15. Baldo
The music blares like there are at least two amplifiers booming in the house. Are we hosting a concert?
I drop my briefcase in the kitchen and glimpse movement in the sitting room. Through the open double door, I watch the performance.
Brook dances, gliding around the room and jumping up and down.
She props herself on her hands on the sofa and arches her back, throwing her head back, her hair cascading down.
She’s really flexible. And now I’m thinking about the ways that flexibility could come in handy, and my cock stirs.
But before I can entertain all the things I could do with her while she’s propped up like that, she springs to her feet and glides to the side.
She looks so carefree and liberated that I catch myself smiling as I lean against the door frame and watch her.
The first time I caught her dancing, she had the music in her ears, so I couldn’t appreciate how attuned she is to the rhythm.
I’m assuming the song then was sensual. Right now she is rocking to some serious heavy metal.
And fuck, she’s adorable.
Until she notices me, and her peaceful expression turns into a scowl. She leaps to turn the music off.
“Seriously, you need to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
“Spooking me like this.”
“Okay.” I shrug.
“Okay?” she huffs, exasperated, panting after her performance.
“You’re an excellent dancer.”
My eyes trail her body clad in leggings and a tank top. Maybe I should buy her a new wardrobe that consists of oversize shirts that won’t show her curves and skin.
“What?” She narrows her eyebrows.
She doesn’t move from her spot beside the sofa, and I remain in the doorway.
It’s like we’re suspended in this territory where we dance around—pun intended—our unresolved feelings from the past, not knowing how to move forward.
“You look much better.”
She smiles and walks to the kitchen. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She gets a glass and fills it at the fridge door.
After gulping it down, she dons mitts and pulls a dish out of the oven, then rises onto her toes to grab plates from an upper cabinet.
“So how was your day?” She gestures to a seat at the corner of the island and sets the dinner there.
I frown. When I left her this morning, she ate a piece of toast and was feeling much better. But I still left on an awkward note, the night before lingering.
I didn’t want to leave her alone, but I had to smooth things over with Corm after I bailed on the event.
Despite our bonding last night, and my realization that if something happened to her I wouldn’t survive, I was dreading my return home.
It’s like the distance helped me regain my control, and every fiber in me knew I’d lose it again the minute I saw her.
“What are you doing?”
“Serving you dinner.” Brook bites her bottom lip, grinning. “Being a good wife.”
Wife. Fuck me. Everything she does turns me on.
I prowl toward her. “Careful there, sweetheart. If you were my wife for real, I’d fuck you before dinner. And after it as well.”
Brook tenses, but her eyes lock with mine, full of fire. She swallows and licks her lips and, fuck, if my cock doesn’t feel it.
Yeah, I went there. And my dick is all too happy about that.
That regained control was just a pipe dream I keep stubbornly trying to fool myself into.
“But thank you for asking, my day was decent enough. It’s a bit better now.” I wink, and a flush spreads over her face. She’s adorable.
“Aren’t you romantic?” She ladles some sort of casserole onto my plate.
“Just being a good husband.”
I try to hide my smirk. God, I enjoy teasing her a bit more than is healthy for this fragile relationship.
We eat in silence for a moment, but in the absence of the conversation I keep thinking about her lips, her body, those dance moves, and everything in between that turns me on.
Brook practically vibrates with energy, but I’m not sure if it’s temptation or irritation.
That would sum up our current relationship. Equally tempting and irritating.
There is no question one of these feelings will dominate and explode soon. The question is, will we kill each other or fuck our brains out?
“How was your day?” I mimic her earlier question, desperately looking for some common ground.
“Fine.”
She puts the fork into her mouth. And now I’m thinking about other things that would fit into her mouth, and no way can I stand up without her noticing the tent in my pants.
“What did you do?”
“The usual.”
“So just sitting around and scowling?”
If she wants people to believe she lives off of her trust fund, I’ll play along. Though I don’t understand why she chooses to live like that, I’m not one to judge.
“You’re hilarious.” She rolls her eyes.
The energy between us is charged, as usual, but I’m not sure what she expects.
