by Kira Blakely
“It’s true.” She squeezes my hand tighter. “I am. And it’s true. Something worse could have happened to me. You said it yourself. I hate to admit it but I’m not as strong as I used to be. I need someone to take care of me.”
I wipe my tears. “I’ll take care of you.”
She shakes her head. “You have to take care of yourself and Dash.” She strokes my hair. “I may not know him well but I can tell he cares about you. He’s a good man. I’m glad you have him to take care of you. That way, you won’t be alone.”
The tears keep falling.
“I wish your Dad and I had been there at your wedding.”
“Oh, Mom.” I grab her hand, pressing it to my wet cheek. “But you were there. You were both there in my heart, where you always will be.”
She gives me a weak smile.
I give her a hug then rest my head on her chest like the child I used to be.
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her.
“I love you, too, baby.”
For a moment, I just lie there, savoring her warmth and listening to her heart, its slow beating calming me down. Then I lift my head and dry my tears for good.
“Feel better?” Mom asks.
I chuckle. Even with her condition, she worries about me first.
“Yes, I do.”
She holds my hand. “Now, go after your husband. Apologize to him. Talk things over. Patch things up. A husband and wife should not leave a fight unresolved for long.”
I give her a puzzled look. “But what about you, Mom?”
“Your cousin, Nancy, will be here soon. She’ll take care of me.”
I still don’t think I should go.
“Go,” my Mom urges, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Come back here when everything’s alright.”
“Okay.” I nod as I stand up.
She smiles. “Life is too short for misunderstandings.”
I return her smile. Of course, she’s right again.
Grabbing my purse, I go look for Dash.
* * *
I stop in front of Dash’s apartment building, pausing to catch my breath.
I’ve had to take the bus all the way from Woonsocket after finding out that he had gone home and now, here I am, at his home. Or is this his home?
I’ve never been here. I only know the address because I saw it on some documents. I’ve heard Dash talk about it, saying his mother just purchased it for him recently.
I look at the tall, glass doors at the top of the carpeted stairs. I sure hope this is the right place.
Straightening up, I start climbing the stairs but stop when I catch a reflection of a blonde woman in the glass. I turn around, seeing Marissa standing across the street.
Even from several feet away, I can tell it’s her. She’s wearing that same black jumpsuit she wore at the airport.
I clutch my purse, my eyebrows furrowed as I look at her. What is she doing here? Isn’t she supposed to be in Tokyo with her husband?
Don’t tell me she’s here to see Dash.
Well, I intend to find out.
I cross the street, scurrying over to her. She stops pacing the sidewalk, the arm holding her phone falling to her side as she looks at me with wide eyes.
She recognizes me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, worry in her voice.
I place my hand on my hip. “I should be asking you that question.”
“None of your business.” She starts pacing again, pressing a button on her phone and holding it to her ear.
I narrow my eyebrows at her. “Are you here to see Dash? Because if you are, I’m telling you…”
“What? Leave him alone?” She walks up to me. “Why? Because you can make him happy? He definitely didn’t look happy when he went in earlier.”
So she knows Dash lives here. Wait. She saw Dash?
“That’s none of your business,” I tell her, folding my arms over my chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo?”
“I couldn’t just leave Dash alone after seeing how upset he was at the airport.”
“Thanks for the concern but I’ll take care of him. I’m his wife, after all.”
For a moment, she just stands there as if trying to digest my words and having a hard time based on the expression of dismay on her face, then she scurries into a red Toyota and then drives off.
I wait until the car is out of sight, making sure she’s gone, then cross the street. Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I walk up the stairs, the doorman in the crisp black and gold uniform greeting me with a smile.
“Good evening. Can I help you, Miss…?”
“Mrs. Siegel,” I say, surprised by how it rolls off my tongue. “I’m the wife of Dash Siegel.”
“You are?” The doorman gives me a look of suspicion.
I can’t blame him. He’s never seen me before.
“Yes,” I tell him, showing him my golden band.
“Nice ring,” he says but he doesn’t budge. “Better than what the other woman was wearing, I think.”
What other woman?
I rummage through the contents of my purse, trying to find some proof that I am Dash’s wife. I remember that I still have the plane tickets and I show them to him.
“See. I’m Janine Siegel.”
“Oh, okay.” He nods as he looks at the tickets then gives them back. “I guess you’re the real one.”
Real one? I don’t understand.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Siegel.”
“Pleasure.” I shake his hand. “So, is Da… Mr. Siegel home?”
“Yes. I believe I saw him come in earlier.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Please come in.” He opens the door wide.
“Thank you.” I enter, adjusting my scarf.
In the middle of the gleaming lobby, I pause with wide eyes, staring at the giant crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling and then at the huge aquarium on one side. On the other side, there is an electric stone fireplace, above which is a painting that looks like a Monet and in front of which is a large, wool rug. There are also a few bean bags and wingback chairs.
Now, this is a far cry from my apartment.
But enough of being awestruck. I have a husband to see.
