The Gamble

38. Raif

“When do you get off?”

Lavender gasps as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. When she turns her head, I’m gifted with a sly half smile. “Whenever I feel like it.” Her hands fold over my arms, her tone a lick of warmth to the lining of my stomach.

“Well, isn’t that a little like having a dog and barking yourself?”

“A dog is only useful for barking when he’s in proximity.”

“Let’s take the dog out of the equation, princess. Do you mean to tell me you get off in your office?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t?”

I growl, maybe groan, tightening my arms. My cock strains in my pants, my mind and chest a mess of sentiments. It’s hard to tell if she’s being serious or not, which is pretty much how most of our interactions go. Right now, I choose to think she’s being serious because the image of her in her chair, maybe standing, her forearm braced against the wall as her hand disappears into gossamer thin panties is something that bears considering. Indulging in. Except for the image of Tod walking in and seeing her, seeing what belongs to me.

Fuck.I’d be forced to poke his eyeballs out of his head.

“Are you trying to make me burst a blood vessel again?” I find myself growling as my grip on her tightens. That literally happened last week. I made myself wait—made Lavender come three times before I got mine. But I guess I waited too long because when we made it to the bathroom (after the deed, sticky and sweaty, still kissing and touching) Lavender squealed, her hands reaching for my face.

“Oh my God! Your eye—it’s bleeding.”

Not quite. But it wasn’t a pretty sight, unlike her frightened sapphire blues.

So yeah. I waited too long, came so hard I saw fucking stars, and burst a blood vessel in the process.

“But I haven’t even touched you this time,” she says with a laugh, angling her head to look at me. So I kiss her. Hard. She turns in my arms, meeting me swipe for swipe, bite for bite, as I back her up against the wall.

“Haven’t touched me, huh?” She shivers as I press the words into her neck. She’s more than touched me. She’s stolen my heart. I wonder how she hasn’t noticed.

“If you’re hurting, it’s not from me.”

“Princess, it’s all you.” There is no one else for me but this woman, this contradiction, this grace and fury. I knew when I asked her two weeks ago to be my wife for real. I knew it, and I couldn’t say so. It feels wrong. She’s so young, and I’m unsure if I can be… fuck it! I have to be the man for her. There isn’t any happiness in this world without her. I just need her to feel it, too.

If love is a drug, then just call me an addict.

“All me, hmm? Me and my magic porthole of a pussy.”

I drop my head to her shoulder with a sigh. “You’re never gonna stop saying that, are you?”

“Nope. Not when it makes you pull that face.”

“Speaking of pulling things,” I say, lifting my head, “or maybe pushing buttons, next time you’re feeling a little frisky, give me a call.”

“Frisky?” Her tone matches the eyebrow she quirks.

“We’ll work something out,” I add, refusing to acknowledge her teasing. I can safely be goaded about my age only so many times a day. My word choices. My ogre-sized cock. Actually, I think that one can stay.

She makes an interested noise as she slides her hand between us. “What exactly are you going to work…out? Could it be this monster out of your pants?”

“Phone or video?” I ask, flexing into her. “Or we could get a room in a hotel someplace between here and my office.” I hate how much distance there is between our workplaces. “I kind of like the sound of having a dirty affair with my wife.”

“Bring my lesbian friend, and we’ll make it a three-way.”

“Always negotiating.” My voice turns husky, and she makes a tiny, excited noise as I hook my hand behind her knee. Thank fuck for her flowy skirt.

“Not here.” Her eyes go wide as I rest her leg against my thigh. “I was only kidding. I don’t do anything but the paperwork in here,” she adds, pushing at my chest. I don’t budge. “The walls are like rice paper.”

“I’ll put my hand over your mouth,” I say, tightening my grip on her thigh.

“What about your mouth?”

“I was kinda hoping my mouth would be full.”

“Were you, now?”

Fuck me, that tone. I’ve never been into role-playing, but she could be my dominating teacher any day.

“Have you popped in on the off chance you might get to pop out?”

“What?”

“Maybe you were expecting a quick blow job?”

With a groan, I press my lips to her neck. “Don’t say shit like that, Lavender. You know it riles me up.” Her hands slide into my hair, and I groan as she tugs.

“Fuck.” All thoughts float out of my head, including my defense. I was offering to get on my knees for her, not the other way around.

“I always thought blow job was a stupid description, given there’s very little actual blowing involved,” she muses.

Muses, my ass. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Suck job would’ve been more appropriate.”

My hand slides from her thigh to her ass, my grip just as tight. The combination of her low tone, her breath on my neck, and her dirty sentiments make me as hard as a fucking pole.

“A get-on-your-knees job. A suck-my-cock job. A—”

“They do say every girl turns into their mother,” Primrose announces.