Did she cook to thank me for last night? Not that I needed or expected it. Because we’re not that let’s-have-a-dinner couple.
Fuck, we’re not even a couple. I wish we could just have a meal without me searching for an ulterior motive.
“Sorry, let’s rewind,” I say. “I had a good day. My plans for the club here are moving forward.”
“Do you have other clubs?”
“Yes, I have several across major cities in Europe, along with other entertainment businesses in Asia.”
“Entertainment businesses? Like what? Karaoke bars? Those are popular in Asia, right?”
“Yeah, they probably are, but I own sex clubs there.”
Her fork freezes on the way to her mouth, and I brace for her judgment. But instead she perks up. “Like strip clubs?”
“That’s part of the services we offer, yes.”
“Will you take me?”
I blink. Out of all the things she could have said, I did not see that coming. “No.”
She pouts. “Why not? I’ve never been to a sex club.”
And thank God for that. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. “They’re geared toward a male clientele.”
Over my dead body would I let her in that space full of horny men.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s old-fashioned, but it’s not like I want to pay for a lap dance. I just want to see how they look and work. Research, you know.”
“Research?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Okay, forget about it. Does Mom know you’re a pimp?”
I almost choke. Coughing, I pound my fist on my chest. “What the fuck, Brook? I’m not a pimp. I provide a safe environment for sexual services.”
She laughs. “I’m just messing with you. How did you get into that career?”
She tenses, probably realizing, at the same time as me, how this question hovers on the territory of our past. Of what happened after that night.
“I didn’t plan on it, really. My first nightclub was an investment into an existing place in Rome. It happened by a lucky coincidence. The owner was on the plane with me, and we talked, and I ended up working for him at first. I won my first club in Asia at poker.”
She widens her eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I won it fair and square, and since the business was thriving, I expanded it to other cities.”
She cocks her head, a soft smile lighting up her face. “You enjoy what you do.”
“It makes me a shitload of money. What’s not to like?”
She snorts.
“But yeah, I love it. What about you?”
“As you know, I graduated in creative writing.” She pushes her plate away and I wait, but she says nothing else.
I try to ignore the pinch in my stomach. She doesn’t want to share. Doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. And can I blame her? Trust isn’t something we’ve had a chance to cultivate.
“And you lived in London until recently?” I want to keep the conversation going.
“At first I stayed in Oxford where I studied, but I dated one of my professors, and… well, let’s just say I moved after he didn’t want to accept that we were over.”
What a prick. But I’m unreasonably pleased she ended the affair.
“I returned here to help Paris. She came to see me when she was going through a rough patch with Finn, and I flew back with her. Long story short, I stayed because of Dad and everyone else, I think. It was so nice to be a part of the family again.”
I know what she means. A similar feeling overwhelmed me that night I first arrived, after being away for years.
“And I guess partially because I was in a toxic relationship, so you could say I used the opportunity to run away.” She sighs, the load of her life weighing her down.
Hearing her talk about the assholes she dated curls my hands into fists.
This marriage is certainly an unplanned complication, but I’m glad she was single and desperate to find a husband. Better me than one of the losers she kept around.
“And here we are,” I say, taking a sip of wine.
“And here we are.” She smiles.
There is a sizeable gap between us still, but last night and this meal has gotten us a bit closer. Maybe we can make this year bearable.
“It’s strange to be in this house again like this.” She runs her finger around the rim of her glass.
“It is strange.”
“I feel like I know you and you’re a stranger at the same time. There is so much we don’t know about each other.”
Why is she going there? What good would come out of it? As if our vows of “in sickness and health, for richer and poorer” didn’t unearth emotions that should have been left buried.
“You know pretty much everything about me. I’m a club owner and a pimp.” I grin at her. Let’s not talk about heavy shit anymore.
But she doesn’t smile. She slides from her stool, her thumb by her lips, abusing her cuticles.
The mood shifts between us. I knew tapping into the past would trap us like this. But could we avoid it?
I certainly would like to.
I slide down as well and, unable to help myself, I run my fingers up her arm. If I had even a sliver of self-preservation left, her subtle shudder kills it.
