24. Boy band
TWENTY-FOUR
BOY BAND
TROY
After getting engaged, with the possibility of a forced marriage, having a mini breakdown in the corner of my OB’s office, getting a therapeutic intervention, and finding out I have a healthy baby girl on the way, I felt like I had a good enough reason to cry myself silly.
Which I did.
Then, the moment I arrived at Valerina’s, I went to bed and napped for two hours.
I woke up groggy, with messy hair, still wearing the wedding dress, which wasn’t at all wrinkled. Sitting up, I pat my belly and spot the ring on my finger. It’s so big, it demands attention.
I can’t imagine a man spending this much money on someone he doesn’t like. Or love. But how can he possibly love me? I’m almost eight months pregnant…with Shark’s baby. He’s claimed my baby already, with the conviction I hear in his voice and in the way he treats me. Besides, if this baby is anyone’s, it’s his. He saved our lives.
I look up and spot Shark coming through the courtyard with a tray. I get the front door, and Shark walks in with a bowl of what looks like chicken soup, which he sets down on a round kitchen table set for two. A white purse hangs from his shoulder, and he drops it on the couch.
He gives me a once-over, then ruffles my hair. “Sleepyhead.”
I sit at the table and blow into the bowl of soup. “Smells good.”
He flips the chair and sits down, folding his arms over the backrest. I don’t know why men do this, but I’ve always found it sexy.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I pick up a spoon and sip the soup. “Oh, my. Fine as frog hair split four ways.” Shark frowns, so I explain. “The soup is delicious. I mean, I’ve had chicken soup, but this is next level.”
“It’s a matzo ball chicken soup.”
I scoop up the ball he’s talking about and taste it. My eyes roll back. “Their cook is amazing,” I say. “I’m sorry I brought up the pancakes and Alessio tasked me with making them for everyone. I wish the cook would make those too.”
The soup goes down the wrong pipe, so I start coughing and breathing at the same time. But then Shark’s bug-eyed expression has me laughing, and when I feel like I’ll pee, I squeeze my legs together. He’s staring so intently that I snort, then choke again on the chicken soup that’s gotten into my nose.
“What is happening to you?” he asks.
It takes me a hot minute to recover from my choking-laughing fit. I blow my nose and dump the last tissue into the bin before I sit back down to try to finish my meal. “Don’t make me laugh or I’ll pee.”
Shark lifts his hands in surrender.
We stay silent while I eat the rest of the meal, mainly because I’m the one who usually does most of the talking. Shark is content with watching me.
I clean up and sit back on the bed, grabbing the purse he brought in. Inside is a matching white leather wallet, a phone, and a feminine white pouch. First, I open the pouch and find panty liners, moisturizer, and two lip glosses from a famous high-end Italian brand I’ve never bought from before. I hold up the glosses, one in each hand. “Pineapple or strawberry?”
“You don’t have a preference?” he asks. When I shake my head, he decides on the strawberry.
I unscrew the cap and apply the gloss, then taste it. “Yum.” I smack my lips. “Why strawberry?”
“I like it better than pineapple.”
His answer implies he’ll be tasting the gloss off my lips.
Next, I pick up the wallet and feel the leather. “Suede is my favorite. I love me some polished leather, don’t get me wrong, but suede is soft and pretty. I wear suede boots in Tennessee’s hot summers, ya know.” I open the wallet and find a few hundred dollars, a luxurious obsidian credit card, and a small, laminated image of my baby in the womb.
“Aw, who put all this together for me?”
He purses his lips. “Depends. If you like it, it was me. If you don’t, it was Alessio.”
“Always Alessio’s fault, huh?”
“Always.”
“I like it,” I say.
“Valerina gave me the lipsticks.”
“Lip glosses,” I correct him, softly. “What’s the deal with you and Alessio?”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s your boss, but it feels more like a you’re in a boy band where he’s the lead singer and even the most personal decisions, like who you’ll marry, depend on him.”
Shark rubs the back of his neck. “We are in a boy band of a sort. Who I marry matters more than it matters for most people since my profession demands either my wife’s absolute loyalty or complete cluelessness. The latter is not an option for you.”
I chew my lip, tasting the strawberry lip gloss. “Is there room for girls in your boy band?”