We turn our heads in unison. Primrose stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, wearing a thoroughly bored-looking expression.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Lavender’s lip curls, though she doesn’t move. She can’t—I still have my thigh under hers, and my fingers are still gripping her ass. “I’m scarred from just hearing the tales.” Her head turns, her tone as perfunctory as the tap she delivers to my shoulder. “A little space here?”

“Not yet, princess. I have a… situation,” I mutter only for her ears.

“Oh. So you do. Feels more like a pressing problem to me,” she says with a snicker.

“Yuk it up. Meanwhile, you’re going nowhere.”

“Primrose, piss off,” my wife announces. “Unless you want to be ruined for all other men.”

I almost hear the roll of her sister’s eyes.

“Please, as if you’re going to go at it while I’m standing in the doorway,” she retorts, misunderstanding Lavender’s implication.

“How’d you know we’re not into an audience?”

“Keep going,” I mutter. “You’re helping the problem.”

Lavender gives another soft laugh. “You’re into that?”

“Stop it.”

“But not Primrose,” she whispers in my ear. “How about Leo?”

“How about I lock you in our bedroom for a year or two?”

“Do I get conjugal visits?”

“Try to keep me away.”

“Once again,” Prim utters loudly, “don’t mind me or my presence.”

“Oh, we don’t.”

“What can we help you with, Primrose?” A fuck-ton of exasperation fills my tone.

“You can put my sister down for a start,” she says, folding her arms. “I have a message for her.”

“My ears work just fine. They’re the only place not tingling,” she adds in a loud whisper.

“Urgh! I am still standing here!”

“Yes, I can smell you from over here.”

Man, these two have antagonization down to a T. And they’re both smiling.

“Fine. Whit just called to speak to you on my mobile because you aren’t answering yours. And now I see why. I can call him back if you like.” She shakes her cell phone to solidify her point. “Tell him you’re misappropriating company time?”

“It’s my company,” she retorts. “If I want to shag in the front window, it’s up to me.”

“Me,” I growl, lowering her leg.

“And him, apparently,” she adds as she shakes out her skirt.

“Anyway.” Primrose makes her answer sound like a thoroughly bored rolling of her eyes. “He says to call him because he can’t make this afternoon. He wants you to go to the house tonight.”

Lavender straightens, her body stiffening. “Well, he can get stuffed. I’m not his lackey. I have a life, too. He’s not the only one married!”

“Why don’t you call him back, princess,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “Invite him over. We’ll eat, you can have your meeting, and I’ll get to meet him.”

I take a step back, giving her a little space to think over my suggestion. I know she’s nervous and not about the gallery. The gallery is doing fine, not that I’ll admit to having any hand in that. She’s nervous about his reaction, and I get it. Her brother stepped into her dad’s shoes with his passing. How she feels about him is complicated. She’s grateful for his help but resentful of his involvement and opinion. I think she feels a sense of awe and amazement at his success, not that she’d admit to it, but those feelings don’t exactly help.

Myself, I’m impatient to meet him. I want to look him in the eye to see what kind of man he is. Can’t be any worse than Brin. We’ve never been introduced, though I’ve seen him around. London often feels like a small town. But I want to meet the man behind the name. I want to see how he deals with Lavender no longer being his responsibility.

“Actually, that’s a good idea,” Lavender says.

“I have them sometimes.” I gently chuck the chin of my best idea ever. Not that I had any idea when I—

Forced her to marry me.

“What is it?” she asks, catching my hand as it lowers.

“Nothing.” Nothing she’ll ever forgive me for, not that she’ll find out. “I’m fine.” I kiss the back of her hand and paste on a smile. “Just a work thing occurred to me.”

“I’m going to send him a text,” she says, moving to her desk where her phone lies. “I’ll invite the whole brood over if that’s okay?”

“It’s your home too, princess.”

Her smile seems almost surprised. “Yeah, you’re right. It is. But do you think Daisy would be okay with that?”

“I think she’d love it.”

“Yeah.” Tension seems to flow out of her. “The home ground advantage.”

Home. That feels so good to hear. She feels like home to me.

She picks up her phone, and her thumbs fly over the keyboard. “There. Done.”

“You’re not worried, are you?”

I look up from checking the time on my watch, noting in the periphery of my vision how Lavender’s hands spring behind her back. She bites her nails when she’s nervous. Was she doing that just then?

“You okay, princess?”

“Yes, of course!” She paints on a smile. “Business is booming. I only have good news for him.”

So it is seeing him? Could it be she’s nervous about me meeting him?

“I thought it was,” Prim says, leaning her arm against the doorframe. “It’s been really busy lately. In fact, I was thinking I might ask for a raise in my commission rate.”