Remembering Dash’s apartment number, still from the documents, I go to the elevator, relaying it to the operator, a dark-haired woman in her twenties wearing a gray dress with gold trimmings. She presses the button as she sits on her brass and leather stool and I stand silently behind her, staring at the floor numbers as we pass them, holding my breath.
What if Dash isn’t home? Worse, what if he doesn’t want to see me? I said quite a few, mean things to him, after all.
I’m already here, though, so I might as well give it a shot, or so I tell myself as I step out of the elevator, walking down the hallway covered in a maroon carpet and lined with elegant wall sconces.
In front of his apartment, I stop to take a deep breath and a moment to make sure I look presentable. Then I push the doorbell.
After a few seconds, I hear someone coming to the door.
“Who is it?” Dash’s muffled voice asks.
I let out another sigh of relief. “It’s Janine.”
I hear a pause and then the bolt comes off and the door opens, Dash standing in the doorway in the same shirt and jeans he was wearing earlier, his coat off.
Seeing the sadness in his eyes, I feel a lump form in my throat and I clutch the straps of my purse nervously.
“Dash…”
“Come in.” He steps aside so I can enter the apartment. “Or should I say welcome home?”
Well, at least he’s not mad.
I take off my scarf, putting it down on a table.
“How’s your mother? Are you sure you shouldn’t stay with her?”
“I’ll go back,” I tell him, clasping my hands on my lap. “But I wanted to talk to you first.”
He sits on the Papasan chair,
his arms propped on his knees.
I take a deep breath. “You’re right, Dash. It’s best if my Mom stays at a special facility in the care of professionals who can really look after her. She’ll be safe and hopefully happy.”
Dash nods. “We’ll make sure we pick the best one.”
I look at my hands and rub my fingers. “You were right all along. I just didn’t want to admit it. I don’t want to let her go.”
“I understand.”
I look at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you and for all those things I said. I didn’t…”
“Shh.” He scoots over to me, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands in his. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”
“But I do. I feel bad.” I touch his cheek. “Will you forgive me?”
“Of course.” Dash takes my hand, kissing it. “Always.”
I smile, my heart swelling with warmth.
I’m lucky to have such a wonderful husband.
Overcome with newfound joy and relief, I cup his face, kissing him. Dash immediately kisses me back, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me off the couch as he stands up.
As his mouth conquers mine over and over, giving me little time to breathe in between, he pushes my cardigan off my shoulders. I shrug it off, letting it fall to the ground before slipping my hands beneath his shirt, my soft palms sliding across hard muscles.
He takes off his shirt in a quick gesture and after a particularly long kiss, he releases my lips, his latching on to the patch of skin behind my ear instead. I moan, the same sound escaping my lips when he kisses my neck and my collarbone.
My hands glide up his back as he moves lower, kissing my breasts through my dress and then the soft curve of my belly. Everywhere his lips touch, a seed of heat is planted, taking root and spreading like wildfire across my skin. He moves even lower, my hands resting on his bare shoulders as he is down on his knees on the carpet again, kissing my sex through the layers of cotton, now damp from inside to out, and caressing my thighs.
Gripping the hem of my dress, Dash pulls it up as he gets back on his feet. I raise my hands, letting him pull it over my head then toss it aside.
He sits on the couch, pulling me on to his lap. I place my hands on the back of his head, pulling his hair as we kiss. His hands travel across my back, fingers running across my spine, and then giving my ass a firm squeeze. Then they travel back up, stopping to unhook my bra.
I let the straps fall down my arms, my breasts right in front of his face. I blush as he stares at them, my hands falling to his shoulders, then gasp as he cups them in his palms, his thumbs rubbing my nipples.
“Beautiful,” Dash says, kissing one breast reverently. “Have I ever told you how much I love your breasts?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No. That has never come up in any conversation.”
“Well, I do.” He kisses the other.
“Yeah. I remember you staring at them the night we met.”
“It was afternoon when we met,” he reminds, kissing the patch of skin between my breasts. “And yes, I was staring at them.”
He takes one breast inside his mouth and I bury my hands in his hair again, throwing my head at the incredible sensation that travels right down to my toes and causes a wet spot in my panties. Then he touches that spot, stroking me through my panties and then beneath them, making my knees tremble as I pull at his hair harder, moans tumbling out of my lips.
I can feel my senses slowly slipping away, my body going out of control. I don’t know how much longer I can endure the assault of his tongue and his fingers.
“God. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his mouth against my other breast.
“No.”
“Good.”
Suddenly, he flips me over, pulling me into his lap with my back against his chest. He kisses my neck, one of his hands on my breast and the other back under my panties, fingers slipping inside me, stroking me.
My back arches, my body trembling as my hands try to clutch at the couch behind me.
“Shit.”
I don’t know why but this new position is somehow more intense. I can’t touch him and I feel more at his mercy.
It’s terrifying. And exciting.
