Chapter 22 Meirna
Meirna
Idon’t think this man ever turns completely off.
I spent all day dragging him around Prague, from our Historical Centre Tour that covered Wenceslas Square to the Estates Theatre, where Mozart performed, to the Art Nouveau building and the Jewish Quarter.
We stopped at a pub for lunch-dinner, filling up on several dishes because I couldn’t choose just one, and he hasn’t complained once.
He intently watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and only smirked at some parts—not laughed—when I put on The Santa Claus.
Now, with Home Alone playing in the background, Bronte and I are sitting on the floor, almost knee to knee, playing a game of chess.
And he’s good.
Like how annoying it is playing Bingo with Richard, even though he cheats.
However, I don’t say anything as I try to concentrate on my next move, but it’s hard to do so when I have a man of Bronte Vasiliou’s caliber.
Bronte graduated from the Athens University of Economics and Business at the top of his class.
His adopted father, Basil Vasiliou, died the day we met, just like he said, from a heart attack.
Old headlines gossip about another woman entering the picture days after his passing, not allowing the family to properly grieve, and claiming she had Basil’s love child and smearing his name across the business world.
Callie, his sister, suffered from severe depression and started acting out. She was seen drunk at parties and leaving with several men. The media depicted her as an heiress who was about to pull a Paris Hilton, but worse.
Then the headlines suddenly stopped.
Bronte has never been publicly seen with another woman, which makes sense, because I don’t see him doing PDA and smearing his personal life everywhere.
He owns Argo Freight, a billion-dollar shipping company, the largest on the East Coast.
Bronte keeps a very low profile with his business as well. There are no Wikipedia pages for him. No juicy headlines about him being seen with someone or even getting a speeding ticket.
He exists, but he doesn’t.
But Bobby made up for it.
Still, how did Alan and Catherine Harding not know their other son was in Boston—a three-hour drive from New York City—and it’s going to be wild to see how they react when they find out I married the wrong son.
In their eyes.
In mine, currently, I’m surprisingly content with where I sit.
However, I know it’s going to come to an end the moment we leave Prague. The world is going to cave in. Bronte and I didn’t grow together in a relationship where we have each other’s things at the other’s place, nor have we had any discussions about something long-term.
I know he’s giving me space to sort it all out.
And, honestly, being married to Bronte gives me hives, and not being married to him makes me a little upset.
I’m confused.
Bronte reaches across the board and moves his bishop over three spaces, and that puts my queen in jeopardy.
“You like to corner things, don’t you?” I mutter teasingly, staring at the board so I can develop my next move.
“Depends on the thing.”
He’s a tease, and he either knows it or not.
Regardless, I don’t press or pry, moving my queen out of harm’s way and patiently wait for Bronte’s next move.
“Do you need some more wine?” Bronte asks, running his thumb and index finger along his jawline, studying the board.
“I can go refill it.”
Bronte pushes himself up to stand anyway, careful not to kick the board. “Don’t move.”
My brows furrow. “Where?”
“My pieces, you little minx.”
I tsk because I don’t need to. There are other ways to distract him, but I’m going to play fair.
Glancing over at the clock, it’s well after midnight and officially Christmas.
My heart swells with the happiness of the season as I look over at the giant tree. It’s absolutely stunning, beautiful, and real. The smell of pine has been flooding this suite since we arrived, and it truly feels like a holiday getaway.
Bronte comes back with the bottle of white wine, slowly refilling my glass, then sets it back on the coffee table where it resides, and my eyes fall to his cock.
“I have something I want for Christmas. I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock. I want to see you suck me with those honeyed eyes up and waiting for my cum.
Huh.
That’s interesting that my brain decided to lock onto that full sentence. I feel oddly powerful that he’d ask for that for Christmas.
Not an Audemars Piguet watch like Bobby asked for one year ago. I couldn’t afford a fifteen-thousand-dollar watch, but I did get him a Cartier, which he just so happened to be wearing with Jolene.
Nope, Bronte wants a blowjob.
How very humble and male of him.
Except I’m not turned off by it, but a bit fascinated by the idea.
“Merry Christmas, Bronte,” I quip, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes I can manage.
I probably didn’t need to because just glancing up at him has him currently at a loss for words, unless he doesn’t know what to say when someone proclaims Merry Christmas, which I doubt.
“Merry Christmas, Daydream,” he mutters, about to take a seat when I push up on my knees and immediately get him to cease to a halt.
“Unzip your pants.”
He doesn’t make a move, still staring down at me like I either lost my mind or he lost his.
“You said…” I force from my lips, a bit nervous about how he’s going to react. “That you wanted me to suck your cock for Christmas. I think with everything you’ve done for me over the last few days, it’s something…you deserve.”
He shifts his weight, but through the motion, I notice he took a bit of a step back. “You don’t need to do all that.”
Rejection hits my gut, but I’m not deterred yet. I think he’s trying to make sure that I don’t feel forced because he said it. That I feel obligated to return the favor since he finger-fucked me at the Klementinum.
I don’t.
I want to do it.
“You changed your mind?” I press, inhaling a bit to fill my lungs and not choke out from nerves. “Because I’m on board with it.”
“I’m rough,” Bronte discloses instantly, prompting a few seconds of silence before adding, “I’m not nice.
There’s no controlling the shit I will do to you, Daydream, because I have thought of fucking your mouth hard for almost two years now.
Doing so would’ve made you realize I’m not Bobby.
