Chapter 13
Beatrice dove into the shower, nightgown and all. Even her hair was sticky. She had cum coating her thighs, but not in the way she’d expected. Montrell hadn’t filled her. The brief sensation of his finger had been deeper inside her than she’d been able to force his cock.
Montrell’s fingers were thick, but not as thick as his cock. She’d expected that. As a younger woman, she had once teased him about his monster penis.
He could have put it inside her. Instead he’d orgasmed while she wasn’t even touching him.
Her husband had never done that. He’d said it was his right to come inside her. Children had been a dream of his, a dream that remained unfulfilled, and she was grateful for that.
Sex with the Albanian hadn’t hurt in the beginning. Remembering that only confused her. On their wedding night, her husband had actually tried to turn her on, but she couldn’t get her mind wrapped around the idea that she’d married the wrong man. That he’d stopped trying had been her just desserts for wishing for someone else.
Losing her virginity with Montrell hadn’t hurt, not like being with her husband over the years, despite Montrell’s size. He’d made her orgasm first. More than once.
She’d forgotten what that felt like. Had almost convinced herself that the past didn’t exist. She hadn’t wanted pleasure at all, but her body still had a pulsing, throbbing heartbeat inside.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that her body had betrayed her. Her body was a fucking bitch. She grabbed her loofah, ready to rub her skin raw. The tingles along her arms as she scrubbed reminded her of how she’d felt on top of Montrell, and she threw the loofah into the corner of the shower, fuming, wanting to scream.
For the first time in years, she was wet down there. It was the lube. Given how much Montrell had used, his bottle had to be empty. She’d never used lube before, and she kept passing her soapy hands over her body over and over again, wishing her mind would turn off.
She left the nightgown in a puddle on the shower floor when she emerged. Her body felt heavy, as if for once it truly wanted sleep. She’d regret crawling into the sheets with wet hair in the morning, but the heaviness was taking her under, even as the slight throb down below reminded her of her idiocy.
“Please,” Montrell begged, giving Vespa the look that often made her cave.
Vespa made a growl in her throat as she crossed her arms and looked away. She’d sat on the table to listen to his request, one that was not going over well. “Forget it.”
“Come on. I said please,” he cajoled.
She rolled her eyes. “Like that matters. No means no.”
Montrell sighed. He’d known that was what she would say, but he had to ask all the same. The more he thought about the night before, the more inept he realized he was. Beatrice should talk to another woman.
“It’s not like it’d kill you,” he muttered. He doubted Beatrice would have opened up to Vespa anyway.
“It might’ve,” Vespa said, but she was grinning as she suddenly went on the attack. Right for his armpits.
He was ticklish as fuck.
“Ah, shit, stop, stop!” he laughed as he tried to fend her off a beat too late.
“Take your punishment!” she howled back, digging in instead.
The chair rocked as he tried to shove her back and get away. Vespa grabbed at it to help make sure he didn’t fall, sliding off the table and onto his lap in the maneuver.
Montrell grabbed her hands before she could make another move. “Don’t even think about doing it again,” he warned, trying to make his voice firm, but he was grinning too hard.
Vespa jerked free of his hold to wipe her hands against his shirt. “Fine. But eww, take your sweat back.”
A throat cleared from near the door.
Vespa’s head snapped up, and she scrambled off of him.
Vespa never looked embarrassed, but she was doing a good job of it now.
Montrell wanted to laugh, but the stillness on his wife’s face made him blink instead.
“Sorry,” Beatrice said. “Am I interrupting?”
“Hell no.” Vespa crossed her arms, with both hands hidden underneath them. “We were done here.” She stalked past Beatrice, her shoulders hunching.
“We’re not done talking about this!” Montrell called after her, but she’d already made her escape.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow as she looked at him.
Montrell was grateful for his beard. Seeing her reminded him of the night before, and his face was already flushed from the quick grapple with Vespa. “Good morning,” he managed.
She was the one to look away. “It’s fine, you know.”
