“So you got arrested.”
See when he says it out loud it sounds stupid. “I was just so pissed.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, I get that, to an extent, so why prove them right? Why get that messed up?” He glances sideways at me. “I thought you’d overdosed, Blake. It scared the fuck out of me.”
“I’m sorry, I just…I hate them, and I just handled it badly I guess.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “Why?” His eyes meet mine. “You’ve never actually told me why you hate them so much.”
“Oh, that’s a long story.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “I’ve got time.”
“Okay. Fine. Well, I used to be good, as in the perfect politician’s daughter. I had good grades, went to his social bullshit, I even dated the guy they wanted me to date, Jacob Fraser. I wanted to go to University, but it turns out that they wanted me to become Mrs. Fraser and pull influence with hubby, help my father’s campaign.” I fiddle with one of the sofa cushions, and he patiently listens. “I had never said no, and then one night at a political party, Jacob got on one knee. I was eighteen. I freaked out. Felix and Milly were there. Felix always used to work the parties, dealing to the rich kids while their daddies were playing power games. I pretty much had a mental breakdown, and that was the first night I ever took cocaine. It changed everything.” I lift my eyes to him, expecting judgement, but there is none. “I got high and walked back into that party. My dad was so pissed.” I smile, remembering it. I’d taken my ‘sensible’ dress and butchered it. I hacked the skirt off until it barely skimmed my arse cheeks and the excess material….I tied it around my head like Rambo. I’m not even joking. My mother burst into tears, my father looked like he was about to lose his shit, and Jacob looked at me like I was insane. I didn’t care. I was like a motherfucking phoenix rising from the ashes of my controlled, contained, shitty life, sporting two erect middle fingers.
“The next year was bad. They pushed and I pushed back. Then one day, I came home and my father had given away my dog, Peppy. He was a gift for my sixteenth birthday, and I loved him more than anything.” I smile thinking about the day I got him. He was so cute. “He thought it would force me back in line, but it didn’t. I was upset, so I got drunk, got in my car, and wrapped it around a lamp post. And that was the final straw. As soon as I was no longer about to die, my mother came to the ICU and told me I was an embarrassment to the family name and they were sending me away so the press didn’t hear about it.”
Rhett leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s rough.”
I nod. “They have fucked me at every turn, my education, my career, even my dog. And then they tell me that they don’t care what I do. I could overdose as long as the press didn’t see it. And I tell myself that I don’t care, and for the most part, I don’t, but even after all that…”
“They’re your parents,” he says.
I nod. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
His gaze drops to the icepack on his hand. “Not really. My parents are both dead. My dad was a felon and my mom was a junkie. For as long as I can remember it’s been me and my brother, Luca.”
That’s so sad, but I guess at least they had each other. From the way his eyes changed when he said his name, I can see he loves his brother. That bond, I envy it. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Shit happens. They weren’t nice people.”
“Do you think it’s wrong to want their love?” I ask quietly, and believe me, I would never admit that to anyone but him, not even Milly.
A soft smile touches his lips. “No, but you can spend your life waiting for their approval and hoping you’ll get it. You can drink yourself into the ground, get photographed with me every day of the week, party, and fuck yourself blind, but it won’t change anything, and you shouldn’t want it to.” He strokes his hand over my shin. “If they don’t want you then fuck them. But live your life Blake, make it so that they don’t matter. Because as long as they do, you’ll never be happy. Trust me on this.”
“You’re supposed to be a hot bad boy. When did you become helpful?”
“I can stop.” He pushes up off the sofa and grabs both my ankles, dragging me down the cushions until I’m flat on my back with my top shoved up.
He crawls between my knees and brushes his lips across mine. “I want you, Duchess. No one else matters.” My heart skitters wildly. He sits up and pulls on the bottoms of my trackies, dragging them down my legs, leaving me naked from the waist down. “But I want your pussy more.” He skims his hands from my ankles up to the backs of my knees. “Don’t scream. Wouldn’t want to wake Milly up.” That wicked smirk crosses his lips just before he shoves my knees into my chest and dives face first into my pussy. Oh, fuck!
His tongue drags over my clit and I have to fist my hand and bite down on my knuckles to stop myself from crying out. With my legs pinned I’m completely exposed to his mouth.
Rhett Torres is a magician with his tongue. He thrusts it inside me and a moan slips past my lips, making him chuckle and blow hot breaths across me. Holy shit, he’s going to kill me. I glance down between my legs and those gold eyes lock with mine. He makes a slow show of sliding his tongue over my clit. Oh, god, his face looks even better between my legs. He winks—fucking winks at me before he slams two fingers inside me forcing a strangled cry from my lips. I don’t even fucking care if Milly wakes up, comes in here, and makes a new Kim K sex tape. I’d sink much lower in exchange for this right here.
My hands fly to his hair and then shit gets serious. My hips roll as his fingers pound into me, his tongue relentlessly circling my clit. I throw my head back on a silent moan as every muscle in my body tenses and an orgasm rips through me. He pushes me past orgasm to the point where I’m flinching away from each tiny lash of his tongue. I thrash, trying to wrench my legs from his grip and squeeze them closed, and he laughs, biting my inner thigh before finally releasing me. My chest heaves as I smile, riding that blissful high.