She puts her hands on my chest. Maybe she wants to push me away, but she doesn’t.
Or maybe she just needs to anchor herself. Don’t we both?
“Would you like some dessert?” she breathes.
I’m not sure if she intends the double meaning or if the innuendo is only in my head—correction, my pants—but by now I should just accept that I lost my mind the night I returned and proposed, so I go with that.
“You’re still interested in consummating…” I’m giving her the chance to stop, but fuck, I hope she won’t.
She frowns at first and then her eyes widen for a brief moment, but there is heat in them. “You didn’t seem interested the other night.”
I step closer and her back hits the stool. She pivots, but now she’s cornered, with the counter at her back.
“I didn’t want to take advantage of you, but make no mistake, darling wife, there is only one thing I’d like as my dessert.”
I lower my mouth to her ear, her scent of summer meadow, and… well, just Brook spreading through me like wildfire, igniting parts of me I didn’t remember existed. “Only one thing I’ve wanted to taste since I kissed you the first time. That one taste I never got. And I think I’m done imagining it.”
Her breath hitches. “Baldo,” she whispers.
“That’s a good start, baby, but I’ll need you to scream it.”
I hoist her onto the counter.
Our gazes lock. Her eyes mirror the raw hunger I feel, but there is also hesitation in them, or maybe shyness mixed with curiosity.
Is she nervous about this? Based on all the douchebags she dated over the years, I doubt it’s a lack of experience that concerns her.
This is the first time we never got before. Perhaps I’m rushing her.
“Once I start, I won’t stop. Are you sure about this, Tokyo?”
I don’t even feel guilty about manipulating her with the name I used to have for her. She used to hate it openly, but I know she loved it.
Instead of words, she cups the back of my neck and pulls me to her. She wants my lips, but I slide away at the last minute and suck on her neck, then continue licking and biting down to her clavicle.
I can’t wait to taste her, but I’m not kissing her.
That’s too intimate, too dangerous. Lethal.
I squeeze her breast, and even through the fabric her nipple hardens, responding to me. Brook moans and throws her head back, giving my mouth better access to her cleavage.
My hands glide down her body as I learn her language, attuning myself to her reactions. To the way she sounds when she tenses and when she leans into me, how she shudders and arches.
Slowly I’m learning what makes her feel good.
But I’m too desperate to get to the holy grail to take this as slow as I’d like. There will be more time for that later. I need to taste her.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and underwear. “Lift.”
It sounded harsh, but she doesn’t protest and hoists her hips up. God, what her obedience does to me. Fuck, she is perfect.
I shove both garments down so quickly she gasps and leans back on her elbows, watching me with mischief and desire in her eyes.
“Spread those pretty legs for me, baby.”
Her eyes widen and she sits back up, pulling on my belt.
“What makes you think you’re in charge here?” I grab her wrists.
She was wide-eyed before, but the shock is so hot now. It’s adorable to watch how she fights this for a few beats, her expression morphing from glower to desire, and finally to surrender.
She drops back to her elbows and opens her thighs slowly.
“That’s my girl.” Without looking yet, I run my hands up her calves and thighs, slowly savoring the feel of her skin.
Her eyes are glued to mine, with anticipation and something else that I can’t interpret.
I don’t get to delve into it because my eyes drop. “Fuck, Brook, this pussy is prettier than I could have ever imagined.” And imagine it I did, a million times over.
“Baldo, you’re killing me here,” she whimpers.
“That’s good.” I yank her closer to the edge and lift her legs over my shoulders.
Lowering my nose between her thighs, I take a long breath.
I fantasized about this pussy more than I care to admit, but this first whiff of her… fuck. “You’re perfect. Just perfect.”
“Baldo, you…” She squirms, as if she wants to recoil from me. “You don’t have to—”
“Hush.” I kiss her mound and she grunts. “Enjoy the ride, I’ll go easy on you this time.”
I wink and dive in, finally tasting the woman that belonged to me way before we embarked on this sham of a marriage.
Only she never did.
And still doesn’t.