The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (17 page)

Chapter 26

Mila

IT WAS MONDAY
again. Though Mila’s body had gone to heaven, her shoulders were rigid with worry. After the drunken Keith episode, Mila casually offered to take off work while eating Blake’s wonderfully prepared dinner. Mr. Verse treated her like royalty these days. But Blake said he needed to step into his business and make sure there was more work than play going on. Then he proceeded to request that Mila return the favor of a good meal.

Blake promised to be at her place in Laguna Niguel around 4 p.m. His mannerisms weren’t to be persuaded as candlelight flickered off his viridian gem gaze, last night. He’d pulled out all the stops for dinner so she had to comply. Damn, Keith’s crazy ass declared that he'd be at her house that evening too. She'd given Blake the keys, and even now as she noshed on the tip of her pen, Mila considered not going home. Let Blake handle that...

Yeah, right. With the way Keith is acting, Blake won’t believe that we never had anything more than an inexperienced peck as kids.
He'll look at me in the same manner as Mrs. Jameson.
Mila wondered what the heck was going through Keith’s mind. They’d made better sporting buddies, cheering the UCLA Bruins, than anything. Though Keith once claimed, he thought they’d be together, Mila believed it was just due to the shock of her and Warren beginning to date.

She walked across the bathroom section, patting an employee’s back or telling a new worker how well he’d done on the last order, all the while considering last night after dinner, she wanted to bring up Keith. He was beginning to get out of hand. Come to think of it, there were piles of cigarette butts near the fountain. Had he really
frequented
Mila’s residence on numerous occasions while she and Blake were in Tokyo? Tingles of confusion coursed down her spine. This wasn't a
Lifetime
movie where some chick was being stalked. Perhaps the grounds maintenance had grown lazy and the heap of cigarettes were thrown over a matter of time.

On the way home, Mila jammed to Adele, singing off-key.

“Incoming call from Veronica,” a computerized voice advised.

Mila searched and searched, but the Maserati had too many facets. Blake had it returned while they spent the weekend hibernating.

The darn thing was connected to her cell phone but by the time Mila answered, Veronica had hung up.

“Okay.... So how do I redial, Veron—”

She swerved, ascending the steep hill toward a Spanish-stucco mansion. A loud cry from the tires gave warning as Mila headed into oncoming traffic. Mila yanked the wheel back over to the right and the side of the car skidded against the railing.

She looked back, the H2 window was down and the finger waved in her direction.

The Maserati crept to a stop at the wrought iron gate entrance of her home. Shoving the stick shift into park, Mila leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. Her heart beat mellowed back to normal.

At a sudden tap against her window, she almost jumped out of her skin.

Green eyes blazed through the driver window. A nanosecond after pressing the unlock button, Blake reached in her car. He pulled the belt button and grabbed her out, cradling her in his arms.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He frowned, as if weighing the pros and cons of reprimanding versus caring for her.

“I... I'm okay,” she stammered. The calming scent of his cologne and the rise and fall of his chest felt good to her soul.

Blake gingerly placed her on the hood of the car.

“Mila, what were you doing?” Blake growled, yet his gander assessed her for any signs of pain.

In that single moment, the tiny glimmer of horror emanating from Blake meant more to her than the world.

She reached up to grab his cheeks, but Blake pushed her away. “Mila Ali, if something were to happen to you...”

“Oh, Blake,” she sighed his name. “I'm sor—”

“No apologies, Miss Ali,” he spoke in a more formal tone, as if perceiving that he'd just bared his soul. A slight taste of vulnerability that Mila had no idea he obtained. Blake Baldwin the Billionaire, was falling for his mistress.

Mila’s tiny hands finally clasped at the stubble of his jawline. “Blake, I made a dumb mistake, trying to answer a call, that's all.”

“A call? Nothing is more important than your safety.”

“Okay, baby.” She kissed his lips. The intense alpha was acting like a cuddly bear; the sort of man who could only be tamed by his woman. “I'd say you're falling in love with me, Blake. So concerned about my wellbeing and all...”