“Give me a minute,” I gasp.
He bends down, scooping me off the sofa. “It’s okay, Duchess, you can just lay there for this.”
“Done.”
34
Rhett
One week later…
Why the fuck am I doing this? The lengths I go to for that girl.
I’m sitting in a fucking bush in someone’s back yard, waiting. My phone buzzes and I take it out. It’s a text from Blake asking where I am. I ignore it, and shove it back in my pocket, because how would I explain where I am?
There’s movement and the porch light turns on before the back door opens and then closes. I can’t see shit in the dark, but I hear the tapping of little claws on the garden path. I throw a piece of ham out onto the path, hoping the damn dog will find it.
The brown wiener dog starts growling at me as soon as he comes into view. He’s ballsy for a short fucker.
“Shh!” I hiss at him, launching the entire pack of ham in front of him. Apparently food is more important than the guy hanging out in the bush, and I manage to grab him and make a break for it before I’m arrested for breaking and entering. I jump in my car and put the dog on the front seat. I hope to god it’s the right dog because otherwise I just kidnapped a random family’s dog.
Like I said…the lengths I fucking go to for Blake.
35
Blake
I wake up and Rhett is nowhere to be seen, but the bed is still warm.
I get out of bed and go for a pee before hunting down coffee and Rhett in that order. I find him making coffee. Winning. He smiles when I walk in the kitchen and cups my face, kissing me.
“Happy birthday, Duchess.”
“Thanks.” I had actually forgotten.
“I’ve got you a present.”
I pick up his coffee, taking a mouthful just so I can ensure the appropriate enthusiasm. He grins and it makes me smile, because he’s all giddy, well, as giddy as Rhett could possibly g
et.
“It’s in the spare room, and it better be the right fucking one. You have no idea what I went through to get it.”
Now I’m really intrigued. I go to the hallway and open the door to the spare room. And there, in the middle of the bed, wagging his little tail, is Peppy. Not a lookalike, not a puppy version, my Peppy.
“Oh, my god!” I scream, scooping him up. If you’ve never had a dog, then you can’t appreciate what this means. You can’t appreciate what it is to lose him and have him back after nearly two years of separation. I sit on the edge of the bed, and he jumps up on my chest, giving me kisses. My vision goes blurry, as tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. I fall back on the mattress laughing as Peppy tries to lick my face.
I kiss his nose. “I missed you, baby.”
Out of the corner of my eye I spot Rhett leaning against the door frame. Jumping off the bed, I launch myself into his arms and he catches me as I wrap my legs around his waist, slamming my lips on his.
“Thank you,” I breathe against his mouth. “You have no idea how much this means.” Everything, it means everything. Rhett Torres just gave me back the only thing I ever truly loved…aside from him, and it only makes me love him more. And all the fears and insecurities that I had, that vulnerability that I felt, it all washes away. None of it matters because he gets me. He knows what I need, what makes me happy.
Every sappy love story has its moment—the grand gesture. Our story isn’t sappy or romantic in any way, but if ever there were a moment that made me think that just maybe it could be, this is it.
I touch my forehead to his, stroking my hand over his jaw. “I love you.”
He smirks. “I know.”
“Do I even want to know how you got him back?”
He shrugs. “I have my sources.”
“You’re the best.”
He slaps my arse and drops me to the ground. “I know. Now, I have to go do some work.” I pout and he smiles. “But I’ll pick you up at your place tonight. I’m taking you away for the weekend.”
“Like a dirty weekend?”
He kisses my forehead. “It’s a surprise.”
36
Blake
A surprise! A fucking surprise! Men are so…male. Jesus, he can’t just drop this on me last minute. A dirty weekend needs certain preparations. I’m booked for a bikini wax tomorrow, but now we’re leaving for a weekend of dirty sex today and the beautician can’t move it forward.
So here I am, in the pharmacy section for self-help pube removal.
“What the fuck?” I’m staring at shelves full of hair removal stuff.
“I’m telling you, those wax strips in a box won’t do shit except give you sticky pubes, and the proper stuff will probably blister your vag,” Milly says.
“Oh, my god.” I gasp in horror at the thought of a maimed vag. “How are they allowed to sell that shit?” She shrugs. “Helpful. Why did I bring you?”
“Because when in pube drama, I’m your go to girl.”
“Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”
She picks up a box. “Hair removal cream. I once used it on my legs. Smells gross, but it works.”
I take the box from her. Why do I have a feeling this is going to be even more degrading than getting on all fours for Svetlana?
“Oh, my fucking god. Milly!” I shout.
“What?” She calls from my bedroom.
I’m standing in my bathroom in nothing but a t-shirt with this shit smeared all over my minge. Brilliant.
“Is this supposed to burn?”
“Uh, tingle maybe.”
“Nope.” I grip the edge of the vanity. “It’s definitely burning.”
“Well, maybe that just means it’s working.”
“Fuck, what is in this shit?” Jesus, it feels like my vagina is on fire.
She pokes her head around the door and glances at my crotch, covered in the pale pink cream. “It has to dissolve pubes.”