Montrell frowned as he let some of his worry fade. “Last night? It was more than fine, Bea.”
She was the one to stiffen. “No, I didn’t come to…” She cleared her throat. “I meant you and Vespa. You don’t have to feel bad about it. You’ve been together a long time. It’s natural for you two to be close.”
“Yeah, she’s my best friend,” Montrell said with a shrug. Then his head cocked as he watched her lips thin. “Wait, are you jealous?”
Beatrice’s gaze snapped back to his. “Of course not!”
“Yeah.” He laughed as her makeup didn’t quite hide her reddening face. “Am I horrible if I kind of like that idea?” He did. A lot.
Beatrice let out a harrumph that was cute as hell.
Montrell waved a hand at the door. “It’s not like that between Vespa and me. It’s not a sexual thing. A lot of people get confused about us.” He was used to it; Vespa probably even more so.
Beatrice frowned at him as her hand moved to her hip. “She was on your lap, Montrell.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, so she could tickle me. Vespa knows all my weaknesses.” He tugged at his beard. “It’s just a bit of teasing. Did it bother you?”
She shook her head—a little too fast, he tried to tell himself—but she looked more like she was considering the possibility than annoyed. He shouldn’t have felt disappointed by that, but he did.
“It’s not like we have a love match,” Beatrice said. “I don’t expect monogamy.”
Montrell frowned. He hated how her expression became so damn remote sometimes. He couldn’t read it. “I’m all in on this marriage, Bea. I’m not going to sleep around.”
A frisson of surprise widened her eyes. “You told me to fuck your men.”
“No, I—” Montrell broke off as he scrubbed at his temple. He’d almost admitted that he didn’t want her to. “I said you could. If you wanted to, that is. For healing.” He hated that thinking of her kissing that younger soldier made him want to growl. Who was fucking jealous now? She didn’t need that.
“You’re splitting hairs. That’s still an open marriage.”
“Not on my side,” he said, his tone hard before he looked away. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I’d rather you were sleeping with Vespa.”
His eyes swung back. “I told you, it’s not like that between us.” They’d kissed once, back when they were teenagers. They’d both been unmoved and had agreed never to try it again.
Beatrice looked aggravated instead of relieved. “Fine. Find someone else then. Just go have sex!”
Montrell shook his head. “Why’s this eating at you? I told you, I’m not holding you to only having sex with me. If you—”
“This isn’t about me!” Beatrice looked like her own shout had surprised her. She took a step back toward the door.
Montrell used his foot to kick out a chair for her. “Come here, Bea,” he murmured, nudging it a little farther out. “Come sit.”
She hesitated, then inched closer. From the way she perched on the chair, she still looked like she wanted to bolt.
Montrell leaned forward anyway, laying a hand over hers, where it had curled over the edge of the table. His hand looked about twice her size. It made him feel worried and a bit manly all at once. He really was an idiot. “Look, last night—”
Beatrice tried to jerk away, and he couldn’t prevent his grip from tightening. “I knew this was coming,” she said.
Montrell sighed. “It didn’t change anything, not really. I mean, it was hot as hell. Fuck, I got off with barely any stimulation. But I’m still saying that if you don’t want to come back for more, that’s your choice. Out here, outside of my bedroom, things haven’t changed.”
She glared at him. “That’s not possible. I know you want sex.”
Montrell shrugged. “That’s not your problem. Even if I don’t sleep with other women. Let me worry about my own needs.”
She shook her head, though not in denial. “You’re so…”
He grinned at her. “Amazing?” he supplied. “Handsome? Better than any man could possibly be?”
“Sure, Mr. Quick Draw,” she muttered, but her lips had tilted into a slight smile. “Confusing was what I was going to say. You’re so confusing.”
Montrell tilted his head as he pulled away despite his desire to continue to touch her. His fingers tingled. “How so? I think I’m pretty straight forward.”
“Don’t you need sex?” she asked, then bit her lip as if she wanted to call back the words.
