The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (16 page)

She took a deep breath. “Oh, wow, you should actually write a self-love book—not even have it ghost written. You can teach some self-bashing folks a thing or two. Blake, I'm mad at you, you know that don't you?” Mila tried again to be stern but only succeeded at enforcing the type of control that made horny middle school boys fall for their female teacher. 

The subsequent chuckle was as smooth as black maple bourbon. However, Blake held in the lust. He nodded, seeing just how much she drunk in his looks. He imagined her mouthwatering as Mila took a subconscious gulp. He wanted to tell her that there was no reason to be embarrassed. Ever.

She looked up at him as people walked by. He knew her plight. A conversation with Lido Ali had told him that Mila was scared. Scared of disappointing a father that had long ago stopped caring anyway. Not having a father-figure himself, Blake only had one way of mending a broken heart.

The back of his knuckles drifted across the silk of her jawline. Mila’s lips brushed the side of Blake’s hand, then her mouth kissed his palm before she shunned such affections.

“We’ve had a… nice ride,” Mila’s tone indicated a ‘but’ was soon to follow, “Goodbye, Blake.”

“That’s a no can do, Mila.” He grinned. Though Blake’s appearance was jovial, he dominated every corner of the place. “I’m unable to allow it, Miss. Ali.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Blake’s broad shoulders shrugged, and he placed his hands in his pockets. The laidback demeanor implied that there was only one way for this to end:
his way.

Her riveting almond gaze panned around the room. There was no foreseeable end to the runway with its eclectic designs and models. He speculated that Mila was analyzing the best course of action, a sure exit. He waited.

“Mr. Baldwin, find someone else to play with.”

“Mila, we can go tit-for-tat, you insult me, call me asshole, or any other variation. But I’ve conquered Mount Everest, K2, amongst other beautiful deadly sights. The next sight I’m gonna enjoy seeing is your mouth filled with my cock.”

“You haven’t conquered me?” Mila’s head cocked to the side. “But I could have sworn I could be placed on your trophy shelf… or is it an entire room?”

Blake’s smile twitched. She didn’t yet know him; they had time for that. “So we’ve resorted to the judgment again, Mila.”

“Oh, forget about it.”

“That downcast glance, the slumped arms, everything about you reads that you expect me to judge you to, Mila. Why can’t I delight in the best parts of you?”

“You can’t go around saying shit like this.
‘I could offer you so many things to adorn your beauty, on the premise that you’d become exactly what you were designed to become.’
Blake, I’ve memorized the bullshit that you’ve dished out to me. Eaten every word. Do you know where Wetherby Lane is?”

Blake’s eyes rose as he considered the location. “It’s the street around the corner from my Beverly Hills home.”

“Exactly. I’ve been day dreaming of us owning a home right around the fucking corner from your wife. I’ve been pondering the cars
your wife
drives. The perfume
your wife
wears. What
she
does to have you, Blake!”

He wanted her to pause for a second; he needed to reiterate that he and Diane were separated. Anything to help Mila, but she seemed to be purging, deep, dark thoughts. Then her whispering concluded on a crescendo, “I have
feelings
for you, Blake!”

A few heads nearby snapped in their direction.

Chapter 24

Mila

MILA’S MOUTH OPENED
and closed while she claimed her feelings for Blake felt so real.
It was real.
How could she be so stupid?

As a wildfire struck and ran embarrassing red heat from her neck to her cheeks, Blake pulled her into a kiss. The action held two goals: conceal her embarrassment as people seemed more enthralled by simple touches or kisses or anything sexual at the event. The other defense was his ability to muddle her mind–at least Mila considered in her paranoia. But a second later, the doubt clinging to her skin faded away. She transformed back into the dumb girl who’d noshed on her inner lip and fidgeted while waiting for him to fuck her for the very first time. Affection from Blake had
become
her addiction.

Her honey walls felt swollen with desire as she introduced Blake to Veronica and a few of the other people Mila knew at the event. Somewhere deep in her mind, wisdom ordered her to leave Blake Baldwin the hell alone.
The way you get a man is the same way you lose him,
she told herself.

The thought of ending up
broken
over Blake receded to the hindmost parts of her heart as she breathed in the fragrant cedar, patchouli, white musk, and testosterone of
him.
There was confidence in just Blake’s presence.

“Look at the two of you,” Veronica gushed. “Your yin and yang is on point.”

They made small talk about the show. Then Mila’s breath hitched as her gorgeous sister stepped over. Five inches taller than Mila, the beauty stood eye level to Blake. Lido donned what Mila could only explain as an expensive silk black handkerchief. The soft material looped around Lido’s neck, crisscrossed in the front and grazed across her breast, then further crisscrossed to loop back over Lido’s nether regions. Noticing Veronica gawking at Lido, Mila wriggled her eyebrows.

