Mr. & Mrs. Wright: A BWWM Romance (Wright Brothers Series Book 2)

by Stevens, Camilla

  “Look at that,” he said, “It’s like your body is creating its own sangria recipe for me to devour.”

  He cupped her breasts, highlighted by two small triangles.

  “Like two perfect oranges,” he said. He thumbed the dark nipples, making them harden, “and two chocolate kisses for dessert.”

  He made the comparison quite clear as he bent down to suck first one, then the other into his mouth.

  “Michael,” London moaned as the water from the shower head fell down around her.

  She felt his hands slide down around to grip her ass. “And this,” he said, squeezing harder, “a perfect apple.”

  By now he was on his knees, kneading the skin of her ass. He looked up at her.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  Her breath became heavy as she did as he said, bracing herself against the shower walls.

  She flinched as she felt his teeth sink lightly into the flesh scraping along the round surface with sharp edges.He explored the territory with his mouth, covering every part of her that had been shielded from the sun, moving closer and closer.

  She clinched her cheeks together. “Michael!” she yelped.

  In response he simply brought his hands up to her hips, pushing her back into him so that his face sank deeper into the as-yet unexplored territory. Eventually London had no choice but to give into his taboo desires.

  She bit her lip as she felt his tongue sink past the threshold, into the inner depths until it hit the clinched barrier. It was a strange sensation, far more intimate than anything she’d ever done with him—or anyone for that matter—before. His tongue darted in and out, probing and causing her to reel with delight and forbidden ecstasy.

  Finally he pulled himself away, planting a firm kiss on her ass, followed by a smack that made her jump with a tiny yelp. As he stood up, she turned around to face him.

  “That was,” she blew out of her mouth as her eyes widened, “intense!”

  “So, how are you going to repay me?” he asked with a grin.

  She looked down at the block of pale skin from pubic area to his upper thighs that contrasted with the Spanish sun-tanned skin. Instead of being alluring, it actually made her laugh to look at.

  When she saw him give her a frown, she brought her arms around his waist and said, “Oh, don’t pout. At the very least it will be easy to find in the dark.”

  He gave a grudging grin, which broadened into a smile as she sank to her knees before him.

  “But since we’re already here, let me take care of this…banana?” she said, trying to follow his theme.

  He grimaced and she laughed. “Okay, so I’m not as witty and poetic as you,” she said. “How about I show you what I can do with my mouth.”

  She brought her lips down around the purple head as the water rained down over her. She felt it prick her back as Michael’s hand came down to massage her scalp, gently holding her against him as she worked her way down his pole, consuming as much as possible. She could still taste the salty remnants of the sea, combined with the varied saltiness of his precum.

  It was the perfect seasoning as her mouth devoured him, taking him deep down her throat, her tongue swirling its way along each veiny ripple. Her hands came up to encircle his girth and fondle his balls, teasing him, pleasuring him, milking him.She went faster and deeper, her hand twisting it’s way around him as her lips slid over the pale pinkish skin that had not been touched by the sun. Finally, she felt him tense under her

  Even over the roar of the shower she could hear him. “London!” he groaned. “Fuck yes! I’m coming!”

  He erupted into her and she swallowed it greedily, wanting to take in every last drop of him. When he was finished, she pulled herself away and looked up at him with a grin.

  “How’s that for being a wordsmith?” she said with a smile.

  Michael laughed out loud.

  * * *

  After they had actually taken a shower and dried themselves off, they went out for dinner. The sky was a deep indigo haze, the sun setting into night as they wandered around exploring various restaurants trying to find a place that sparked something in them.

  Despite their first embarrassing encounter, the warm embrace of the city, even at night, seemed to fuel their inclination to act like unbridled honeymooners. They were walking along one random cobblestone street when Michael once again pulled London into an empty, narrow walkway and pressed her up against the wall.

  “Are you trying to get us in trouble again?” she asked, laughing as his body came in close to hers.

  “What’s the point of passing all these hidden alleyways if we can’t take advantage?” he smirked, leaning in to kiss her.

  “What’s the point of having a hotel room if we keep making out in public?” she smiled, letting him take full advantage.

  He pulled himself off her and gave her a scornful look. “You say that like we can’t do both.”

  “Maybe we should eat something first,” she said. “After that shower, I need to refuel.”

  He groaned impatiently against her, then pulled himself up. “Okay, London. But you better be fueled and ready, because tonight I’m riding you long and hard.”

  “Promises, promises,” she teased, pulling away from him and skipping down the street forcing him to chase after her like they were two kids on the playground.

  London Jefferson was having the time of her life.

  Chapter 19

  “You what?!”

  Brooklyn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared back at Jared who gave her an impassive look that bordered on contempt. As though she was the one in the wrong here.

  “I’m sorry, but we just can’t represent you any longer,” Jared repeated, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

  “But we had a contract,” Brooklyn said, trying to keep her desire to slap those pursed lips in check. “I signed a contract. A contract that you presented to me. Or don’t you recall?”

