by Mj Fields
“You two were best friends, Elijah.”
I look back at her. “We were childhood playmates, classmates.”
“Your parents were business partners. You are in business together.”
“I pay the penalty for my father’s poor choice in who he got in bed with. I run this fucking business. The two of them get a monthly deposit so they can live like kings while I bust my ass to keep hard-working people employed.
“You have no idea what it’s like, Stella, to have so much pressure, to be on top of your game all the time. How many asses of men beneath me that I have to kiss, so they don’t go with a competitor because they play more golf than you do or offer better whores up for after-dinner mints. You couldn’t possibly because you were lucky enough to have not only been born to common people but raised by them. You’ve never dreamed of running the world; just painting it in silly colors.”
I turn and look at her. “Jesus, Stella, look at you. You wear clothes in irrational colors to bring attention to yourself when some of us would give our left nut to be able to blend in.”
As hurt crosses her face, I walk over and sit next to her. She’s so easy to please that this small gesture will ease the truth in my statement. And if I wanted my dick sucked, she’d do that, too.
I wish life was that simple. As simple as Stella and her goofy smile. But now, on the edge of losing it all, is not the time to buy into the comforts afforded to those who are so simple, those with common ways of thinking.
“You know what I’m saying. You work for a company that caters to people who wouldn’t be caught dead in that dress. And you have the luxury of not giving a damn how it comes across to others because you’ve had so little all your life and you don’t dream of anything so grand that its loss would be a loss of yourself or your pride. You don’t have people counting on you. Who would miss Stella McCarty, aside from me?”
“Elijah, you’re being cruel.” She stands up and walks away, something she does whenever life gets too difficult for her, unable to face the realities that lie beneath common ground.
“How is the truth cruel? Two buildings crumbled with people more important, more powerful than either of us, and the world doesn’t even know their names anymore.”
She looks back at me, sadness in her eyes. “Have you ever talked with anyone about how that makes you feel?”
“Makes me feel?” I huff. “I haven’t had the time to delve into my emotional psyche—another luxury of those who think they matter. They don’t, Stella. Men like me matter. Men who hold in their hands the financial security of its employees, it’s investors, their families, those who think they are less fortunate but are truly the more privileged.”
She walks to the bar where she pours two glasses full of whiskey. It’s almost laughable how women like her and my mother, women who are bound to powerful men, fall easily to alcohol and its escape when the men only on occasion are able to let go of control. Only when the dust from a collapse is starting to settle.
She turns and hands me a glass then picks hers up and takes a drink.
I drink down the entire glass while she sips.
“Like sipping,” I continue. “You can sip a drink because you’ve got nothing else to do but relax.”
I grip her shoulder and run my hand down her arm. “He thinks I fucked up.”
She takes another sip then asks, “Who?”
“Hearst,” I sneer.
She takes my glass and fills it up again but doesn’t hand it back to me. Then she walks to the couch and sits down. I follow.
Sitting down, I watch her tuck one leg under the other.
“You didn’t mess up then.” She hands me my drink and smiles.
Affirmation … not that I need it. And she no longer looks angry. Hell, she looks interested.
Fuck you, Aaron, I think.
“This business is messy. You lose clients, millions of dollars, but if you’re smart, you can always find new money to take its place. If you’re really smart, you know how to keep it.”
“And you’re smart.”
The simplicity of her is his allure, not mine, yet I’m the one who has her.
“Getting smarter each day.”
“Through experiences.”
I look over the rim of my glass and nod.
“For instance?”
“When my father passed away, I held on to our family home, a home Father was two months behind on payments and ready to be foreclosed on because Evan said he’d figure it out. I sold it, bought the place in Manhattan, and kept my mother there as long as I had to. But my sisters chose boarding school. Then I sold it when Mom went away—”
“To Europe.”
“Yes, to Europe, to dry up. A lot of good that did. She’s been drying up ever since.” I laugh. “Or on holiday, as the rich and entitled say.”
She places her hand on mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Made me even smarter. The second time the business was about to go under, I sold the Manhattan place, lived in fucking Chelsea of all places,” I huff, “bailed out the business, and gave myself enough to rent the place in Brooklyn. To some, that may have been seen as a step back, but to me, it was a step closer to this place.” I stand up and walk to the bar.
“And here you are.”
“Here I am.” I look around. “A home that he would have loved.”
“Evan?”
I shake my head as I refill my glass.
“Aaron?”
I look back. “He means nothing.”
“Your father?”
I hold up my glass. “Exactly. But he would have lost everything to Evan. I simply sold a property.”
“And you’ve been very stressed lately. Is the business in jeopardy again?”
I look at her. She’s prying.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
I close my eyes, needing to refocus. When I open them and look again, I see she’s just being daft. Her norm.
“I thought so, but I have something in the works. So again, fuck them.”
“Have you ever thought of buying them out? Being rid of them?”