Usually Veronica would clutch her chest and feign amazement by stumbling back at just the sight of her lady. Then she and Lido would share a private laugh.

Tonight neither occurred.

Lido seemed to be ignoring her girlfriend. “So Mr. Baldwin, you caught up with my
Walaashay yar,
” she strummed along the Somali words in an erotic tone.

“Wala…” Blake tried to enunciate the word with a raised eyebrow.

“
Walaashay yar,
” Lido did it again, flirting.

“Oh, there’s Gustavo.” Veronica pointed as Lido explained the term meant
little sister.

What the heck is going on with these two,
Mila wondered, as Veronica flitted away. Mila turned to call after her, but Veronica blended into a sea of ultra-rich, attractive people before Mila could speak. The warm laughter from Lido brought her back to attention, making Mila’s eyelid twitch. Lido reached out to paw Blake’s lapel, unaware he slipped his arm around Mila. The way he held her close, claiming her made all the confusion disappear.

~~~

Later that evening, the butterfly doors of Blake’s sports car ascended. He turned to give Mila a look, one she was unable to read.

“C’mon, Blake, you have to be hungry even after eating a hundred of those little finger food thingies.” She grinned. “This is Mama Estelle’s. You’re always taking me places to try new things, tonight I’m catering to you. Well, technically it’s too late to cook, so here once we pass that threshold we will be transported to New Orleans for a smidgen of the price.”

“All right, Mila. The last time I went somewhere shady with you, I was called out of my name.”

“A pretty boy?”

He nodded.

“And you handled that like a
gangster
.” Her laughter liquefied into a tangible sigh that magnetized his lips to hers.

She rose on her tippy toes, and Blake placed a dominating hand on the small of her back. The very hand that had become accustom to spanking her ass so fucking good.

“Mmmmm, Mila. I suppose this kiss will make Mama Estelle’s worth it. Though you should know, I’ve been to New Orleans more times than I can count. I already have a favorite spot.”

“Stop being skeptical.” Mila’s fingers wove through his stronger ones as he guided her toward the door.

Inside of Mama Estelle’s was the normal diner seating, with red faux leather booths along the perimeter. The furniture had seen better days. Being past ten p.m., Mila had no problem scoring her favorite booth. African American faces from ebony to butterscotch turned their way, eyes roaming from Blake’s shiny Armani shoes to his suit, and then back down again. The process repeated for Mila.

“
My-laaaaa
,” one of the servers, Trina walked over with a wide grin. “You must be trying to get snatched up tonight, gorgeous. And you too, handsome.”

“Well thank you, Ms. Trina. But we will be needing to try everything on your menu this evening. Mila has told me that this place is comparable to being in New O’leans,” Blake said.

She nodded. “Just the same. This is a family owned business, Mr… Mr… Baldwin, so trust and believe we’re all from that
deep
Louisiana. You want to try everything?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just one of everything though,” Blake replied, to which Trina nodded and started away.

“Boy, we aren’t going Dutch,” Mila chuckled under her breath. “I’ve invited you out.” She signed and leaned into him. “I probably should have sat on the opposite side of this booth. I wanted to show you something, but we gotta keep it on the low.”

Blake’s eyes zeroed in on her lips. “Mmmm, I like that.”

She bumped shoulders with him. “This is not that kinda party, Blake. Later tonight I’ll pay for breaking your heart.”.

“Yes, you will. If this food sucks, then I’ll know that you’re stalling. You should know, it won’t be pretty for that sexy ass of yours if you really are trying to stall. So, what are you showing me?”

She gave a come hither gesture, her body sliding down the booth.

“Is it the champagne that has you feeling good? Then I’m going to take you home now.”

“Uh yeah right, bossy pants.  Get down here.”

Blake wriggled his bowtie in and then scooted down in his seat. She tapped her hand against the side of the table.

“The first time I came here was with my sisters and parents. We didn’t know a thing about Creole food. I was 15.” Mila paused. Blake never pushed, but he’d subtly mentioned her family on a few occasions after she’d bandaged Brittany, the young woman they’d meet while hiking La Soufriére. Telling Blake that her father was a doctor, and skimming the surface was as far as she’d ever gone. “I didn’t come back in here till over 10 years later. The day I was offered associate position with Hewitt.”

“Those are the big boys.” Blake nodded. “Those fuckers approached me while my social media company hadn’t even begun to hit the ground running.”

“Yeah…” she grimaced as Trina silently dropped off two iced teas. “Hewitt is the type of company that always knows when to strike, right before the getting is good or when an owner is going through a few shitty quarters.”

“You still have your soul, it seems.”

“Humph, can’t say that it wasn’t compromised during the climb,” Mila suddenly felt uncomfortable. She’d grown to care for Blake, just as she’d said during the event tonight. The words had bubbled forth from her being, raw, true. Now, she was telling Blake how she’d grown numb to emotion.

“That night when I came back in here after so long, I just wanted a thick bowl of gumbo. I’d walked around downtown L.A. for hours, not even sure why I gave up the opportunity of a lifetime.” Mila took a sip of iced tea. “While I was eating a bum came inside, it was just about closing time like it is now. But there were some dumb kids, partygoers from the club around the corner. They had ordered so much food, guess they thought they owned the place.”