Doing so now might get you to divorce me.
Doing so might make you hate this holiday. ”
I stare blankly at him, not because I’m cocky and think I’m the number one best blow jobber in the world, but because I know, without a doubt, he’ll stop if I ask him.
I’m not entirely sure how I know that, but I’m not scared.
I’m actually enthralled with it.
“Can we have a safe word?” I inquire. “Cookies?”
He gives me a stern stare, which doesn’t hit where he wants it to. “How about we forget I ever said it?”
“Not possible,” I quip. “Christmas is the season for giving.”
His nostrils flare, but I see longing and hunger in those light green eyes. I’m winning.
“Is that why you’d be sucking my cock?” he hedges evenly. “Because you want to give me something?”
Yes.
And no.
Yes, because he asked, and it just came to mind.
No, because I don’t feel obligated, but fascinated by that sort of intimacy with him.
“You want me to stay married to you,” I reply. “Shouldn’t I see everything I’m working with?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks before he reaches for the button of his dress slacks, undoes the button, and quickly pulls at the zipper.
“Don’t forget the safe word when your lips aren’t on my dick,” he grinds out, stepping over the chessboard when his cock springs free in my face because he just teleported over here. “Two hits to my thigh when you’re swallowing me if you want me to stop.”
He sounds mad, but I’m only zoned in on the words swallowing me before I wrap my lips around his velvety tip and suck.
It’s only seconds before Bronte’s fingers are laced and balling a good portion of my hair into his fists. He doesn’t yank, but it’s enough tension to know he’s able to take control at any minute he wishes.
I like that.
Mentally, my brain likes that he could take control at any given moment and just take what he wants.
Like he took me.
No warning.
No heads-up.
Nothing.
Logically and morally, it makes no sense. He lied and kept things from me in secret. He legally made me attached to him without asking me.
But something deep within my gut is familiar with him already. And I’m not entirely sure if that’s because I’ve seen almost a similar face on him, like I have Bobby, or there’s something more to that. If the attraction we shared ran that deep and stayed.
It’s easier for him than it is for me because he knows me already. It could be because we’re in Prague, and I’m on my dream vacation, which is putting me in a good mood and sucking my ex-fiancé’s brother’s cock.
Or, I could blame it on Christmas.
All in all, reality is going to hit heavy and hard when I get back to New York. Not only am I going to have to deal with Nettie and how worried she is about me while rattling off a million and one questions at the ungodly speed she does, but Bobby’s family.
And then I need to tell my parents.
Opening my lips wider, I take more of Bronte’s cock and feel it twitch needily. The tension on my hair grows more taut as I run the flatness of my tongue down his shaft.
Bobbing my head around him, I hear the faint breaks of his breathing above me and over Home Alone, still playing softly on the TV.
Trying to relax and give this man something to remember me by is hard when he’s thicker than what I’m used to, and blowjobs weren’t daily handouts when it came to Bobby because he was never around.
However, I find myself wanting to really make a mark here. Christmases for him have always been memories with me, and I wish I had them when I knew for certain it was him.
I feel his hips gently begin to thrust in my mouth, hinting that he needs more.
Taking him deeper, I relax my jaw, flick my eyes up at him, and then he loses control.
Carnal lust gleams in those soft moss eyes as he peers down at me. His fingertips cup the back of my head as he propels his cock deeper into my mouth, allowing himself a bit more and forcing me to take it all.
But, soon, those thrusts become faster and deeper. My eyes glisten with tears, and that sends him over another edge.
With one hand gripping my hand, the other runs a tender thumb down my cheek, brushing away one tear from my face, and he seems to take pleasure in that.
He growls, running his digits underneath my jaw and stroking the skin there. His cock enters my mouth deeper, hitting the back of my throat and causing me to gag.
Bronte lets up for a second, giving me some reprieve before he’s close to doing it again.
Then he does.
When I heave again, Bronte’s in utter animal mode. He fucks my mouth like he’s never going to get the opportunity again, and my lower jaw begins to ache, alluding to how out of shape I am with giving head.
However, I stay put, receiving each one of his plunges like the champ I am. Every time he deep throats me, I either gag or am able to hold it together.
And that only seems to turn Bronte on more.
“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he grinds out, tenderly stroking my jaw. “I knew it’d be like this. You’re fuckin’ perfect, Daydream.”
I hum in pleasure at his words. My pussy is clenching at how turned on he is. How every skewed and relieved expression on his face makes my hips rock a little for some let-up on how my body starts to build up with sexual tension.
Wrapping my lips tighter around Bronte’s shaft, he thrusts deep into my throat, causing me to recoil before his cock disappears altogether.
I’m gathered up and pulled into his body before I’m in the air, thighs wrapped tightly around his waist.
His mouth is on mine before I can manage another thought. Tongue slipping past my lips as he leads us both somewhere in the suite.
I breathe him in naturally, smelling sandalwood and cinnamon off his skin while wrapping my arms tighter around his body.
His hands knead my ass as he continues to carry me.
This infused connection is something I can’t ignore and, in the moment, don’t want to.
Especially when I’m tossed suddenly, my butt and back bouncing off the mattress as Bronte towers over me, already starting to remove his pants.
“Pull your leggings over your ass,” he orders tersely, ripping his belt from the loops of his dress slacks and sending my pulse racing through my veins.
“Then turn around and bend over for me, Daydream. Remember the safe word. Because I’m going to fuck you into the next hour, the next day, and the next holiday. ”