I laugh. “Of course I have, but Evan actually thinks I need his fucking help. Self-important nobody. And with his share of the profits, I’ll never be rid of him. And if the fucker dies, I still have to deal with Aaron.” I take a drink. “It’s too bad their father/son bonding expeditions didn’t get rid of them both.”
“Elijah!” she snaps at me.
It pisses me off.
“Do you think for one fucking minute he deserves to be breathing when my father isn’t? Does he still deserve to be living a life because his family money started the business that my father and I have been the brains behind?”
“You should never wish death on anyone.”
“I didn’t say I’d kill them, for Christ’s sake.”
She stands up. “I think I’m going to take a walk.”
“No.”
“No?”
I grab her arm. “No. I’m ignoring my responsibilities because you feel slighted, so how about you and I go spend some quality time together.”
“You’re angry and drunk,” she says, pulling her arm back.
“You still menstruating?” I look at her mouth.
“No.” She turns her back on me.
“Good.” I take her hand and walk to the bedroom. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
19
Aaron
I hit the number on my cell phone, one used a handful of times in my whole fucking life because I really try to keep my obsession with all things Stella to myself.
“Where is she?”
“She’s on the ferry, sir.”
“How’d she get there?”
“Uber.”
“You let her Uber at midnight?”
“My apologies, sir, but I thought it best to keep my distance.”
“And, where is he?”
“I assume he’s asleep or passed out
.”
“And your assumption comes from …?”
“She’s a bit intoxicated.”
“And you let her get on the fucking ferry!”
“Sir, I think a woman like her can handle herself. And Ox has been contacted.”
“I’m gonna need a ride.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Walking up the sidewalk, I see Ox’s white van parked a few houses down from Stella’s. He’s leaning against it, smirking at me.
I met him at Stella’s dad’s, Gino, funeral. Ox is from the island, which is the story we told Stella because Ox doesn’t like to talk about his days as a New York City fireman.
Gino saved his life, and Ox, well, he told me he got to look at his then-girlfriend again, while so many of his brothers would never see the woman they loved or their kids again. He says Gino was the reason he was here, the reason he asked her to marry him, the reason he asked her again until she finally said yes, and the reason he now has four boys to turn his hair gray. He told me he would make damn sure that Gino was honored, and the man kept his word.
“She okay?”
“She was singing that song on the ferry again.” He chuckles. “My boys got it on video this time. Probably gonna go viral.”
“I’m sure that’ll make her laugh.”
“Sang the Bieber song, too.” He chuckles.
“What?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits a message. “Gotta warn you about a couple things first.”
I’m trying to be patient. I like Ox, but I really wanna see if she’s okay, and I want to shake some fucking sense into her. Preferably her shaking will be via shockwaves through her body, compliments of my mouth on her pussy.
“First, she’s not a rapper. My boys make this shit bearable.”
He pauses a bit, not saying a thing.
“And?”
“She can’t speak a lick of Spanish, so if this goes viral, she’s going to offend half the population of the United States of America.”
“Then delete the shit.”
He sighs. “I’ll make sure the boys do, but this shit is hilarious.”
He hits play, and a video begins. She looks fucking hot as she sings. Hell, I hate JB just a little less because of it. Then … Well, then the chorus begins.
By the middle of it, Ox is shaking uncontrollably with silent laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Holy shit,” I sigh, running my hand up and down my face.
“I think my oldest is going to propose.”
I don’t care if he’s joking; it pisses me off.
“Kids got a major crush on Stella. After the first ferry ride, he was up to three showers a day.”
“Well, I think she’s spoken for.”
He laughs out loud now. “But, can you teach her Spanish?”
“My mother was Spanish.”
He pats my back. “I’ll send you the recording.” He pushes away from the van. “Oh, and remember, open house is at nine in the morning. My wife will be over at eight. Don’t make a mess.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done here … and for her.”
“Pay it forward like I am. Take care of that girl.”
I nod and silently pray she’s ready for all I have to offer.
When I walk in through the side door, I hear music. I recognize the song immediately, “100 Years” by Five For Fighting. Same song Gino used to listen to all the damn time.
I toe off my shoes then step past the counter, seeing her bag on the kitchen floor. I pick it up and set it on the counter. Then I see her shoes by the stairs and put them to the side; one size six and a half next to the other. I walk up the stairs, finding a dress on the floor, then a pair of panties, a bra, and then an empty bottle of Stella Rose, and then another.
I walk past the mess and look in the bathroom where I see two towels on the ground. I look in the shower because, well, curiosity and testosterone …
“God damn,” I sigh out, seeing it hanging down from the shower.
I walk out and down the hall toward her bedroom.
She’s lying on a blanket on the floor, ankles up and crossed, in a white tank top that I think is mine and black … briefs? Granny panties? It doesn’t matter. She looks hot nonetheless.
Her hair is wet and curly, laying down her back. On the floor next to her are a bottle of water and a box of crayons.
The song changes to one I don’t recognize, but the words … I understand why she would be listening to this song. It’s hard to let go, and it’s hard as hell to be patient.