Lavender snorts. “Dream on.”

Primrose huffs, pushing away from the doorframe. “That’s bullshit.”

Time to cut off this argument.

“Lunch?” My attention swings between the pair. “Primrose, do you want me to bring you something from Ottolenghi?” I know it’s her favorite lunch treat.

“Oh, yum! Yes, please. A salad, the one with the pomegranate and the cauliflower. And a sweet tahini roll, please.”

“Good choice. Thanks for looking after the place while I steal the boss away.”

“There’s always a bloody catch,” she mutters.

We make our way out of the office and into the gallery. At the door, I hold it open for her when Pete slips in from the street.

“All right, Mr.—” His greeting abruptly halts. No doubt something to do with my glare.

“Mr.… I don’t know you,” he unhelpfully tacks on, his eyebrows disappearing into this sparse hairline.

Fucking idiot.

“Mr. Hartman,” Lavender says, drawing his attention as she offers Pete her hand. “I wasn’t expecting you, was I?”

“I was just passing,” Peter says in an officious-sounding voice that definitely isn’t his own. Was it thirty grand he owed last time? I wonder what he’s in for now. Nothing that the account has flagged yet, but I make a note to ask, just in case.

“I was just on my way out to a meeting. Will you be okay with Primrose looking after you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m sure I’ll be here next time.”

We exchange a glance, Pete and I. We both know there will be a next time.

“So you know Mr. Hartman?” Lavender doesn’t quite ask as I close the gallery door behind me.

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe it’s more a case of he’s familiar with me.”

“Familiar with your work?” she asks in a certain tone.

“That might be it.”

“So you’re not sending people to buy art from me.”

“No.” I look up from my phone. “I’m just sending Antonio Primrose’s order.”

“Right,” she replies unconvinced.

I take her hand, and we turn left as we make our way to a nearby café.

“I don’t have long to spare.”

“You’re the boss. You can take as long as you want.” I begin to swing her hand, making her smile. Lately, the weather has been unseasonably Mediterranean in London. I enjoy the feel of it on my face and the play of it through the sycamore leaves on Lavender’s.

“I know, that’s why I need to get back. I want to go through the numbers and compare them against this quarter’s projections. The figures should blow his socks off. Not that the whole quarter has been great. Just since we got married. Funny that, right?”

“Not really. I did promise to introduce you to people with more money than sense. People who want help cultivating their tastes.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes narrow. “I think you might’ve had a hand in things to a greater extent.”

“Nope. Probably just word of mouth,” I add with a shrug. “You’re not worried about seeing him, are you?”

“Not nearly as much as I was,” she says, shooting me a quick grin. “Good news is always easier to deliver.”

“You must mean our marriage.”

“Of course! What else?” Her laughter sounds so free and so fucking good to hear.

We turn into the café and are surrounded by brick walls, industrial-looking bare light bulbs, and a wall of plants.

“You know what I mean,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine.

“Shall we sit outside?” A row of tiny bistro tables and spindly chairs crowd half of the narrow pavement.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Let’s make hay while the sun shines. Literally.”

We take a table nearest the door, and the server appears almost immediately.

“Hi, guys!” She flicks her blond braid over her shoulder, placing a menu down in front of each of us. “I’m Lena, your server today. Would you like to hear the specials?”

“Sure,” I say.

At the same time, Lavender says, “No, thanks.”

The woman’s lashes flutter, her hand briefly touching my shoulder. “Looks like this one is all for you, big boy.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Lavender answers, piqued. I bite the corner of my mouth, my eyes not once moving from Lavender’s narrowed gaze as Lena relays the café’s offerings. This is a first. Jealousy. It looks good on her. Feels good on me.

“I thought she was going to sit on your lap,” she mutters as Lena moves on, giving us a few minutes to examine the menu.

“She’s just being friendly.”

“Yes. Friendly.” My wife’s brows lower to a shelf. “Her boobs were certainly very friendly.”

“Were they?”

She huffs, her lips puckering unhappily. “It’s not like you could miss melons like that. I remember you have a thing for pigtails.”

“That sounds like an accusation.” And I sound amused.

“In Gibraltar. You said I’d look good in pigtails.”

“On our wedding day, your hair was braided. I watched you as you took it down. You didn’t see me, but I saw you with pigtails for less than a minute. It was long enough to tell you looked good. You could be bald and wearing a wheat sack, and I’d still be into you,” I admit in a low rumble. “Your melons are the only ones I’m interested in. And just to be sure, I’m talking about your tits.”

“A bit louder, please?” she murmurs as her cheeks turn pink. “The man at the counter inside didn’t quite hear.”

