by Sophie Lark
It’s true. When Cal’s not driving me into a rage, he steadies me. I feel safe around him.
“What are we going to do about Zajac, though?” I ask him.
Dante and Nero made off with about $500K in cash from the Butcher’s casino, as well as smashing up a bunch of his machines. We haven’t heard anything since. Which seems like it must be the calm before the storm.
“Well, Nero thinks we should—”
At that moment we’re interrupted by Fergus and Imogen, who have heard the news. They burst into Cal’s office, wanting to celebrate with champagne.
I try to sidle out to leave them alone together, but Imogen puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me back in again.
“Don’t you want a drink?” she asks me. “We’re celebrating you, too, Aida. A husband’s achievement belongs to the wife, and vice versa.”
Imogen has apparently forgiven me for murdering her cabinet. In fact, she insists that we all go to dinner to celebrate, including Nessa and Riona. I notice that our reservation at Everest is already set. I have to smile at Imogen’s confidence in her son.
“I guess you want me to change, then,” I say to Callum.
He looks down at my t-shirt and shorts.
“I don’t know,” he says, giving me a little half-smile. “You look pretty cute as-is.”
I raise my eyebrows in astonishment.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”
Cal shrugs.
“You look beautiful in everything. I’m not going to boss you around about it.”
I give him a little sideways smirk and whisper up to him, “But what if I kind of like it when you boss me around?”
He grabs my arm and growls into my ear.
“Then go put on that little blue sundress I bought for you and see how I reward you.”
As soon as he gets that controlling tone, the tiny hairs rise up on my arms, and I get that warm, throbbing, nervous feeling.
Part of me wants to disobey him.
The other part wants to see what will happen if I play along.
So I go into the walk-in closet, find the requested dress, and put it on. Then I brush my hair, pin it back with a clip, put on some earrings shaped like little white daisies, and slip my feet into sandals.
By the time I finish, Callum is waiting downstairs for me. I descend the staircase like a prom queen, trailing my hand along the railing and trying to look graceful.
Callum grins up at me, looking extremely handsome himself in his pale blue dress shirt and slacks. He’s shaved his face clean, making his jaw look sharper than ever. Now I can see the flawless shape of his lips, and the way they smile just a little, even when his eyes look stern.
“Where’s everybody else?” I ask him.
“I told them to go ahead in the other car. Jack’s driving us.”
He takes my hand, pulling me close.
“Nothing under that skirt, I hope,” he murmurs.
“Of course not,” I say primly.
Jack is already waiting by the town car, holding the door. He’s been marginally nicer to me since robbing the casino with my brothers and cousin. I don’t know if it’s because he likes my family or because he’s scared of them. But he hasn’t made a single rude comment since. And I haven’t had to shoot him at all.
Callum and I slide into the backseat. I can see that Cal already put the partition up. He turns on the music too, louder than usual.
“How far is the restaurant?” I ask him.
“I think I’ll have just enough time,” he says.
Not bothering with his seatbelt, he gets down in front of me and puts his head under the skirt of my sundress. I gasp and turn the music up a little more. Then I lay back against the seat.
Callum is licking my pussy with long, slow motions. His mouth feels incredibly soft with the fresh shave. His lips caress my skin, and his tongue slides between my folds, warm and wet and sensual.
I love fucking him in the car. I never knew why people had chauffeurs, and now I realize it’s one hundred percent for this reason—so you can turn a boring commute into the best part of your day. Someday, when we all have robot cars, you’ll look into the other windows and that’s what you’ll see—everybody banging.
I’m starting to get a Pavlovian response to the smell of leather conditioner. Suddenly it’s the most erotic scent in the world.
I love the feel of the seats against my bare skin, and the way the motion of the car rocks me and presses me all the tighter against Callum’s tongue. He’s so fucking good at this. He looks so cold and stiff, but actually his hands and mouth are like warm butter. He can tell exactly how hard to lick and suck, so it’s maximum stimulation without tipping over into too much.
I’m rocking my hips, riding his face, trying hard not to make any noise. I may have given up my vendetta with Jack, but that doesn’t mean I want to put on a show for him.
But it’s hard to stay quiet when Cal slips his fingers inside of me. He gently twists and slides them in motion with his tongue, finding all the most sensitive spots.
I squeeze around his fingers, my breath quickening and my skin tingling. Warmth spirals outward from my belly. My pussy is soaking wet and extra sensitive.
With his other hand, Callum reaches up and pulls down the front of my dress. Freeing one of my breasts, he caresses it with his hand, gently pinching and tugging on the nipple.
He gradually increases the pressure, until he’s roughly squeezing my tits, pinching and pulling at the nipples. For some reason, this feels fucking fantastic. Maybe it’s because I’m already so aroused, or maybe it’s just because I like when Cal is a little rough in bed. There’s so much tension between us that it gives relief to the aggression. It gives us somewhere to channel it.
