Chapter 5 Aston
Bianca’s sultry eyes gaze upward, and she gives a teasing lick of her red lips.
“Have you been a bad boy?” Her fingers trace the zipper of my suit pants before she boldly takes matters into her own hands. “You have something I want to taste.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes to focus on the woman on her knees, ready to give me a much-needed blow job. My entire body is demanding release—every single goddamn inch of me—from the stress of the past week.
But my head is elsewhere.
I only recognized the number that texted me moments ago because Madelina sent me the contact card earlier tonight. I wasn’t expecting an unsent message, so I quickly cut to the chase, impatient as always.
Beside me on the nightstand, my phone pings again, and with an urge to satisfy my curiosity, I focus on the text on the screen.
Did Everleigh just mention another guy?
My chest tightens. Bianca is ready, mouth open wide, but suddenly I’m not in the mood. I place my hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her away.
“Look, I need to make a business call. I forgot all about it…” I try to come up with something else but fall short. “It’s to London, and with the time zone, it has to be tonight.”
Bianca furrows her brows in confusion, then releases an unflattering laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t joke about business, Bianca,” I respond sternly.
She ignores my answer, pulling me back, then shoves her hand in my boxers. Her warm hand wraps around my shaft, yet still doesn’t arouse me like it normally would.
“Just relax. I’ll take care of you tonight,” she murmurs.
How the fuck can she take care of me when my dick went soft moments ago? I stand up, quickly reaching down to zip up my pants. “I’m serious. I need to get back to work.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Bianca stands and straightens her short black dress. “You have no idea what you’re missing, Aston.”
Undoubtedly, she would be a fantastic fuck—she’s proven it in the past. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to focus on this woman in front of me.
Bianca turns around, her back toward me.
I cross my arms over my chest.
I’m overthinking things.
Whatever the fuck is going on in my head needs to stop right now.
As she gets closer to the door, I take large steps and manage to push the door closed before she has a chance to exit.
Then, I press her against the door and slide her dress up, desperate to shut off the noise inside my head from a ridiculous text message.
“Show me,” I demand.
I slide the Rolex onto my wrist and snap the clasps into place. The vibration of my phone prompts me to remove it from my pants pocket. My father’s name flashes on the screen, draining my will to live.
“Good morning,” I greet him formally.
“Get your ass to Cinnamon Springs this weekend for your sister’s lunch.” The command, which comes with no greeting, doesn’t surprise me at all.
Tilting my head to the left, I crack my neck to release the tension. “Firstly, Madelina hasn’t mentioned anything—”
“She hasn’t because I suggested the idea last night.” His condescending tone does nothing but bore me as I fix my tie. “In the event of marriage, it is important for two families to be introduced to each other properly, despite our past interactions.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with irritation. “Madelina is aware of my business commitments and expects me to be in town on Tuesday.”
“And I expect you in town tomorrow morning ,” he demands.
“You know I have work to do, right? Working for your company and making you money,” I argue.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, son.”
He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else. It’s just after six in the morning and this man has already ruined my day.
My employees are smart enough to pick up on my agitation, avoiding me as I stomp around the office. I cancel meetings where possible to avoid conflict, and when the sun begins to set, I still have a mountain of work needing my attention before driving out tomorrow.
I crawl into bed sometime after two in the morning, but despite my body being desperate for sleep, my mind refuses to shut down.
The frustrating thing is—I have no idea why.
After last night’s fuck-fest with Bianca, I should be satisfied.
Yet, as I lie here, unable to sleep, my body suddenly betrays me.
I reach down and begin to stroke myself, remembering Bianca’s full lips wrapped around my cock.
A moan escapes me as my hand moves faster, but then the message from Everleigh flashes like lightning, warning me of an impending storm.
My eyes open wide, the darkness greeting me.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
I slam my fist against the mattress in frustration, then turn to lie on my stomach without finishing what I attempted to start, and somehow fall asleep.
A yawn escapes me as I slowly open my weary eyes. The sound of multiple sirens outside my building is loud enough to be heard from my penthouse suite. My arms stretch above me before I glance at my phone. It’s just after six, and, if I calculate correctly, I’ve had three hours’ sleep.