  There was a brief flicker of a mouse-caught-in-a-trap look that crossed the man’s face. But the decision he had already come to quickly wiped that away.

  “I recall,” he said, smoothly recovering.

  “You know I could sue,” Brooklyn threatened. “You know who my father is right? He could destroy you and your gallery.”

  Jared gave a sharp laugh. “And he would probably win.” He leaned in close with a dangerous glare. “But good luck ever working with another gallery in New York—or any other city—again. No one likes working with difficult artists. Especially artists who are tainted goods,”

  “Tainted goods?” She asked in disbelief. What the hell did that mean? “You liked my work. Professor Peterson completely endorsed me. I’ve been at your fucking beck and call for the past week, even quitting my job for you! And you have the nerve to call me tainted goods?”

  “None of that matters when Eleanor Ashton has decided to take issue with you,” he spat back.

  It came so far out of left field that Brooklyn at first had no idea who he was referring to.

  Eleanor Ashton?

  Of course anyone who was even remotely involved in the art world knew who Eleanor Ashton was. Her collection alone—an eclectic mix of priceless old masters and up and coming new artists—was said to be the most inclusive in thew world. Frankly, the entire New York art scene thrived on her patronage, continuously hosting charity events to raise money. She even had her own named endowment at Brooklyn’s alma mater, Pratt Institute. Her word could make or break a gallery…or an artist.

  Brooklyn had no idea how she, or the still somewhat unknown Manix Gallery, had ended up on Ashton’s radar in the first place.

  “How in the world did Eleanor Ashton get involved in this?” she asked incredulously.

  “Not her,” he clarified, “her goddaughter.”

  He took her look of confused silence as a prompt to enlighten her. “Brianna Nolton?”

  The name was a punch in the gut, and she actually felt a small breath
escape her lips. She fell down into the chair across from Jared in a moment of stunned weakness.

  Jared saw her reaction and gave a satisfied smirk. “I see you know who I’m referring to.”

  “So Eleanor Ashton threatened to—”

  “Not Mrs. Ashton herself,” he confessed, “but Brianna Nolton was enough. She threatened that if I didn’t drop you I’d—and I’m quoting her here—not even be able to mention the word ‘art’ without being run out of the city. Of course, Eleanor Ashton would never use those words herself, but I got the gist of it.”

  He gave an effeminate shudder as though he was the one whose world was crumbling to pieces right now.

  Brooklyn ignored him as a million thoughts ran through her head.

  In a shocking moment of empathy he called her attention back to him with a slight cough. “You’re new to all this, honey, so I’m going to give you a bit of advice.” He leaned in closer to her. “Next time you want to fuck with someone, make sure you know who her fairy godmother is first, okay?”

  Brooklyn wanted to laugh at the irony. It wasn’t Brooklyn who was a fucking with Brianna. Frankly, the woman—correction, evil, horrid, bitch—hadn’t even been a blip on Brooklyn’s radar before these past two weeks.

  Even though the rational part of her brain knew it wasn’t his fault, she hated Alex Wright all the more right now. Sure, he’d been the one to push her into making this leap into the art world professionally, but now he was also—indirectly—the one completely ripping it from her grasp.

  “If you want my two cents, dear,” Jared continued, “start over some place other than New York. This girl wants you gone.”

  That took the tiny flicker of hatred Brooklyn had for Brianna and turned it into a full fledged inferno.

  Leave New York? The city she’d lived her whole life? The city where all of her friends and family were? The city she absolutely loved?

  If Brianna thought she could get rid of Brooklyn that easily, that useless skank had another think coming.

  * * *

  “Thank you so much for hiring me and allowing me to show my work here,” Brooklyn said with an enthusiasm she most certainly didn’t feel.

  “Nonsense,” said David, her new manager at Joe on the Go. “This is far better than the usual kindergarten crap we try to push in this place. Though you didn’t hear me say that,” he said conspiratorially.

  Brooklyn looked around at the cramped little spot in Midtown Manhattan, with its smattering of miss-matched tables and chairs the chain was known for. There was barely enough wall space to house her Paris Series, her favorite, despite everything going on with Alex.

  She gave a sadly nostalgic smile as she looked at the pieces. Spark with its dark shadows and deconstructed images of the Eiffel Tower, splashed with bright white splatters of paint that mimicked the light show the tower performed each hour at night. Despite the dark colors it had a vaguely intimate feeling, that captured the thoughts she had as Alex fell asleep on her lap that night. Ah Paree, with its bright, hopeful colors and geometric shapes that hinted at a certain type of flower, splashed with warm, welcoming colors, that embraced the moment she’d first seen Alex standing there waiting for her at the airport. There were more, each capturing a different moment of her time with Alex in Paris.

  And here it was, being cheapened as a backdrop to bored or impatient New Yorkers ordering their lattes and croissants. Brooklyn wasn’t above making overpriced coffee for a living. She was, however, above watching the work that she poured her heart and soul into diminished to background noise at some coffee shop chain. She didn’t even want to think about what the steam of the coffee machines and the light coming in through the windows would do to the pieces. Then there was the huge slash in prices. No art piece, no matter how good, was getting snapped up off a coffee shop wall for thousands of dollars. She’d be lucky to get cents on the dollar for what Manix Gallery had assured her the pieces would sell for.