“Pack up the bags and lock the door. One last look through the bed stand drawer, for the stack of cards sent years before. Ghosts of slow dance turns on the old scuffed floor. It comes back to things you always know, your first lost love and your childhood home.”
When she sniffs back what I know are tears, I can’t hold back the need to comfort her. The girl who turned the day the ashes fell into the day I fell irrevocably in love with her.
I walk in front of her and sit down, legs crossed as I pull a stick of Burt’s Bees out of my pocket.
She looks up at me, her eyes tear-stained, but she’s not crying.
I hold out the stick. “Your lips will chap.”
When she smiles a bit lopsided and has to actually think about how to sit up, I know Stella is fucking drunk. When she pushes up on her knees and closes the space between us, breaking crayons and crushing the drawing on her way, I know she’s on a mission. Then, when she plants her hands on my upper thighs, squeezing them tightly, she leans closer to me and whispers, “Put it on me.” She closes her eyes and purses her lips.
“You kiss him?”
“Nothing has been in my mouth. So, are you gonna kiss me or—”
Gripping the back of her head with one hand, I press my lips against hers and pull her onto my lap all in one move. I grasp the curve of her hips and pull her down on the growing bulge in my pants. The sweet smell of her alcohol-infused breath dances against my mouth as a moan escapes her pillow-soft lips while she wraps her legs around me. I wrap her long, wet hair in my hand and pull it back.
“Aaron,” she moans.
“Is it over with him?” I growl.
Her chest rises and falls as her breath becomes labored. “Yes.”
I grip her ass with one hand as I watch her tits, barely covered and spilling out of my tank top rise and fall. I want them in my fucking mouth so badly, but I want to taste every other part of her just as much.
Can’t do it yet.
I need to know: “What do you want?”
Her soft brown eyes open. They’re wild and wanton as she looks into mine. “I want you.”
When the song changes, I recognize it immediately. “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper.
“I’m gonna love you so hard, Stella, the way your heart deserves to be loved. You ready for that?”
She nods slowly, her eyes misting over. “Please.”
When a tear slides down her cheek, I lean in, capturing it with my tongue, licking it slowly, softly away.
She inhales. “Oh God.”
I lean back because I want to see every reaction she has to my touch. I want to know she feels it at a fucking cellular level. Then, leaning forward, I lay her on her back.
With the weight of my body against hers, she moans again as I lick the soft spot behind her ear. She fists my hair, pulling my head tighter against her body. “More.”
I kiss lower, lick lower, as I look up, watching her eyes widen then hood as she trembles.
“Oh God, Aaron.”
With my lips on the swell of her breast, I ask, “How bad do you want this?”
“You’re in my dreams, awake and asleep. You’re here in my house. In every thought and every cherished memory. You’re the only good thing that’s happened since I’ve been home. I want you to touch me, taste me, fuck me, love me. Then, I want you to do it again and again until he isn’t even a regret, unt
il he’s nothing, and you are everywhere. I want you everywhere.”
Before she can say anything more, I move to take her mouth. The heat of her sweet breath leaving her open mouth invites my swollen tongue to meet hers. I stroke, she licks, I taste, and we both fight for more.
She rakes her nails up my back, and I groan into her mouth as she pulls my shirt over my head. I pull away from her mouth for just enough time to yank it the rest of the way off my body then quickly reclaim her lips. I hold her face in one hand as I grip her hip, pinning her to the floor as I rub my strained cock against her panties. I can feel her heat against me, so fucking close.
She shoves her hands between us and fumbles with my zipper, while I run my hand from her hip, up her side, pushing the tank top up, hands trembling as I palm her perfect tits.
Her back arches as she pushes her shaky hand inside my pants and grabs my cock. “So hard.” She squeezes harder, and I groan as I dip my head and lick her erect nipple.
“Jesus, you taste good.” I wrap my lips around her nipple and suck it into my mouth again and suck hard.
“Aaron,” she pants.
I look up, slowly licking around and around it, watching her unravel. Then I let go of her breast and pull the tank over her head. She moves her arm to release it then pulls it the rest of the way off, leaving the other arm still tangled as she strokes my cock and I suck on her tit. I then move to the other, licking, biting, sucking, as she starts to sink her nails into my back. Then her grip on my cock tightens as her strokes increase in speed.
She wraps her legs around me tighter as she rubs me against her covered, hot pussy and starts to quiver. I feel her wetness as she tries to push my dick beneath the fabric.
“Fuuuuccck!” I claim her mouth again, reaching between us to grab my dick.
Pulling away, I hiss as I push myself up and off her.
“Wait. What …? Did I do something wrong?”
“Every fucking thing you’re doing is right, but I want to eat your pussy before I’m inside you.”
Sitting on my heels, I lift both her ankles then take them in one hand. Using the other hand, I slide one side of her panties partially up, then the other, exposing her skin just a few inches at a time.