Monty

by Tina Martin

  “Wow. And here I was thinking this would be good news. Guess I was wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong, Monty. I’m speechless. I—I don’t know what to say. All this time I thought you and Paige—I never thought this could happen to me. Stuff like this usually doesn’t happen to me. I’m the woman who gets overlooked. The woman no one sees. I’m not the lucky woman who somehow gets magically married to the man of her dreams.”

  “Well, now you are.”

  She blinks away tears and asks, “We’re married?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve been married all this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Heck yeah. You’re the only woman I want, Cherish. The only woman I love.”

  She covers her face with her hands and cries.

  “Baby,” I say, falling to my knees in front of her. I move her hands away from her face, tell her to stop crying. Her tears leave stains on my heart.

  She places her trembling hands on my face, looks me in my eyes and whispers, “Are you really mine?”

  “All yours,” I respond.

  She leans in close to me, touches her lips to mine, then goes in for a kiss – first time she’s ever initiated a kiss with me.

  I stand up, pull her into my arms and hold her close to me feeling a sense of completeness.

  “I hate to leave, sweetheart, but I have meetings that I can’t cancel. We’ll continue this over dinner tonight, Mrs. St. Claire.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she says, then rises up on her tiptoes to kiss me again.

  Chapter Fifty

  Cherish

  Monty pulls out all the stops. An afternoon business meeting took him to Uptown, so instead of driving back to Concord, he sent a limo for me. Before that, he had a dress delivered – a long backless red one that came with a twelve-thousand dollar price tag. I wear my braids down because I know he likes that. I also wear the diamond bracelet he’d given me as a ‘thank you’ gift.

  He’s standing on the sidewalk when the driver pulls up. My heart races as I watch him waiting for me. I still can’t believe he’s mine. This is my life. He’s waiting for me.

  Montgomery opens the door, then reaches for my hand.

  “Good evening,” he says.

  “Good evening,” I reply. I’m wondering why he’s being all serious. I don’t get to see that handsome smile he possesses. It’s as if he’s still in business mode. Tonight, I’m his business.

  We’re escorted to a private room at The Capital, the most elegant restaurant I’ve ever stepped a foot in. There’s one table in the center of the floor. White candles serve as its centerpiece in the dimly-lit room.

  “This is beautiful, Monty.”

  “Not as beautiful as you in that dress,” he says. He catches me off guard when his hand touches the bare skin of my back. My body jumps beneath his touch. I gasp…wonder if he hears it.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  So he did hear me…

  “It’s okay.”

  He pulls out a chair, gestures for me to sit. Once I do, he unbuttons the buttons on his suit jacket, then sits down.

  “How was your day?” he asks.

  All I see are flames in his green eyes. I tell myself they’re from the candles burning in the center of the table but by the way he’s looking at me, I can’t be so sure. They’re probably from an internal source.

  “Uh—” I stutter, then immediately think about if my conversation habits are a turnoff from him since he’s more accustomed to extreme professionalism from highly educated individuals with college degrees that cost a fortune. “My day was okay. After breakfast, I talked to Naomi for a while. Don’t get upset but I was bored so I worked out in the flowers.”

  “As much as you love flowers, I don’t consider that work for you.” He nods and reaches for a bottle of champagne. He fills our glasses. “Drink.”

  I follow his order, pick up the glass, hoping a sip would take the edge off. Somehow, I downed the whole thing. I reach for the bottle to get more but he intercepts and pours it for me.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Um—do they have menus?” I ask, then chastise myself. It’s a restaurant, silly. Of course they have menus.

  “They do, but we don’t need them. I’ve prearranged everything for us.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, to ensure we’d have as little interruptions as possible.”

  “Oh.” I tap my fingers on the tabletop. What now, Cherish? Say something. I want to reach for the champagne again, but I don’t want him to think I need to be drunk to endure an intimate dinner with him.

  “Ask me how my day was, Cherish,” he says as if sensing my distress and underdeveloped one-on-one ability to hold a romantic conversation.

  I smile. He doesn’t. Just sips.

  “Okay. How was your day, Monty?”

  “My day was excellent. Everything about it was. Every deal, every phone call, every meeting went good. I already have millions of dollars in contracts for a device that hasn’t made it through production yet.”

  “The taser?”

  “Yes. The taser.”

  He taps his index finger on the table and stares at me like he has some kind of a nervous tick but I know him. He ain’t nervous about nothing.

  “That’s excellent. Congratulations, Monty.”

  “You know what’s interesting about the whole thing?”

  “The contracts you mean?”

  “Yes. The contracts.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It brought me no pleasure.”

  “Hunh?”

  “I’m usually over the moon when there’s this level of excitement for one of my inventions. This time, not so much. Ask me why?”

  “Why?” I ask glancing up at him.

  “Because you’re my only source of pleasure now.”

  A waiter comes in and breaks up our stare down. He has food on a cart that he’s wheeled in – seared tenderloins and lobster tails. There’s a vegetable medley, mashed potatoes and potato salad.