Okay, I’m good. I can handle a little pain. It’s not like a wax is a walk in the park, although that shit lasts a second. This is a lot longer. The burning intensifies, and I’m all for suffering in the name of beauty—or a bald vag—but this is ridiculous.
“Okay, nope. I can’t.” I jump in the shower and pull the head off the wall, turning the water on. I squeak as the cold hits my thighs, but it feels so good on my crotch.
The stuff washes away, leaving behind bright red skin, and a minge that looks like it got chewed by a lawn mower.
“Oh, my god! Rhett cannot look at this!” I shriek.
“It can’t be that bad.” Milly yanks the shower door open and I cover my injured girl. She rolls her eyes. “You know that’s nothing I, and most readers of The Sun, haven’t seen before.”
“Not like this!” Shit, it’s still burning like a bitch. I step out of the shower and stalk straight through the flat to the kitchen. I rip open the freezer in search of something. Anything. Nope. We have vodka or ice cream in there. Well, Ben and Jerry are going to have to spend the next few minutes pressed against my pussy. I grab the tub and shove it against the burning skin.
“Oh, so good.” I sigh.
“You are such a drama queen,” Milly says from behind me. I turn and lean back against the fridge.
“It’s still burning!”
She places her hands on her hips and shakes her head before dropping to her knees and shoving the ice cream away. I squeak as she grabs my thighs to get a closer look.
“Because this isn’t degrading enough?” I say.
“It’s probably a good thing that you don’t remember half the shit you do when you’re drunk,” she remarks. “And, I’m pretty sure this is a third degree burn.”
“Those are not words a girl ever wants to hear when discussing her vagina, Milly!”
“Uh, what is going on?” I close my eyes. Nope, this is not happening. I did not just hear Rhett’s voice. Nope. No one could possibly be shat on that much. I slowly squint through one eyelid and yes, there he is, standing the other side of the breakfast bar with the widest grin on his face. “Anything you two need to tell me?” He cocks an eyebrow and I want to punch him.
When Milly stands up and turns around to face him, I put the ice cream back between my legs. “Uh, well…” She starts.
“Gah! No. Shh,” I hiss at her and storm back to my room. I have never been embarrassed in my life, but I’m mortified right now. This is bad. Really bad.
I flop down on my bed and throw an arm over my face whilst keeping the ice cream in places no ice cream should ever be.
I hear the door creak open, then feel the bed dip next to me.
“Duchess.” There’s a pause. “Look, it’s not that bad.” I lower my arm and glare at him. His lips twitch. “It could be worse.” He snorts, and then he loses it.
“You’re an arsehole!” I slap at his chest. He falls back on the mattress, laughing until tears are pouring down his temples. Prick. “I hate you.”
He rolls over, pinning me underneath him. “No, you don’t. Want me to kiss it better?”
“No! I don’t want you anywhere near it.”
He cocks a brow. “Well that could be problematic.”
“I’m sorry, is my injured vagina an inconvenience?!” So being female, I’m prone to abnormal bouts of irrational rage, whereby I know I’m being a crazy bitch but there is fuck all I can do about it. It’s like a weird blood lust, where all I feel is the urge to kill him. Slowly.
He’s fighting a smile. “Well, I guess you still have a mouth.”
“You’re a wanker.”
“So that’s a no on the blow job?” He grins.
“Arsehole,” I grumble.
“That works too.” This time when I hit him he jumps off me and laughs as he leaves the room.
37
Blake
Rhett holds the car door open, waiting for me to get in.
“Just tell me where we’re going,” I whine.
He shakes his head. “You a
re so determined to ruin the surprise.”
I huff and drop my hands to my sides. “I already had a surprise.”
“It’s a weekend away, that’s all you need to know.”
“Can’t we bring Peppy with us?” I pout. I only just got him back and now he wants me to go away for the weekend.
“No, he’ll be fine.” Apparently he’s staying with Rhett’s maid Natalie. She seems nice I guess.
He grabs my shoulders and turns me away, placing a kiss on the nape of my neck before forcing me into the car. We drive for what feels like forever. “Okay, I’m going to die of boredom and sobriety before we get there,” I moan.
“I wondered how long you’d last.” He laughs. “Milly packed you a bag on the back seat.”
I grab what looks like a cool bag and drag it to the front. “You should know; I am not a pack a picnic kind of girl.”
“It’s your kind of picnic, Duchess.”
I unzip it to find cans of gin and tonic. Okay, so I’ve never been a classy chick when it comes to booze. I’ll take it however I can get it.
“This is why I love her: a mutual love of drinking and debauchery.”
His lips kick up in a small smile as he glances in his wing mirror, swerving the car into another lane and flooring the accelerator.
“Is this really necessary?” I whine, clinging to his hand.
“It’s a surprise, Blake.”
“If you bought me a male stripper, it’s really unnecessary. I’ll shove money down your pants if you strip for me.”
“No strippers. Step.”
“What?! I am not doing steps with a blind fold on!”
“Fine.” The next thing I know, something hits the backs of my thighs and I’m falling. I scream, but Rhett catches me and cradles me against his chest.
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