I turn my head so I can kiss him and he captures my mouth, his tongue entangled with mine while he continues to pluck my nipple and strum my sex, playing me like a guitar. I continue trembling, unable to stop now, my moans muffled by his kisses.
Dash moves his fingers faster and I snap like a string, tearing my mouth away from his so I can open mine in a silent scream as my back arches against his chest and my hips buck, my toes curling.
Afterwards, I lie against him, breathless, resting my head on his shoulder.
“What was that?” I ask softly, hands lying limply at my sides.
“Passion,” Dash answers, kissing my ear.
Suddenly, I become aware of the bulge behind me, beneath me. I felt it earlier but I was too wrapped up in the throes of my own passion to pay attention. I do that now, reaching for it and wrapping my fingers around it.
Dash gasps.
I get off his lap and down on my knees, popping out the button of his pants and pulling down the zipper. Then I reach inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his pulsing, leaking cock and freeing it from its confines.
“Holy shit,” the curse spills out between my lips. “Has it always been this huge?”
Dash chuckles. “I think so, though it always seems a little bigger when you’re around.”
I trace each vein with my thumb from the base to the tip, fascinated, and then I stop, staring at the swollen, leaking tip.
I move my face closer, parting my lips and gathering the liquid on the tip of my tongue. It’s slightly bitter, slightly salty, slightly sweet. It’s a new taste altogether but not unpleasant.
Dash grips my shoulder, his hand shaking. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to.” I give the tip another lick and then slowly wrap my lips around it.
Both of Dash’s hands are on my shoulders now, their grip almost bruising. His head is thrown back, his eyes half-lidded, his body shaking.
The sight is enough to make my panties wet again.
I want to continue but suddenly, Dash pushes me off.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask him, concerned.
“No.” He shakes his head, getting off the couch to take off his pants and his boxers. “But I would rather have another part of you wrapped around me.”
He kisses me, hands in my hair, and pushes me down on the carpet, pulling my panties out of the way before settling between my legs.
“Janine,” he whispers my name as he enters me.
My eyes fall shut, my fingers trying to clutch at the carpet at my sides.
I can feel his every thrust, each one sending heat flowing through my veins. He moves faster, pounding into me. I feel the carpet rubbing against my bare back but I don’t care. All I care about is his cock rubbing against the deepest, most secret parts of me.
Then his lips come crashing down on mine, pinning me down as he gives a particularly deep thrust, his cock pulsing and then spilling inside me.
At the same time, my body bursts, the pleasure causing tiny explosions across my skin. I moan into his mouth and grip his arms and tremble.
Finally, he lets my mouth go, allowing us both to gasp for air. Then he moves off me, offering me a hand so that I can get off the carpet.
I manage to get up but just enough to move to the couch, collapsing on it, still panting.
“God, that was amazing,” I tell him. “I’m going to have rug burn for days.”
“Yeah, look at my knees,” Dash agrees with a soft laugh, sitting beside me. His knees were turned a bright, chapped pink by the carpet.
I place my hand in his. “I’m sorry we couldn’t go on that honeymoon.”
He shakes his head, looking at me. “Please
stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Besides, we can have our honeymoon right here in this apartment.”
He leans over to give me a kiss on the cheek.
A grin forms on my lips. “I like the sound of that.”
Chapter 11
Dash
“I don’t like it,” Billy says as he beats his fist on the table.
He’s been grouchy since the meeting with Walter, Dad’s lawyer, started in the living room. He made it clear that he didn’t want to be here. Then again, I haven’t seen him smile since I came home, so maybe this is just him now. He’s been quiet, though, silently simmering in his armchair until now.
“Billy,” my mother warns from her seat, giving him a stern look as she leans forward.
“It’s alright, Mom,” I tell her. “Let him speak.”
“This is unbelievable.” Billy shakes his head. “Why would I agree to letting Dash have his inheritance after being away and ignoring this family for so long?”
“Because he’s your brother,” my mother points out. “And he wasn’t exactly just wandering around, ignoring us. He was serving the country, saving lives.”
“So what? Are you proud of him now?” Billy runs a hand through his hair. “You said he broke your heart! He ruined an entire five-year plan based on the given that he was going to be CEO. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of the reasons Dad’s heart gave out.”
“Billy,” Mom scolds.
He shakes his head, leaving his chair and standing by the window. “What about Dad’s wishes, huh? Don’t they matter to you anymore now that he’s dead?”
“This was your Dad’s wish,” Mom reminds, sitting back before turning to Walter. “Read the addendum again, Walter.”
Walter clears his throat and reads out loud. “Should he come home alive and have a legal family to support at the time of my death or within three years of it, he shall have his inheritance.”
Billy continues to shake his head as he places his hands on his hips.
“Exactly. So why are we giving Dash money again?” He turns his back against the window. “Why are we transferring a third of Dad’s fortune to Dash when he doesn’t have a family?”
“Dash has a wife,” Mom answers, turning her body towards Billy. “You would know that if you attended the wedding.”