  The waiter leaves in a hurry, doesn’t bother us much as if he knows not to. He’d been forewarned.

  Montgomery takes my plate and places it on the table in front of me. Then he takes his.

  “I don’t eat lobster,” I tell him.

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “No.”

  “Then now is a good time. Go for it.”

  “Go for it how?”

  “Take a piece, dip it in butter.”

  “Okay…” I say reluctantly but still follow his instructions, surprised that lobster is not as bad as I thought it would be.

  “Is it good?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I was saying before, you are my only source of pleasure. In every meeting today, you were at the forefront of my mind. Every time I thought of you, I smiled.”

  He cuts a piece of meat, then says, “We need to discuss some things.”

  “What things?”

  “Like what happened to you. What your stepfather did to you.”

  I automatically frown. I don’t want to interrupt our dinner with this. “Do we need to talk about this right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is such a romantic dinner. I don’t want to ruin it by talking about that, Monty.”

  “We’re not ruining anything. We’re just two grown people talking.”

  I try more lobster. I don’t particularly want to go down this road, but I suck it up and keep an open mind about it. It’s obviously been on his mind if he wants to talk about it now.

  After a sip of water, I ask, “What do you want to know?”

  “Was he your only experience with a man?”

  The question hits me hard. “Molestation is not an experience.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I want to know if there was anyone before or after him.”

 
; “But you’re making it sound like he’s an old relationship. He violated me.”

  “Believe me, that damages me every time I think about it. It’s why I’m asking you the question, Cherish. I want to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, feeling highly uncomfortable and offended by his line of questioning. “You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we talk about something else, please?”

  “No,” he says. “I need to be able to have this discussion with you.”

  “Even if I don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Yes. You’ve been carrying it around for too long and as your husband, it is my duty to make sure you can overcome it. It is my responsibility now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you, and I want to help you, Cherish.”

  I’m done eating. The food is still there, but I can’t make myself eat another bite.

  I should be grateful he’s asking. That he cares, but the anger welling up inside of me has me on the defensive. I’ve already told him I didn’t want to talk about it. Why does this horrible thing that happened to me have to ruin my life and a relationship that I so desperately want? A man I so deeply love? And if I love him so deeply, why do I feel like I could reach across this table and choke him? And if he loves me, why won’t he respect my wishes when I say I don’t want to talk about it?

  “No. There were no other men. When that happened to me, I retreated into a shell. I felt used. I didn’t think no decent man would want me, especially not a man like you. Honestly, I still don’t understand your attraction to me.”

  “That’s why your reaction was so off when I told you about the marriage certificate this morning? You don’t want this, do you?” he asks. His green eyes darken a shade.

  “I do want it. I’m having a hard time trying to figure out why you want me when I’m—damaged. Physically and emotionally. You know why I stayed single so long, Monty? It’s because I didn’t think any man would want me when he found out what happened to me. When he learned about the baggage I carried. You don’t have to love me because of what I did for you. I would’ve done it, anyway. I didn’t need a hundred-thousand-dollar check, a twelve-thousand-dollar gown, a diamond tennis bracelet and I didn’t need your love in return.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, ain’t it, because you have it and you’ll always have it. There is no other woman for me. It’s only you. I don’t see you as damaged. I see a woman I’m in love with. I see a woman I’ve wanted for a long time. I show incredible restraint with you. I tread softly with you because, in my mind, I’m giving you time to heal. To get accustomed to my presence. So I tell myself to wait. To always wait. To keep my needs at bay and I’ve done that. But I want you. I wanted you the first day I laid eyes on you. I wanted you then and I want you now. I want you so bad, sometimes I can’t breathe. I want to be buried inside of you so deep, we’d need specially trained surgeons to pry us apart. I want the taste of you on my tongue. I want to make you yell cry and smile all in one breath. I want to hear you call out for me until you know I don’t see you as a woman who’s damaged. I see you as a woman I’m in love with. I love you, Cherish St. Claire, and if you don’t believe my words, trust and believe I can show you better than I can tell you.”

  His gaze locks on me. Solidifies.

  “Then, show me.”

  With his eyes still on me, he throws back the rest of his champagne, stands up and says, “Let’s go.”

  “We’re not going to finish dinner?”

  “No.”

  * * *

  We hardly talk in the car. There’s plenty of tension and sexual undercurrents but limited conversation. He doesn’t listen to music to pass the time. I imagine he’s thinking of all the things he wants to do to me – all that pent up desire inside of him is dying to be released.

  He opens the door for me when we’re in the garage and follows me upstairs.

  Upon entering the bedroom, I take off my shoes.

  He takes off his suit jacket and loosens his necktie. Unbuttons his shirt.

  I walk to the bathroom and look at myself as I take off my earrings. It’s when I see him appear behind me with that thick, muscly chest. He rests his chin on my shoulder while hugging me from behind. I close my eyes and delight in the feeling of being held this way. I feel his chest hair brushing against my bare back thanks to this dress. I squeeze his forearms and close my eyes again. Gosh, he smells good. My body shivers just by the smell of him. It nearly convulses when he whispers in my ear, “You’re not damaged. But you do need an attitude adjustment, baby. Open your eyes.”