I’ve never had a relationship quite like this. There were always people I hated, and people I liked, and those two categories were polar opposites. My boyfriends always fell in the “sweet and fun” category, not the “drive me fucking insane” one.
Callum is becoming a little bit of both. And somehow that makes my attraction to him ten times stronger. He captures all my emotions: resentment. Jealousy. Rebelliousness. Desire. Temper. Curiosity. Playfulness. And even respect. He bundles it all together in one package. The result is absolutely irresistible. It captivates me entirely.
Cal keeps licking my pussy, fingering me, and squeezing my tits all at the same time. Stimulating every part of me until I’m squirming and grinding against him, ready to explode.
I can feel the car turning, starting to slow.
It’s now or never.
I let go, cumming over and over again on the flat of Cal’s tongue. The rolling waves of pleasure crash over me. I have to bite my lip and squeeze my eyes tight shut to keep from screaming.
Then the car stops, and Cal sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Just in time,” he says.
I’m panting like I ran a mile.
“Your hair is crazy,” I tell him.
He smooths it back with the palm of his hand, smirking at me.
“Yes, yes, you did a great job,” I say, laughing.
“I know,” he says.
He takes my hand to help me out of the car.
We take the elevator up to the fortieth floor of the Stock Exchange Building. I haven’t actually been up here before, though I know the restaurant is supposed to be nice.
The view really is stunning. Imogen has, naturally, snagged the best table in the place. We have a panoramic view of the city laid out below, and part of the lake as well.
The others are already seated. Nessa’s wearing a flowered romper, her light-brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She’s got more freckles now that it’s getting hotter. Riona has her hair down—unusual for her. She really does have the most stunning hair I’ve ever seen. Thick, wavy, deeply hued. I think she dislikes how vivid it looks. How much attention it steals.
Tonight, however, she’s almost
in as good a mood as everybody else. We’re all talking and laughing, ordering decadent things off the menu. I look around at Cal’s family and for the first time I don’t feel like a stranger. I feel comfortable at the table. Happy to be there, even.
We’re talking about the longest book we ever read.
“I read War and Peace!” I tell them. “I’m the only person that ever did, I think. I was stuck at this cabin and it was the only book on the shelf.“
“I think The Stand might be my longest,” Riona muses. “Unabridged version, obviously.”
“You read Stephen King?” I ask her in astonishment.
“I’ve read every one,” Riona says. “Up until the most recent one, because I haven’t had time—”
“She was so scared of It,” Callum interrupts. “She’s still terrified of clowns.”
“I’m not scared of them,” Riona says loftily. “I just don’t like them. There’s a difference . . .”
“Do you want more wine?” Cal asks me, holding up the bottle.
I nod, and he refills my glass.
When he sets the bottle down, he drops his hand down to my lap. He finds my hand—the one not in a cast—and intertwines his fingers with mine.
His hand is warm and strong, squeezing just the right amount. His thumb gently strokes mine, then goes still again.
Cal and I have fucked plenty of times. We kiss, too. But this is the first time we’ve ever held hands. He’s not doing it for show because we’re at an event. And he’s not grabbing me to pull me close. He’s holding my hand because he wants to.
Our relationship has proceeded in such a funny, backward way. Marriage first. Then sex. Then getting to know each other. And finally . . . whatever this is. A feeling of warmth and desire and affection and connection spreads through my chest, a feeling that burns and grows stronger by the moment, especially when I glance over at the man sitting next to me.
I can’t believe it.
I think I’m falling in love.
24
Callum
I’m sitting at the table, surrounded by my family, basking in the glow of victory. My parents look happier and more proud than I’ve ever seen them before. My sisters are in good spirits, laughing and joking about some guy who’s been chasing after Nessa.
It’s a scene I’ve been working toward for months.
And yet, I find myself tuning out of the conversation because I want to look at Aida instead.
I can’t believe she stayed at Zajac’s warehouse, looking for me.
She could have been killed, or at the very least, recaptured and held hostage until her brothers returned the money they stole.
She could have just run the moment she escaped the office. But she didn’t. Because she knew I was somewhere in the building, probably being tortured, possibly being killed.
That would have been an easy way for her to get out of our marriage contract.
But I don’t think she wants to get out of it anymore.
Or at least, not as much as before.
I know I don’t want to lose her.
I’ve come to respect Aida, and like her, too. I like the effect she has on me. She makes me more reckless, but also more focused. Before I met her, I was going through the motions. Doing what I was supposed to without really caring.
Now I want to achieve all the same things, but I want it so much more. Because I want to do it with Aida by my side, bringing life to the whole enterprise.
I take Aida’s hand and hold it, gently running my thumb over hers. She looks up, surprised, but not annoyed. She smiles up at me, squeezing my hand in return.
Then her phone buzzes and she sneaks it out of her bag to read the message. She’s looking at it under the table, so I can’t see the screen. But I notice the immediate change in her expression—how she sucks in a little breath of excitement, her cheeks flushing with color.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “Just a text from my brother.”