“Your tits.” My voice drops as I reach across the table for her hand. “Your tits are like peaches.”

“Thanks very much,” she retorts as she tries to pull away.

“Sweet and ripe and so fucking delicious. Your tits are a perfect handful. That I get to stick my cock between them and fuck them is both an honor and a privilege.”

“You actually like that?” she asks, canting her head.

“What’s not to like? The visual is insane, and when you suck the head—”

“I bet I look like I have a double chin.”

“You look fantastic, and your tits are phenomenal whether I’m fucking them or not.”

“Have you guys had time to decide?” Lena suddenly appears by my side.

“My tits are phenomenal.”

“I’m s-sorry?” the poor server stutters.

“My tips are phenomenal,” Lavender says without missing a beat. “I give really good tips.”

“Really good,” I agree with a grin.

“For good service,” Lavender adds.

“Cool.” The woman nods, surely not convinced

“Anyway.” Lavender flips over the paper menu, scanning it quickly. “He’s having the Caesar salad with extra chicken. And I’ll have the steak sandwich with caramelized onions.”

“Absolutely. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A couple of flat whites, please. One with lactose-free milk. Dairy plays havoc with my husband’s IBS.”

“What?” My answer seems more laughter than word.

“You know. Those terrible noises you make. And don’t get me started on the smell.”

“Right. Well. I’ll just bring you some water—” poor Lena adds, beginning to step backward.

“Honestly, Lena. Marriage takes all the mystery out of a relationship.”

“—for the table.” She turns, making her escape.

“That was payback,” Lavender says as the door to the café chimes closed.

“I don’t care if she thinks I get the shits from dairy.” Kicking my feet out under the table, I lean back and fold my arms across my chest.

“This is a prime example of why no woman wants a boyfriend hotter than them,” she says as though she isn’t listening. “Lena doesn’t care if you fart like a racehorse. She still wants you.”

“So women chase good-looking men, but they don’t want to date them?”

“Who’s been chasing you?” she snaps.

“You don’t need to worry. You don’t have a good-looking boyfriend. You have a good-looking husband.”

“What? Why are you looking at me all smug?”

I’m just enjoying your display of ownership.” I might not know what IBS feels like, but my insides feel like goo when she’s being jealous.

“Ownership? So you’re likening yourself to a dog now.”

“Woof. Women are complicated. Make him good looking but not too good looking. Tall but not too tall. Meanwhile, every man and his inner dog just wants a woman to claim him.”

“A woman with melons like Lena’s maybe?”

“If you don’t knock that off, I’m gonna take you back to your office and fuck you against those rice paper walls.”

“You think that’s a deterrent?”

“No, I think you’re deflecting because you don’t want to deal with how you feel about meeting your brother.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me. Psycho,” she adds the playful insult for good measure.

“Is it me? Business is going well, so maybe you’re worried about us meeting?”

“How can that be true? I took you to my family home within forty-eight hours of meeting you.”

“Back then, you would’ve been happy if they’d turned on me. You tried pretty hard yourself.”

“I can’t help it if sometimes I want to wrap my hands around your neck. And sometimes your throat.”

“It’s okay, you know. I can take it. Take whatever you’re feeling right now.”

She blows out a breath like she’s finally giving in. “I’m sure Whit will be so glad to have me off his hands.”

“I doubt that’s true. I’m sure your brother just wants the best for you.”

“Whit is…well, he’s great, but don’t tell anyone I said that. He’s sound, you know? Dependable. He just has really high standards. Much higher than mine.”

I bite my tongue from answering ouch.

“I always feel like such an idiot next to him because he’s so clever. Of course, I think about the stuff that went on with Julian. I behaved so badly afterward. I still have all this residual cringe.”

“You were sexually assaulted,” I growl, tightening my hold on her hand as though I could get her to understand the strength of my feelings for her simply by my hold. “Your behavior was a trauma response. If he knew—”

“But he won’t ever know. None of them will. I can cope with their derision but not with their pity. I’m not going to cause them regret because they would. They’d feel responsible, and they’re not. I’m not going to hurt them. Raif?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you stop squeezing my hand?”

“Sorry.” I loosen but don’t let go, rubbing her fingers instead.

“You must’ve gone to Polly Whittington”s school of hand squeezing.”

My fucking heart—her concern for others feels like an arrow through it. I want to stand at the top of The Shard and shout to the heavens how fucking unfair it is that she suffers so others don’t. I want to yell it in the faces of those who love her, tell them of the ways they’ve failed her, though I know it’s not truly their fault.

Would she think the same if she knew the reasons behind our marriage?

“What was that?”

“Hm?”

“Your face.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“For a minute, it looked like you were suffering from some intestinal distress. Do you actually have IBS?”