Montrell wondered if she really wanted to know but then decided honesty was the best policy. “I mean, I like to come. I told you last night, I masturbate a lot. I mean, a lot. My libido’s pretty high.” He shrugged. “If I don’t come often, I get a little restless. It annoys the fuck out of Vespa when I act jumpy.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking too much.
“Like I said, that’s not for you to worry about. Any needs I have, that’s on me. I do owe you an apology, though.”
“Because you came so quickly?” she asked, her lips pursing as her eyes narrowed.
He laughed. “Nah, I did that on purpose. Didn’t want to take things too far last night. I know I told you that you could lead, but…” He huffed, tugging at his beard. “Truth is, I like to be in charge in the bedroom. I got it in my head to make you orgasm and took over. Sorry about that. I was out of line.”
She scrambled up from the chair.
“Please don’t run,” he murmured as she turned her back to him.
Beatrice paused. He hated the way her shoulders shook.
“You didn’t give your consent for what I did to you.”
“I told you to spread the lube,” she said, her arms wrapping around herself. He could see her fingers under the edge of her arms. They clung to those damn bangles another man had given her.
“Sure, but I took it further than that. It was probably your first orgasm in a long time, and I—”
“I sometimes orgasmed with my husband.” Beatrice turned partly, but her gaze couldn’t hold his. She glared at the pushed-out chair instead. “It happened the first time he choked me.”
Montrell wanted to flip the goddamn table. His fists shook beneath it as he tried to breathe through his fury.
A grimace lined her face. “My body can be a whore sometimes, even if I don’t want it to be.” Her eyes closed. “Especially if it thinks it’s the end.”
His mouth went dry. He forced himself to swallow, to ask the question he dreaded the answer to. “That’s how it felt for you last night?” He should cut off his own fucking cock. Or hell, his hand.
Beatrice hesitated, taking ten years off his life. “A little. But it was also different.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I was ready for that.”
He forced himself to nod. “That’s fair.” It still ripped his guts out, but he’d wanted the truth.
He was a fucking bastard. If she came to his room, he would be again.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked, wondering if he was worrying about nothing. No way would she come to him again.
Beatrice moved her head in a mirthless tilt. “You’re making this a habit. Apologizing to me.”
He winced.
“My husband has done a lot worse. Compared to him, you’re not so bad.”
“No, Bea.” Montrell couldn’t let himself off the hook that easily, and he didn’t want her to either. “You were very clear on what you wanted last night, and I didn’t respect that.”
“I was trying to force you, not the other way around.” She tightened her arms. “I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened, but I didn’t completely hate it. I mean…” Her neck turned pink, and some of his tension eased. Her eyes finally shifted back to meet his. “I forgot how you like to talk during, well, what we did. I kind of… liked that.”
He couldn’t prevent a smug little grin from forming. “I’m sexy as hell, don’t lie.”
She let out a startled laugh. It was almost a giggle, and he realized he’d missed hearing it. She used to laugh a lot.
“So I want to be straight with you,” he said, his hands loosening beneath the table.
She turned fully. Good, she wasn’t going to run.
“The reason you came to my room last night. I can’t be that for you.” He grimaced. “You come to my room? It’s going to be orgasms on the menu. Otherwise, you stay away.”
Her eyes widened. They could look so innocent at times. It was a deadly combination, with her sexy-as-hell slit dress and killer makeup and bombshell good looks.
“You hear me?” he asked, needing to make sure she understood.
Beatrice slowly nodded but then bit into those made-up lips of hers. He thought it was some kind of magic, how they didn’t smudge. It made him want to kiss her and see if he could do better.
“It might not always work,” she warned.
He didn’t argue with her. She’d find out how determined he was in time. “Let me worry about that.” He stood up, careful not to move forward and crowd her. “Now, are you coming with us to the Di Salvos?”
She hesitated, her face slipping back into its mask. “I’d like to,” she decided. “I enjoy the business side of the life.”
He’d noticed. It was also sexy as hell, but he knew better than to tell her. He waved toward the closed door instead, letting her go first. If she looked back, he just hoped his partial erection didn’t send her running.