She quickly stows the phone away. But I can tell she’s lit up with excitement, barely able to sit still now.
I take my hand back and drink my wine, trying not to let my irritation show.
What would it take to make Aida be completely honest with me? When will she open up to me and stop treating me like an annoying overseer?
She’s too happy to notice the change in my mood.
“We should order dessert!” she says. “What’s your favorite?”
“I don’t eat sweets,” I say sulkily.
“They have a grapefruit gelato,” she teases. “That’s pretty much health food.”
“Maybe I’ll have a bit of yours,” I say, relenting.
“I’m not eating that,” Aida laughs. “I’m getting chocolate soufflé.”
The next afternoon, I’m supposed to go see my new office at City Hall. I swing by the house to see if Aida wants to come along with me. To my surprise, she’s already dressed and getting into Nessa’s Jeep.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“I’ve got some errands to run,” she says vaguely.
“What kind of errands?”
“All kinds,” she says, climbing into the car and closing the door.
She’s wearing a little crop top and cut-off shorts, with her hair pulled up in a ponytail and heart-shaped sunglasses on top of her head. By Aida’s standards, this is fairly dressed up. My curiosity is inflamed.
I lean against the windowsill, annoyed that she’s not coming with me. I wanted to show her all of City Hall, and maybe go for a late lunch together.
“Can’t it wait?” I ask her.
“No,” she says regretfully. “Actually, I’ve got to get going . . .”
I step back, letting her start the engine.
“What’s the hurry?” I say.
“No hurry. See you tonight!” she calls, putting the car in reverse.
Aida is fucking maddening when she won’t answer my questions.
I can’t help thinking that she looks way too cute just to be running to the post office or whatever the fuck. And what kind of errands could she possibly have that are time-sensitive?
And who messaged her last night?
Could it be Oliver Castle?
Could she be going to meet with him right now?
I’m burning with jealousy.
I know I should just talk to her when she comes home tonight, but I don’t want to wait until then.
I wish I’d remembered to steal her phone. I figured out her passcode by watching over her shoulder while she entered it—it’s 1799, not hard to remember. But in the craziness of our encounter with Zajac and the election right after, I forgot to look through it.
I should have done it last night while she was sleeping.
Now it’s fucking eating me alive.
I grab my own phone out of my pocket and call Jack. He picks up immediately.
“What’s up, boss?” he says.
“Where are you right now?”
“Ravenswood.”
“Is there a GPS tracker on Nessa’s Jeep?”
“Yeah. Your dad’s got them on all the vehicles.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Good. I want you to follow it. Aida’s running errands—I want you to see what she’s doing, where she goes.”
“You got it,” Jack says.
He doesn’t ask why, but I’m sure he can guess.
“Keep me posted. Tell me everything she does. And don’t lose track of her.”
“Understood.”
I hang up the phone.
I don’t feel great about siccing Jack on Aida—especially knowing how she feels about him. But I have to know what she’s doing. I have to know, once and for all, if Aida’s heart belongs to someone else, or if it might be available. Maybe even for me.
I still have to go to City Hall, so I take my father instead. He’s already talking about how we’ll parlay this into a mayoral campaign in a couple of years.
Plus, all the ways we can use the Aldermanship to enrich ourselves in the meantime.
I can barely pay attention to any of it. My hand keeps sneaking back into my pocket, clenching my phone so I can pick it up the moment Jack calls.
After about forty minutes, he texts me to say:
She’s somewhere around Jackson Park. I see the car, but I haven’t found her yet. Looking in the shops and cafes.
I’m strung tighter than a wire.
What’s in Jackson Park? Who is she meeting? I know she’s meeting someone, I can feel it.
My father puts his hand on my shoulder, startling me.
“You don’t look pleased,” he says. “What’s wrong, you don’t like the office?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s great.”
“What is it, then?”
I hesitate. My relationship with my father is based off of work. All our conversations center around the family business. Problems we need to fix, deals we need to make, ways we can expand. We don’t talk about personal things. Emotions. Feelings.
Still, I need advice.
“I think I might have made a mistake with Aida,” I tell him.
He peers at me through his glasses, thrown off balance. That’s not what he expected me to say.
“What do you mean?”
“I was cold and demanding. Cruel, even. Now it might be too late to start over . . .”
My father crosses his arms, leaning against the desk. He probably doesn’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about it, either. But it’s eating me alive.
“She didn’t seem to be holding a grudge last night,” he says.
I sigh, looking out the window at the high rises opposite.
Aida always rolls with the punches. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. And that doesn’t mean it will be easy to win her over. She’s a tough nut. What will it take to truly crack her open, to find that vulnerable core inside?
“When did you fall in love with Mom?” I ask, remembering that my parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly traditional, either.
“I’m not a sentimental person,” my father says. “I think we’re alike in that way, you and I. I don’t think much about love, or what it means. But I can tell you that I came to trust your mother. She showed me that I could rely on her, no matter what. And that’s what bonded us. That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Because I could count on one person, at least.”