Something hot and unbearably sweet clutches my heart and spreads through my body. It’s like lust, but more intense and honeyed. A hand at the small of her back, I pull her to me until she bumps against me. Surprise flickers in her lovely blue and green eyes. A gasp tears from her parted mouth, and I slant mine over it. Her fingers thread into my hair as she welcomes me. The addictive fragrance of lemon and woman suffuses my senses, her warmth enveloping me.
Our tongues dance, and she clutches my head tightly, accepting my passion and taking what she wants from me.
Mine, mine, mine,my heart booms as it races faster. My turgid cock pushes against the confining fabric of my slacks. Itrace the gentle slope of her back, then cup her taut ass and squeeze, drawing her in until she can feel my hardness.
Her breathing roughens; her fingers dig into my shoulders. Tremors run through her, and she moves clumsily against me, wanting more but unsure how to get it. And I want to give her the world.
My cock pulses against her warmth. She kisses me deeper, and our mouths fuse as though we’ll never stop kissing.
I don’t ever want to quit her. I maneuver us so she’s pressed against the wall. She wraps an arm around my pelvis, and I instinctively stroke the taut, bare flesh of her thigh, loving the way she shakes for me.
She throws her head back, her lips wet and swollen. “Ares.” Her voice is thready.
“Baby, my angel.” I drop kisses on her smooth neck, where the pulse beats wildly.
A moan. “Don’t stop.”
I nip her neck. A shudder rips through her; her back arches. I cup her breast and watch her eyes glaze with need.
My phone pings. I ignore it and return to her breast and kissing her senseless. It pings again. A tension that has nothing to do with sex seeps through her.
“Dinner,” she rasps breathlessly.
“Later,” I say, not wanting this to end.
“But your family—”
Fuck. If we don’t show up, The Fogeys will never let me hear the end of it. Especially since I boasted that I could find a wife within a month—everyone will join forces to deny me my promotion.
Pulling away from Lareina is actually painful. Now I understand why dogs look at you with such balefulness when they think they’re going to get a treat but end up with nothing.
You’re not a dog. You’re a man in full control of his faculties.
Except that when I’m with my wife, I don’t seem to have that control. Nor do I feel emotionally settled. Everything about her puts me off kilter. From the very moment she jumped onto my hotel balcony, she was disruptive.
If she’s experiencing half the emotions I am, it’s no wonder she thinks there’s some kind of divine meddling involved in our relationship. I don’t believe in destiny, but I can understand.
I pull out my phone and glare at the alert for the family dinner. Dad’s assistant probably had it put into my calendar. Given my workaholic tendencies, Dad instructs his own assistant to ensure I show up when he needs to avoid disappointing Akiko.
My parents’ house isn’t too far. They upgraded decades ago for more space and better security. Part of it had to do with me. I needed to be with someone at all times for a few months, so they hired bodyguards. But after a few months, I couldn’t be around anybody without feeling suffocated, including bodyguards. They were still around for my safety—I knew Dad and Grandmother wouldn’t dare be lax with that anymore.
Although my brothers and I moved out, Dad and Akiko kept the house. The glitz and opulence suit them, and Akiko in particular is very fond of the neighbors on the infrequent occasions that they run into each other.
A black Maybach and a silver Maserati. My brothers are here already. Aunt Jeremiah’s bright red Lambo is also in the parking area—blocking their cars. Parking like a dick is one of her things, like smoking cigars. She probably also wanted to subtly rebuke them for not doing more billable work.
I escort Lareina to the formal dining room, leading her through the wide hall with tall radius windows facing the garden on one side and recessed nooks holding a huge collection of Japanese Bizenyaki vases on the other. Earthenware hold ikebana, each with a few flowers in minimalistic arrangements.Given that my parents’ staff isn’t familiar with such art from Japan, that would all be Akiko’s doing. Although the mansion is very Western, she makes the Japanese features fit in as harmoniously as if they were always part of the home.
Everyone is seated at the long table. As expected, Dad and my brothers are in suits. Aunt Jeremiah’s in a blood-red pantsuit—probably a sign somebody died a gruesome death in a legal battle with her. My grandmother is in a formfitting black maxi dress that flatters her slim frame. And Akiko… Well, she’s in a lustrous bronze silk kimono with intricate embroidery. A twisted black-brown branch cuts diagonally from the left hip to right calf, with crimson blossoms, birds and so on completing the design. The kimono is exceptionally fancy—I can see why Dad said she was obsessed with finding the right occasion for it.
As formal as the kimono is, my petite Japanese stepmom fully matches it. Her hair is pulled into a knot in the back, set in place with pins and fresh flowers that complement the outfit. And her posture somehow is both regally straight and yet at the same time embodies a certain willowy femininity. Akiko and Dad met soon after I returned home from the kidnapping, married a year later in a grand traditional ceremony in Kyoto, then held a special reception in L.A. for the people who couldn’t make it to Japan.
Beaming, Akiko comes over. “Ares, you look so good! And is this your wife?”
“Hello.” Although Lareina smiles, I can sense a hint of tension. I squeeze her waist in reassurance. She gives me a surprised glance, then smiles more genuinely.
“Oh my goodness. You’re so captivating when you look at Ares. It must be true love.” Akiko sighs like a girl a third her age.
“Welcome to the family.” Grandmother hugs Lareina, placing an air kiss on each cheek. “I’m Catalina Huxley, Ares’s grandmother.”