“The pimple-faced fucktards took it upon themselves to let the man know that he wasn’t welcome?” Blake scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“Yeah, those kids tried it. Mama Estelle ran them right out the door, not even caring if they paid. The guy was so embarrassed I could feel it. He was so ashamed he wasn’t goin’ to eat. He stunk so badly, but I asked him to join me.” The owner had told her how he’d come right when the store was closing for any food they had left. The first time, she didn’t have but half a bowl to offer. She started to make extra on the chance that he would come by.

“You are good.” Blake kissed Mila’s forehead.

“Yeah, right. I don’t know if that redeemed me. Sharing a meal with a total stranger all because society perceives him negatively. But it reminded me of my plans to open a resource center in the future.”

Blake leaned in once more, his lips strong yet sensual as they pressed against her earlobe.

Trina walked over, holding a large round tray. “These are the appetizers to start: gumbo fries, crispy frog legs, smoked shrimp beignets…”

Chapter 25

Blake

AT BLAKE’S GLASS
house in the woods, they had the sort of tap-out, Kama Sutra sex that porn stars enjoyed. All. Night. Long. Only to fall back onto a feathery duvet, glossed with sex, and the sweetest tears streaming down Mila’s eyes. As twilight gave way for day, the two lay in the glow of lust, maybe even love. Giggles permeated from Mila, while a raw, baritone laughter came deep from within Blake’s abs before they fell asleep.

The next afternoon, Blake awoke first. He pulled Mila’s naked body closer to him. “Awaken, my sleeping beauty.”

“
My
?” She murmured, still half asleep, “you think you own me…”

“But I do.” Blake climbed onto his knees and nipped at her ass. The sound of his large, sharp teeth made her yelp even more than him biting her butt cheeks.

Mila hopped out of bed. “Damn you, Blake!”

He decided that they needed a shower, though this was to be an extension of last night’s laziness, she conceded. Not ten minutes later, Blake delighted in Mila’s spiel.

“Hmmm, dirty man, I see you have a fetish with showers.” Mila took a gander around the outdoor shower, with its large boulders and tropical oasis style.

“
Dirty
man? I thought we settled that little squabble.” Blake hooked his arm, capturing the small of her tiny waistline. Mila pressed back to his body, his erection spearing her thigh.

“But I like it dirty, Blake.” A moan erupted past Mila’s swollen, needy lips when his mouth scoured the soft silk of her jawline. It hurt so fucking good.

They stepped beneath the cascades of hot water from the waterfall faucet that was concealed by boulders.

Blake picked up the shea butter soap, opened it and poured the creamy liquid in his hand. It had a mild fragrance, yet not powerful to mask his woman’s sex. He reached out, hand planting against the center of Mila’s chest. The beating of her heart reverberated through him. His woman was the epitome of arousal. She wanted to ask to be fucked, but at this very moment, fucking her was the last thing on Blake’s mind.

A warm sunny breeze beamed down on them, the glow masked the pleading in Mila’s eyes. Blake reached over. His mouth locked onto hers, lips extracted the sweet desire to beg from her mouth. She need not beg, she was going to get exactly what
Blake
desired anyhow. The kiss left her breathless, too dazed to speak or even build schematic ideas within that gorgeous mind. She went back to being palpable in his hands as Blake rubbed the opulent cleanser against her body.

He picked up the soap; still one hand continued its domination of Mila Ali. It glided across her shoulder as he moved to step behind her back. The lather of his hands now caressed down her back. His cleansing hands glided back toward her front. Blake swiftly pushed her body back, that plump rear almost being seared by his rock hard cock.

A hitch of breath made Mila’s breast rise, from his viewpoint over her shoulder. Then she mellowed once more, as she silently begged for a dirty fuck—the very thing he currently denied. Though the entire process was ferociously slow, yet erotically detailed, Blake slapped his hand onto Mila’s hip and dug his fingers into her flesh just harsh enough to keep her still… when she had not one desire to run.

His other “cleansing” hand reached around lathering her nether regions.

“Blake…”

“Shhhh!” His harshness made Mila almost teeter, yet he held her closely. There had to be an echoing in Mila’s mind even now, begging him, cursing him, willing him to fuck her.

Not a single finger breached the beautifully tumescent folds of her labia. Mila’s head turned slightly, Blake reached around to bestow her plump lips with a kiss. As their tongues collided he continued to purify her body.

They got out of the shower. Her shoulders were taut, with agitation. A slight cock of the left side of Blake’s mouth made her ask, “So what’s so funny?”

Blake reached around, grabbing both ends of her terry cloth towel and held her gaze. “Now you’ve been Christened.”

“Christened?” She snapped. “Well, I could think of many ways you could have done that Blake. All over my fucking mouth, in my face—”

“Is that not debasing?”

“Oh you’re fucking with me, Blake, as usual.”

“That’s a half-ass assessment, Mila. If I were indeed fucking you, or your mouth rather, since you want my jizz all over your face, then I’d tell you to fall to your fucking knees, open that mouth wide. I’d grab you behind the fucking neck, perhaps even gripping your hair with my other hand and determine your gag reflex while letting the head of my dick beat the shit out of your tonsils. Is that what you want?” He teased already knowing the answer.

Blake could see her subconsciously gulp while nodding.

“Then get to your fucking knees, Mila.”

She sunk to the floor, not a second before her knees hit the ground did her lips taste his dick. As warned, Blake’s large hand gripped Mila’s ponytail. He didn’t hold back as he forced his dick to punch down her throat. She moaned and gulped, twirling her tongue around his dick. When Mila tried to put her hand around the base of his tool, he slapped away her attempt.

“Just that fucking mouth, Mila,” he threatened. Shit, she was sucking him so good, taking him so deep, the head of his cock beat at her brains.