  I open them and see his green ones beaming back at me by way of the mirror.

  “I’m going to talk with actions tonight. I’ll show you how much I love you, Cherish. Show you how bad I need you,” he says then latches on to my earlobe. He nibbles then sucks it into his mouth, using his other hand to lower the left strap of my dress. His lips make a smacking noise when he releases my ear after a hard suck. He lowers the right strap of my dress and glides his tongue down my shoulder blade before grazing the area with his teeth.

  I gasp, throw my head back and accept the foreign feelings taking over my body. I’m hyper-aware of where his hands are. His mouth. His tongue. It’s rolling across the nape of my neck. His right hand is tugging at my dress until it falls to the floor. That same hand covers my breast, squeezes gently. We both gasp at the same time. It’s as overwhelming for him as it is for me.

  He spins me around. I can no longer see myself in the mirror. I just see him – those enticing eyes, lips, face – my goodness. I’m going to die a thousand deaths in this bathroom.

  He looks at me. Stares. I look away. He lifts my chin. “If you’re uncomfortable with anything I’m doing, I want you to tell me to stop. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean it, Cherish.”

  “Okay.”

  He bites his lip briefly before he cups my head in his hands. His grip is strong when he tells me to open my mouth. He traces my lips with the tip of his tongue before sliding it into my mouth rolling it all around, tangling it with mine, breathing heavily and squeezing my head tighter. I’m not sure if he realizes how tight he’s holding me. His lips taste so good in my mouth. I don’t care that he’s squeezing the life out of me. He kisses like an expert. Kisses me so good, I feel his love for me in every pull. He takes my lips like they’re his. They may as well be. His mouth is hot. His tongue is on fire. When I pull his lips into my mouth, I want to bite them. They taste so good. So good I nearly shed a tear when he stops kissing me. I’m desperate for more and that surprises me. I thought I’d be scared to be with a man this way, but I’m not. My body is yearning for him. I need to know what it feels like to be made love to.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  We’re still standing in the bathroom, in front of his-and-her vanities. He leaves kisses on my neck, sucks gently then harder.

  Soft, then hard.

  I gasp.

  He does this over and over again.

  I gasp more.

  He presses his lips to mine briefly to recapture my attention before lowering himself to my chest. With both hands on my breasts, he squeezes, rolls the pad of his index finger on the buds of my softness. He takes his fingers away and vacuums it into his mouth, suckling and doing acrobatics with his tongue. He takes turns doing this. He doesn’t know which one he like more.

  My legs shake. He’s making me weaker and weaker as he feasts like he’s having an after-dinner dessert. Then he does something that sends voltage through my veins. He moves his hands to the juncture of my thighs, touching me through the fabric of my panties. He’s relentlessly feasting on me while he does this, teases me until I think I’m going to experience too much pleasure to handle.

  My legs shake. “Monty…” I gasp.

  He stops. “Are you okay?”

  I nod.


  He takes a kiss while his thumbs breach the waistband of my panties. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Ye-yes.”

  He tugs at them, pulls them down and goes down with them.

  All the way down.

  He lifts my feet one-by-one to remove them, then kisses his way up my legs moving from one to the other until his large hands are gripping and squeezing my backside. He’s on his knees, looking up at me.

  I gasp.

  “Cherish.”

  “Yes?”

  “Does this bother you?”

  I shake my head slowly, bite my lip when I feel his mouth on me, his tongue twisting and swirling, my flesh in his hands and his mouth.

  My body convulses. “Monty,” I pant and grab a fistful of his curls. He continues his sweet torture until my thighs quiver and I’m no longer afraid to scream. I scream as loud as I want to. The louder I pant, the more I lose muscle control of my body. My legs are useless. My spinal cord is off work for the rest of the day.

  I close my eyes and get a grip on the counter while more deep waves pass through me. I’ve never felt these feelings before. They have my mind so gone, I didn’t realize Monty had scooped me up and taken me to the bed.

  That’s where I am now.

  The bed.

  Looking at him. He has a satisfied look on his face, but his eyes are filled with hunger. His hairy chest, tight hard abs and caramel skin offers satisfaction to my eyes. The man is a walking aphrodisiac.

  And now he’s lowering his boxers. I glance at him, then look away like it’s a part of him I’m not supposed to see. I look again.

  My goodness gracious!

  What in the elephant trunk is going on here?

  I look into his eyes, then back to that part of him, feasting on it with wide eyes to capture the scope of it all. I’m shocked at the size of him. Where does he hide it all beneath those fancy suit pants?

  He gets protection from his nightstand then climbs up on the bed, moving my legs apart with his knees, spreading them to his liking. He eyes my body. Bites his lip like he’s deciding what to do first. He lowers his body so our warmth connects and takes a kiss. Takes my tongue. We duel for control of the other’s lips.