“Valerina is in the band.”
“What does she do in the band?”
“Mostly surveillance. Sometimes she’s my eyes when I need them.”
“So I can talk to her about the band?”
Shark shakes his head. “You’re not in the band, and you never will be.”
“Not even when I marry you?”
There’s a lengthy pause as what I asked him sinks in. I didn’t ask him if I married him; I asked him about when . “Never. The band needs someone to take care of the babies at home.”
“What if I don’t want to stay at home? What if I wanted to work?”
Shark looks confused. Bless him. “Why would you do that?”
“Good question. We’re talking hypothetically.”
“Um, I guess you go to work, then.”
“I have another question. What’s to say I won’t betray you after I marry you?”
He shrugs. “Nothing, but the testimony of a wife is different from one of a stranger. Some places in the world, like the international waters we were in, won’t count it in a court of law.”
“You thought of all this as we were evacuating the yacht?”
He nods and moves to sit on the couch.
I fold a hundred-dollar bill and sit on his lap, then tuck the bill in the waistband of his pants. “Here’s the hundred I owe you from the bet.” I peck his lips and wait for him to taste my lip gloss.
Shark doesn’t disappoint. He swipes his tongue over my bottom lip. A nod confirms he likes it, and the erection under my butt tells me he likes me on his lap even more. Strong hands wrap around me, and dark brown eyes lock with mine. “Did you see the card in the purse?”
I nod. “Is it mine or yours?”
“Mine,” he says. “You don’t have one yet.”
“Are you giving it to me to use it?” I ask.
“Mmhm.”
“I’ll try to use it as irresponsibly as possible.”
Shark throws his head back and laughs. I kiss his jaw, noticing the stubble is getting more prickly. He’s not shaving at all. “Are you growing a beard?”
“I’m not shaving, is all.”
“Is that not the same as growing a beard?”
“No. Growing a beard sounds like a mission you commit to. Not shaving is just letting go of all missions. I’m resting.”
I bite his earlobe. “I want to hear about why it matters that you shave or not shave.”
He growls, wraps a fist around my hair, and tugs, stopping me from kissing his neck. “Hair leaves traces. I shave it all off. It’s easier and safer for everyone.”
“When you say everyone, do you mean you and your boy band?”
Shark peeks under my wedding dress. “You wore panties.”
“If they’re bothering you, you’re welcome to take them off.”
Shark slides his warm palms up my thighs and hooks his fingers under the thong, then slips off the panties. I kick them off my ankle. “Thank you, Shark. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Even if your boy band hates you now for bringing me in. While we’re still on the band, how big is it?”
“Not too big. We keep it small but powerful. It’s not about the size.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re packing eight inches.” I straddle his lap, then start to remove my dress.
He holds my wrists. “Leave your wedding dress on. If I can’t marry you in it, I’ll fuck you in it.” He releases himself from his pants, spits into his palm, and gives himself a few strokes, thinking I need lube. I don’t. He makes me wet just by existing.
I sit on him, allowing myself a slow descent, a glide over his cock before I rise back up and glide back down. The way he fits inside me brings shivers.
“What if we ran?” I ask. “Just me and you, Shark Daddy. We run.”
Shark traps my throat. Gently but firmly, he tugs me toward him so our faces are inches apart. Our eyes are open, so this is way more intimate than I expected, but he’s leading and I’m following even though I’m the one on the top. I don’t know how he does it, but he turns me on and makes me think I’ve only ever been with him, and every time he touches me, it’s as if he’s branding me.
I want to tell him that I’m using him to get off, but I can’t because it’s not totally true. I keep quiet and take from him what I need. It’s selfish, but I have to. He’s all I’ve got.
“You know how you like lollipops and you stole mine right out of my mouth?” he asks.
I nod.
He kisses me on the lips and whispers against them. “I’m the band’s right hand, but the lead singer has the left hand as well, and that hand will not show us mercy when he finds us. They will find us. The band has eyes everywhere.”
There’s another assassin in the group, that much is clear. “Are you Alessio’s favorite? Like his lollipop?” I slide up and down his cock.
“Something like that.”
“Does he want to lick you?”
“No.”
“I want to lick you.”
Shark interlocks his fingers behind his head. I think that’s a yes.