~~~

Every time they fucked, his woman seemed to grow into her own skin. They lay, clothed in the last bits of the sun’s glow, that evening. Mila found solace in his chest. His hands pet her mahogany tresses.

A deep groan erupted from Mila’s throat. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“You
choose
to work.” He took hold of Mila’s chin, guiding her line of vision to his own. There was no more uncertainty. It seemed the slither of doubt still clinging to Mila was beginning to wan. Reading her mind was easy, Blake determined that if their relations ended and she was out of work, that would be a setback. He got ready to convince Mila otherwise, yet her stomach growled.

“Sounds like a brown bear,” he joked, his tone as fine as black maple bourbon.

“Oh, that was me.” Mila grinned. Her eyes narrowed. “When did we last eat?”

His head cocked slightly. “
You
haven’t eaten since Mama Estelle’s.”

She swatted at him. “As if you really
ate
this morning. Don’t forget I drunk the sweetest taste I’ve ever known.”

They started to get up and dress. “Out? Or should I see about someone hooking us up dinner?”

She grinned, shaking her head. “Nah, no outings. There’s an endless wave of paparazzi. How about
you
cook dinner,” Mila tested, eyebrow arched. “After all, you’ve put me through torture this afternoon in the shower.”

He nodded. “Any recs?”

“Nope. Uhhhh…., I suppose I recommend anything we eat must be able to be washed down with the taste of you.”

Blake opened the door with a chuckle.

“I’ll be down in a sec; I’m going to do something about this bird’s nest.” She gestured toward her hair.

“All right, Mila, but you’re most beautiful after we fuck.”

She mumbled about him being Mr. Candid while shaking her head as Blake stepped out of the bedroom. He sauntered down the stairs.

Blake pulled out fresh vegetables from the subzero refrigerator and two lean steaks. He considered making fingerling potatoes, and recalling the last time he'd lovingly cooked for his wife, Blake chose not to.

Fingerling potatoes, Diane, and old memories were a distraction. Once the steaks began to marinate and the rest of the food was all prepped, Blake glanced at the clock. Even if he was designated chef this evening, they had yet to have sex on the marble island.

He walked out of the room, started up the stairs. Whispered voices made Blake’s ears perk. The angst in Mila’s tone was disconcerting.

“Keith, are you even listening to me? Please
stop
calling me.” Mila’s voice rose the closer he got to the ajar door. “What the hell do you mean, ‘we need to support each other at a time like this?’ You haven't mourned your brother’s death. Not one bit!”

Her voice drowned out. Less than sixty seconds later, guilt clung to her tone. “
Yes, I miss Warren
. ... I just haven't been home. Keith, how about this: go lean on your wife's shoulder. That's what being married is about.” Mila’s inflection increased. “Nancy loves you, Keith. You’re drunk; you haven’t dealt with Warren’s death. You’re in a bad headspace right now….””

Her voice drowned out. Again, Blake was unable to perceive the muffled response. Mila handled herself well, unfortunately it seemed to land on deaf ears.

“… Well, I dare you to be at my house tomorrow. When I get off work, I'm calling the cops!”

Every tendon in Blake’s being churned. He started back down the stairs. Keith Jameson. Tomorrow evening, the least of that motherfucker’s problems would be the cops.