“Mila Ali, I've loved you to the point of madness,” his lips bruised her soft ones in a rough kiss. A fog crept forward from Mila’s hindbrain.
I just said you’re falling for me. Blake confirmed it!
She rewound this moment in her mind as he devoured her mouth.

Blake planted himself between her legs. She melted in his embrace. After the lung scorching kiss, he let her go. “Just one inhale of the scent of your body and I was gone.”

“You fell for me at Versa Home Improvements?” She grinned almost woozy, those kisses were laced with opium.

He nodded it was true. Blake kissed her roughly down her neck. Then his hand entwined with her ponytail. “What do you have to say, Mila?”

“Uhhhh... You want to buy me a hair piece?” She giggled, aware of exactly what he desired.

His grip tightened bringing Mila’s susceptible pulse to attention. His mouth scoured the silky ribbon at her neck sending tendrils down her spine.

Her sex tingled as she said, “I love you—”

VROOM! Keith's Aston lurched to a stop right next to Blake's Bugatti.

Mila hadn’t even got the chance to slide off the hood before Keith got out with a frown of jealousy, and Blake was his target. Blake's forearm tentatively swiped at Mila’s waist, pushing her back behind him.

With the Maserati to her left side, Blake to her front, and his wide hand anchored just to the right, there was no way of getting around. No calming the brewing storm. Over the left side of Blake’s shoulder, she was eye to eye with Keith, but her angle didn’t allow him to see the anger of her gritted teeth. She cautioned, “Keith, I already
warned
you—“

“Who the fuck is
this
…” Keith ceased his rant as he distinguished
the
Blake. “
You
... You're Blake Baldwin.” Keith’s dead eyes turned to Mila. “So this is the reason you have been so hard to get in touch with. ... Blake, I'm going to call you Blake since it looks like you're
at
home
here. Mila, you fucking this man in
my
brother’s house?  What does your rich ass have to say about that?”

“It seems you’ve already came to a conclusion.”

“Oh,” Keith gestured. “You don’t want to clear the air? So you're a pussy, a punk ass bitch?”

She expected tension, or something. But then again when Blake fought that drunk at the bar, he’d given no sign that the disrespect had pissed him off. Even now the stacks of muscle in his back were taut as usual, but not nearly as tensed as when another man disrespects in front of a lover.

“Keith you’re being…” Mila had difficulty conjuring words. This was frat boy Keith from back in the day; there’d be no swaying him.

“So you allow the female to speak for you? But then again B is for Bitch right?”

“Not at all, Mr. Jameson. But I don't talk shit, run after women, harassing them.” Blake shrugged. “I make
waaaaay
too much for that bullshit. So I'll
allow
you to end this conversation.”

Keith laughed. “Allow me? End this conversation? You're acting like you’re from the hood. Shit, I'm not even from the motherfucking hood. But I bet my life, you aren't going to...”

Disinterested, Blake turned to Mila. “Let's get you in the house, beautiful—”

Two seconds later, Keith tossed a sneaky punch at the side of Blake’s head. Mila watched in horror as Blake sidestepped the hit that would have had his right ear rendered deaf. Blake caught the side of Keith’s jaw with a right hook. Off guard, Keith stumbled. Then there was a flurry once Keith righted himself. He attempted to punch Blake in the eye, his balled hand hardly meeting its target. This time Mila saw Blake’s arms move in overtime, his fist pummeling Keith to the ground.

Blake took to one knee, his polo collar mussed and dirt on his slacks, he grabbed at Keith’s suit collar, saying something into his ears.

In an instant, Mila shouted, “Bl… Blake, that’s enough!”

Though blood dribbled from his mouth, Keith smiled. An imaginary gust of wind left goosebumps and raised fine hairs on Mila’s forearms as she walked over.

“… do you fucking got that?” Blake’s hands pushed Keith back into the ground.

She offered a hard glare which read:
we need to talk
. Then she turned to Keith.

“I swear to you, Keith Anthony Jameson, don’t you ever bring your black ass around my house again. Don’t fucking think you can catch me slipping without Blake. I swore to call the cops, nah, I got
some heat
for your ass if you step one foot on my lot. Keith, try me.” She caught herself giving that confidently cocky ass grin Blake was known for.