  It was a devastating one step forward—ten steps back.

  Still, she had to look on the bright side. She had a job. She had a place to show her work. Already she could see the admiring stares of at least a few coffee addicts as they waited for their lattes and frou frou macchiatos, to be made.

  This was the death knell for the collection…and probably her future as a professional artist. No gallery ever—ever—took on work that had been shown elsewhere. Especially when that “elsewhere” was Joe on the Go.

  As she watched David show her how to operate the industrial sized espresso machine her eyes wandered to her pieces on the walls. She thought back to the two wonderful weeks she’d spent with Alex in Paris, the inspiration for this series.

  The two of them dancing the night away under a sea of confetti and bubbles in the nightclub he had helped revamp. Her greeting him in the morning with a sexy surprise. Alex making love to her as the Paris morning sun seeped through their open window….

  She shook her head free of the thoughts to focus on the task at hand. It would do no good to think of Alex Wright these days.

  Alex Wright who was able to traipse around the world actually making a living at a job he was both good at and loved.

  Alex Wright who had started their relationship based on lies, and apparently hadn’t changed his stripes.

  Alex Wright with his trust fund that he could always fall back on.

  Alex Wright who had brought Brianna Nolton into her life.

  Yes, Brooklyn Jefferson hated Alex Wright more than ever.

  Chapter 20

  In what was turning out to be a common occurrence, while Brooklyn’s world was falling completely apart in New York, London’s was falling perfectly into place, halfway around the world in Barcelona.

  Michael and she were back at the beach, despite the threatening clouds in the distance. They had decided that, even faced with the beautiful architecture and delicious food Barcelona had to offer, there was nothing more enjoyable than splashing around and making out with one other in the crystal clear, warm, blue waters of the Mediterranean. Especially when cleaning up—only to get dirty again—back in the hotel room was so much fun.

  London was lying on her towel on her stomach, her head turned toward Michael. She smiled as he leaned on his side and traced a finger along the edge of her bikini bottom.

  “Keep pushing that tan line further up mister and pretty soon I won’t have one to speak of. Then how will you know where to direct your attentions tonight?” She smiled behind her new pair of sunglasses as she said it, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his fingers running along her skin.

  “Oh I think I can manage to find my way,” he said, bending down to give her a quick love bite on her ass.

  “Michael!” she squealed in embarrassed surprised, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.

  Despite both of them being in their 30s, they had been acting like a couple of silly teenagers on this trip and it was revealing a side of herself that London didn’t even know existed. Michael had always been the more playful of the two of them, and was terrific at pushing her further and further out of her prudish little shell.

  Whether it was reeling in her father’s enthusiasm at work, or keeping a protective eye on her younger sister, she was always so serious and responsible in her New York life. Here, without the stress of her job, the memories of Clayton Moore, and the ever watchful eye of the media, she could let loose and just be…free.

  She hadn’t even thought of Dion Davis, Richard Wright, the stupid tabloids, or even New York in the past few days. It had been nothing but a hedonistic adventure of good food, good wine, very good sex…and a perfect man. She even found herself flirting with the idea of maybe going topless at some point. Not that she would ever tell Michael, he’d definitely be the one to push her past that line.

  She was about to suggest heading back into the water when the first sprinkles came.

  “Uh-oh,” Michael warned. “It looks like our day in paradise is about to be intruded upon.”

&
nbsp; London lifted her sunglasses and looked up at the clouds, wondering if it was a passing phase or the precursor to something worse. Her question was answered as the sprinkles turned into bona fide drops.

  “I suppose that’s our cue to head back,” she said.

  Michael nodded in agreement and, as they collected their things up along with all the other disappointed sunbathers, the drops became heavier. By the time everything was stuffed back into their bags, they were making a run for it on the walking path along the beach and the rain was literally pouring.

  London assumed they were headed back to their hotel when Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her into one of the little cafés along the beachfront walkway. The proprietors had already unfurled the plastic sheeting keeping out the torrent of rain as customers sat and watched the increasingly gloomy beach view.

  Before the waiter that greeted them could ask what they wanted, Michael pointed to the rain-sprinkled chalkboard sign indicating pitchers of sangria and told him they wanted the largest one possible.

  The waiter nodded with a huge grin, obviously looking forward to the bill that such intoxication might run up. London couldn’t argue.

  After all, when life gives you lemons…you might as well make sangria!

  It all made sense in her sun and sea-water induced haze. Ordinarily, she might have been upset at having her perfectly laid plans for spending a warm day on the beach so rudely interrupted by Mother Nature. Right now she was enjoying the surprisingly wondrous results the turn in the day had produced:

  Michaels’ dark, wet locks falling against his forehead as he gave her that twinkling grin across the table.

  The disappointed sunbathers making a break for shelter, which she watched with guilty amusement.

  The soothing sound of pouring rain hitting the pavement.