”

  “I can’t wait to tie you up and—”

  “Oh, my goodness, no.”

  I lean in and kiss her while pushing her back on the bed. “I’m gonna fuck you everywhere. Use every dirty little desire in my mind to get us both off—”

  She places her hands on my cheeks and looks at me. “You are so sexy and good. Someday, you’ll find a deserving woman, and then … you’re going to be a great dad.”

  “I’m never going to make a baby, Bridge. I snipped the possibility of that on my twenty-first—”

  She pushes me as she sits up. “Why! Why would you do that?”

  “Because he didn’t deserve me, and he doesn’t deserve his fucking bloodline to continue. And—”

  “Tell me you’re joking,” she pleads.

  “Do you know how many kids out there—”

  “Bastien Josephs, please tell me,” she cuts me off.

  I like the way she says my full name. “I told you the truth.”

  She searches my eye until she sees it. “Oh, Bass.” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and looks away.

  “They say any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad.” I lift her chin, and she opens her eyes. “Ask me how many I’ve met in my life deserving of a woman’s love, let alone a child’s.”

  “You could have been that one.”

  I nod. “And I still can be.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Have you ever felt true passion from someone who’s had it easy?”

  “I try not to judge people.” She narrows her eyes at me now.

  “Yet you’re judging me.” I push her hair away from her face.

  “I’m trying to understand you.”

  “You understand me just fine, which is why you can’t get enough of me.” I trail my finger down her collarbone, and then between her breasts before she takes my wrist, places my hand on her lap, and holds my hand.

  “Try playing fair, would ya?”

  “It took a weekend for us to know not only who we are but who we want to be. It took our pasts to nearly fuck everything up. But within a week’s time, look at where we are.”

  She’s waiting for me to continue, but I’m enjoying the realizations.

  “If I can get past the woman I”—I pause and watch her cheeks pinken—“will own—”

  “Own?” She rolls her eyes, but before she has a chance to say another word, I place my finger over her lips.

  “I despise him.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “That alone should have made me feel the same about you.”

  Sadness shows in her eyes.

  “But we have something indescribable. We have compassion for others that few have, and we have passion for each other like neither one of us has ever felt. I tried to deny it, I tried to trick myself into thinking you were a monster, but you’re the furthest thing from. It’s not going to go away. And you need to understand one thing.”

  “Just one?” she whispers.

  “That I did not go through hell to find my heaven just to simply walk away.”

  “Bastien,” she whispers.

  “Age be damned, and circumstances be damned. I’ll fight so hard for us that you’ll have no choice but to stop fighting against us. I’ll wear you down, and someday, you’ll be glad I did.”

  “I wish I could believe the way you do. I really do, but—”

  “Can we sleep on it?” I ask, lying back.

  “I’m not sure I can,” she whispers.

  “Why?” I put a hand behind my head as I get comfortable.

  “I have no idea why I’m still here, and I have no idea why I need to be for tomorrow. And I’m terrified that whatever happens is going to drive a wedge further between us than we could imagine. And I swear to God above that I would rather have you as a fond memory than a nightmare.”

  I sit up and hug her as she begins to cry. “We’re going to be fine.”

  “I can’t stand seeing you hurt, and I can’t stand that I’m a part of it, and I don’t even know how or why.”

  I press my lips to the top of her head. “I promise you that I’ll never hate you.”

  As she wraps her arms around me and hugs me back, I lie back, bringing her with me. I fix the duvet so it’s covering us, turn off the side table lamp, and hold her until she finally falls to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Angela

  After falling asleep in his warm embrace, the contrast is evident when I wake to a cold and empty bed.

  I never want it to happen again.

  My mind, my body, my … soul misses him.

  I have been fooling myself in thinking I could easily move past what not only sparked but blazed into an unstoppable wildfire the moment I saw him. It wasn’t just a life-changing moment. It w
as a moment that altered everything. It was the moment that every heartache and struggle became clear and implicit. The moment that made immobile all the moments of believing not everyone in the world would receive a fairy tale happy ever after and accepting its cruel reality.

  Those moments, I would never wish away, since they led me to be thankful for the blessings in all forms, truly appreciating the gifts each brought to my life. All those heartbreaking times I forced myself to be stronger and grow not in spite of but because of. They were building me up for something so much more than a daydream … for this.

  This moment. The moment in time when I am able to look up like he does without even thinking, drop to my knees, and thank God for the path He put me on, and not question His glory.

  Staring at my phone that tells me it’s four in the morning, my finger hovers over the green bubble that is messenger. Instead, I toss it aside and jump out of bed so I can find him, tell him all that, and then truly start living without regard or worry of its consequences.

  He promised to fight, and he’s fought enough by himself. I want to be by his side from now until …

  Realization hits, making me feel immediately nauseous.

  Not only do I want to be by his side, but I’m in love with this man.

  How can it be in … just three weeks? It’s simple: it just was.

  After a quick shower and dressing in something I hope he will find resembles his Bridge and not the person I have had to be since … forever, I look in the mirror at the navy-blue tank top and white linen capris. Definitely a simple beach vibe.

  I grab my phone, shove it in my pocket, and then walk to the door and open it. I hear an echo of something smashing from downstairs, and then glass breaking. Then I hear a muffled gut-wrenching sob reverberate from below.

  I run down the staircase and see a light coming from the one room I have yet to enter.

  Hurrying toward it, Alfred’s voice stops me.

  “Angela, it’s not a good idea.”

  His warning doesn’t stop me, though. In fact, it barely registers.

  I push open the door and stop quickly when I see him crouched down, hugging his knees. Photos, picture frames, paper, books, and broken glass are scattered around him.