There is no point lying here in misery and fighting the inevitable. I jump out of bed, brush my teeth, and put on sweats to head downstairs to the gym.
After a heavy weight-training session, I head back upstairs to shower and pack my bags.
I figure I can drive up to Cinnamon Springs for the weekend, drive back to the city early Monday morning for meetings, and then deal with everything else via video chat.
Honestly, how hard can all this wedding bullshit be?
It takes me two hours to get out of the city due to roadwork and detours, but once I hit the parkway, it’s smooth sailing.
The long, winding road around the bend of the mountain brings back a lot of memories. It’s a picturesque scene of maple and oak trees, which, I will admit, calms me to an extent. Perhaps it’s reminiscent of my childhood spent climbing trees before the world became a harsh reality.
My Porsche takes each corner with effortless precision, tempting me to put my foot on the gas. The only thing I miss about this place is the open roads, which are the exact opposite of Manhattan’s, with their tedious traffic jams.
I rarely have a weekend off, but I often drive to East Hampton just for the hell of it, relishing the open road and the hum of the engine. It’s a chance to escape, to let the miles blur as I leave the chaos behind, if only for a little while.
Madelina insisted we stay at our family home. I argued, of course, given that the Honey Lodge’s Governor’s Suite is more my style. I see the familiar sign to turn off, and the gravel crunches beneath my tires as Beaumont Manor appears before me.
It’s smaller than I remember, built by my great-grandfather and his brothers in the 1800s. The natural stone walls and large columns only add to its craftsmanship, along with the manicured gardens and fountain at the front of the property.
The front door opens as Madelina comes running outside. I saw my sister a month ago, back before her vacation, when she stopped by the office, but I notice her face appears rather tanned.
She’s already wearing a light blue dress for the lunch. I’m sure the dress is a brand name, but I’m not one to care or pay attention to women’s fashion.
I pull the hand brake up, then turn the engine off before exiting the car. My legs are stiff from the long drive.
Madelina is quick to jump up and wrap her arms around me. “You made it.”
“Yes,” I answer, pulling away. “I was reminded yesterday by the patriarch himself of the importance of my presence.”
“I’m sorry. Dad kind of insisted we have a family lunch. Myles had to reschedule some work in the city, too. Anyways, you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”
I remove my bags from the trunk and follow Madelina inside the house.
My mother’s decor has remained the same, and it’s as if the house has been frozen in time.
Since my father mainly resides in Manhattan, and my mother spends more time in Europe, this home is taken care of by one housekeeper and a gardener.
“Hilda left some food in the fridge, but aside from that, you’ll need to fend for yourself,” Madelina informs me.
“I’m sure I know how to feed myself,” I deadpan.
“Right, you’re a big boy now,” she teases. “Dad is arriving soon, and lunch is at noon. It’s not overly formal, but make an effort to look nice, okay?”
I drop my bags, crossing my arms over my chest. “Anything else, your highness?”
She shakes her head. “That’s it for now.”
Given that the lunch is not formal like the wedding, I opt to change into my chinos, a white button-down shirt, and a navy wool coat. The weather is much colder here than in Manhattan, but at least it’s not snowing.
I step inside my old room, and everything is exactly how I remember it. All my trophies are still showcased on the shelves, reminding me of a time when lacrosse and football were my life. I lived and breathed the sports, dreaming of playing for the national leagues one day.
But, life had other plans.
Even my bedding looks exactly the same, with the checkered navy-and-white bedspread and pillows perfectly positioned. Much smaller than the king-size bed in my penthouse.
My desk still has all my books stacked on it, with my senior class photograph pinned to the wall. The nostalgia leaves an unsettling feeling, so I don’t linger too long. I change and head straight to the lodge.
On this crisp winter day, the sun manages to shine, melting any residual snow.
As I stand inside the restaurant’s patio area beside an outdoor heater, Madelina is quick to corner me.
“Be on your best behavior, okay?”
“I’m always on my best behavior,” I retort.
“I could list the times when you’ve lost your temper and argued over politics. I want both our families to enjoy the day. Be nice.”