The idiot stood up. He wrestled with his tie. Though Blake had to be behind her, Mila knew those devil-darkened eyes of Keith were on him. She backed away slowly, not that she believed Keith would hit her, but her father raised her better than … better than her current situation.

Mila turned to Blake. He licked the small crimson trail off his busted lip. As she stalked around the clay fountain, toward him, he sighed. “C’mon, Mila why the look? And I want to see this piece you have.”

“Humph. Blake, you already know you’re in trouble. Don’t postpone the inevitable,” she snapped.

Blake’s glare was unyielding. Mila wasn’t going to allow him to silently dominate the moment. She waged a finger at him. “Blake, don’t stare at me like that! No. I don’t have a gun, but that won’t stop me from defending myself. And no, Blake you won’t take me to get a gun, either. Now, tell me why you seemed ready to fight. You wanted him to blow up!”

Chapter 27

Blake

A SOFT CHUCKLE
took over Blake as Mila added that he knew Keith by name. He followed her up the stairs. Her ass swayed, but Blake made sure to catch Mila’s eye contact each time her narrowed gaze turned around. She knew that
he knew
exactly who the motherfucker was prior to Keith’s arrival. It had been years since Blake got into a fight—the bar scene didn’t count. That dude didn’t fight back, and he was begging for it. Back in the day, he wouldn't stop until managing to tear a guy’s head off. He'd had reason to fight. Always. Back then, guys didn't just talk shit. There were never words, just the tumultuous sound of fist to flesh, or the cheer of onlookers. Keith, the fucking lawyer, how farcical, he desired a tête-à-tête.

Mila wasn't like the girls he knew as a teen. They'd hoot, they'd holler, they'd cheer. It was all rudimentary, environmental. Mila wasn't a kid anymore; neither was Blake. But that didn't stop him from waiting for Keith to cross the line.

“Mila, we can rehash the dynamics of our relationship and how a man doesn’t tolerate any motherfucker’s harassment of his woman. Let’s just get you comfortable first. You were just shaken up.” Vulnerability swept over him. An unfamiliar emotion he hadn’t been accustomed to in years.

“No.” She kicked off one Manolo, which clattered across the wood floor and almost hit the fireplace. The other stiletto ping-ponged against the canopy bedframe.

“As you wish.” Blake flexed and unflexed fingers that had grown accustom to hacking in his late teens—for funds of course. Then typing away code at his early twenties. Though his fingers got some action-time during comradery with Jace and the guys, he hadn't pounded a face in so long. He turned toward the sliding glass door to stop Mila’s gander. He needed to hide the satisfaction he felt.

“Wow, that smug look on your face tells it all.” Mila leaned against the wood post.

A tranquil sea breeze blew a few of Mila’s amber tresses from her slick ponytail.

He turned around as she began to slide down her skirt, over one sexy left hip to the right and back again. So fucking erotic. Blake looked back up. Those chocolate orbs didn’t reflect his desire.

“Mila,” he said gesturing with both hands. “We just had a fucking epiphany! I’m in love you. You’re in love me. You think I'm gonna allow any shithead to bogart his way in between what we’ve created?”

She staked claim to the accent chair. “Nope. I figure this is more than a dick measuring contest, Blake. There isn't even a question as to you having to wonder about me desiring another man. You know for sure that
you
have me wide open.”

Then Mila’s eye clouded. “I don’t know what has gotten into that asshole. I already had settled how this craziness would end with myself and Keith. We haven’t fully communicated as two friends over the death of Warren. You didn’t allow that.”

“Hmmm.” His baritone murmur roamed across the room. As Mila grappled with her reality, just his presence made her lose her mind. He wanted it to stay that way. Keep Mila on her toes, yet at arm’s length. Instead, he'd just professed the highest level of adoration to Miss Ali.

He was fucking go-postal in love with her. He’d just threatened that asshole’s life. So off his game, Blake didn’t even know what Mila heard. 

“All right, Mila. Once Keith has settled down, you have that discussion with him.” Blake came before her, dropping to his knees. His hands rubbed at her creamy thigh and he kissed her breath away. Then he continued to flip the script. “This weekend, I’m taking you home, Mila. I feel there's uncertainty that you're clinging to.”

“Home?” Mila leaned forward. Worry clung to her shoulders, so palpable, if it were a color it would be more gorgeous, even darker than her creamy brown complexion. Blake could see Mila’s chocolate gaze cloud as numerous catastrophes flooded her mindset all at once.

He didn’t miss a beat when adding, “Yes. My family will love you.”

“How do you say such things? Me, a
mistress
. I’m not even a
good one.
Our relationship should revolve around catering to you,” a sardonic chuckle shacked its way past plush lips.

That was where Mila was wrong. Blake would fight Keith for her a thousand times over, or any other prick trying to ruin the happiness he’d found in the luscious Mila Ali.

On a daily Blake lived by the credo: live life to the fullest. He was a man with a keen taste, and had no qualms about whetting his appetite. He'd almost lost his life climbing mountains, jumping out of helicopters, and dirt biking canyons. No amount of money in the world was capable of thwarting his contentment, not even the guilt laden notion of the departed Warren Jameson’s murder.

But going back
home
... He'd do that for her.

~~~

Mid-Wednesday was the halfway mark until Blake had plans of taking Mila home. She’d gone through the motions: happy, excited, worried, hopeful. At each step, he guided her, and reminded her that his family would love her.

They’d just gotten off FaceTime, since meeting Mila at lunch wasn’t going to cut it.

Then his iPad popped up with Lamb’s face.

“Blake, I’m on my way to Cambodia. Little bit of pleasure, little bit of business.” Lamb’s pale eyes sparkled.

“All right. Not too much pleasure,” Blake recommended, though already aware that Lamb lived for the business aspect of his job.

“Just enough to get my point across…” Lamb’s monotony curbed. “I’ll be out of reach for a while. When I return, we got a lotta shit to talk about.”

“Fucking awesome.”

They disconnected the call. He rubbed his hands together, looking out the glass wall at his closest employees. Though his social media site had many locations, this one had allowed a hacker to worm his way into the fold. Lamb was getting ready to fix this little issue.
Yes,
Blake sighed,
Now I can go home and fuck my beautiful Mila. At least that will get the dead strawberry blond chick out of my head…

He physically shook his head, yearning for a momentary reprieve from thoughts of meeting Lola in Tokyo.

~~~

Later that evening, Blake let himself into Mila’s home. The entire downstairs was dark, save for the entry light. He stepped into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. Blake poured his woman a hefty glass of Pinot Noir into a goblet, swirling the blood-colored liquid. He set the glass onto the marble island, leaned against the countertop, and took a deep breath. Lamb was cleaning up the biggest, deadliest mistake of his life. Blake looked down at his hands, and through the moonlight’s glow, he could see his knuckles become an ashen white from the intense clutch.

These scarred hands that had fought hoodlums by the time he reached the double digits, to hacking, to creating million-dollar computer code, to making his first billion. It wasn’t money that made Blake strive for the best, it was status. The status of being able to say he’d made it out.

How the fuck have I made it out of the hood? There are as many dead bodies surrounding me as there were while I was being raised!
This wasn’t the type of man Blake molded himself into. The family who’d raised him taught him better than to let others orchestrate his future. He rubbed the back of his neck, and then grabbed the goblet in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

The sound of rain drummed in Blake’s ears as he ascended the staircase. His woman was in the shower, washing off the day while he marinated in the horror of his future if the government came after him.

Blake set Mila’s wine on the counter right outside the shower. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Mila turned, the frosted glass shielding Blake from her heavenly curves. But her excited greeting carried through the sound of rain.

He sunk into the accent chair in the bedroom, the master bath door wide open. A fog moved slowly toward him, but Blake controlled his own destiny. Nobody was going to fuck with him and live through it…

He opened the bourbon. The texture was superb, caramelized sugar, thick warm honey, candied pecans. The closest comparison to his current addiction. The lovely Mila Ali’s pussy.

Mila came out of the shower, her brown body dripping wet. Steam lifted from the silk of her skin as she stepped toward the wineglass. “I thought you’d join me.”

He needed her to break through his resolve. Even with a sordid past, Blake never got accustomed to the thought of death, or murder. Mila’s eyes sparkled questioningly as he held up the towel she’d had draped over the shower. Conceding to his desire for quietness, Mila sauntered toward him. She grabbed the towel, while waiting for him to have his say. Blake took another taste of the closest comparison to
her.
He could feel her breathing, thinking, desire rising. She started to wrap the towel around her body, but Blake stood, almost a head taller, and did it for her. Blake gripped both edges of the towel using its leverage to keep her stuck with only him as an exit. The sheer act spoke volumes, shouted ownership.

If every fucking thing fell apart around him, this woman would still belong to him.

“Blake, talk to me…” Mila implored, that angelic face cocked slightly with worry.

“Shhh.”

“You’re so near, I scent that rich, sweet, strength of your mouth, yet you’re so very far away.”

Instead of commanding her to be quiet once more, Blake held her jaw so hard that her lips pucker into a magenta heart. He kissed her bottom lip then bit it, sending thrills down to her love box.

Blake patted her dry. Then the look of confusion returned to Mila’s face as Blake dropped the towel from around her. He grabbed her wrists behind her back, stepping her toward the edge of the lounge chair.

“Stop thinking about anything and everything, Mila. All I wanna know is, how do you want it?” his command enthralling in her ear while he pulled down his tailor-made navy blue pants.

“Blake, are you mad at me?”

In her mind, Mila strived to catch his heart. She wanted all of
him,
not realizing she was already the recipient of such a notorious love. He had no desire to give in at the moment to delve into his feelings because there was no way on this green earth that he was going to tell her about Warren. Instead of replying, Blake gripped her hips and forced her back so that her ass cheeks melted against his stiff erection.

“Mila, how the fuck do you want it?” Blake slapped his dick against the side of her buttocks. Though a deep craving was warming its way across her body, Mila looked back at him torn between a primitive need for his cock and a love, a love that worried for
him
. The very man who’d put her in the situation of
not
being married soon…

Blake's lips teased the back of her neck, alternating from stolen kisses to heated bites. He smacked her left booty cheek. “Guess I’m going to tear that ass up, Mila?”

Instead of turning around with the same apprehensive gaze, Mila reached for his lips. His hand claimed the back of her neck, as he kissed her hard on the mouth. Her eyes sparkled with enjoyment.

Then Blake twirled around his index finger. Mila again planted her hands on the back of the armchair.

“Toot that ass up,” he ordered, gripping a fleshy hip once again. The small of her back dipped. Those gloriously rounded buttocks were two chocolate arches as his ivory hammer began to inch its way inside. Not in the mood to take it easy, after about seven inches, Blake slammed the rest of his erection into her hollowness. Hard and slow was what she was in for as Blake worked out his frustration. He loved this woman. He didn’t mean to hurt her so bad. These large white hands that encased such celestial dark skin gripped harshly as he took her to the pleasures of pain.

Each time his lips touched the small of her back, Mila’s legs weakened. She’d lose a little more of her mind. She started to slam her ass back on his cock. Blake slapped her hip so hard, he realized it might leave a mark.

“Fuck me!” She pleaded for genuine agony. For all of him…

His big hand glided across the soft skin of her tiny stomach, over her belly button. Mila steadied herself once more, hands still anchored on the chair. Her breathy pleading for more and more cock spurred Blake on. He pinched her nipple while his balls repeatedly smacked against her ass. The fuck was long and hard, almost reminiscent of the first time his dick tasted her pussy. She’d been defiant, business like, desiring control. Blake worked her body until his sweat shackled her almond roasted skin once more.

They took another hot shower, just lazily holding and loving each other. She no longer asked what was eating at Blake as she’d done when seeing him sitting in her bedroom. Bodies colliding across clean sheets, they fell asleep.

The sex should have been such a drug to keep them on the other side until way past morning, but Blake awoke as Mila began to stir.

“Damn, beautiful, are you taking shots to my ego? I thought I put you to sleep,” Blake chuckled softly while shaking her ass with his large hand as Mila leaned over.

“I know, baby,” Mila spoke groggily. “I’m sorry. I… hold on a sec,” she answered the phone. “
Maalin wanaagsan, Hooyo. Sideed tahay?”