The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (5 page)

Chapter 7

Blake

HE KNEW THAT
paying her mortgage would blow up in his face. Risk verses reward implied that his desire just to be in her presence outweighed all ramifications. Blake was a patient man. He admired how well she clung to the thought of her dearly departed fiancé. Naivety, or perhaps loyalty, had the woman hell-bent on wallowing in melancholy. And he'd waited for the mortgage to elapse two times before paying it.

Dressed in a simple black Armani suit, Blake ambled down the staircase. He headed down the hall and toward the display room, where all his powerful, super fast toys were kept. Blake told his chauffeur to take the day off and stepped toward the display of luxury cars. He'd grabbed one of the keys off the rack and clicked the unlock button. The Lamborghini lit up. Well, that could only mean that divine intervention wanted him to make a statement. He'd make that statement at Versa Home Improvements, Mila's job in Newport Beach. The powerful engine purred as he pulled out of the showcase area and down the U shaped driveway.

Diana's Benz coupe came through the entrance. Wisps of platinum streamed into the air, prompting Blake to turn away before her face came into view. He became deaf to her car honking as he zoomed away. Digging a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, Blake turned his phone off before his wife could call. She couldn’t want anything, she rarely ever did…

On the drive from Beverly Hills to Newport Beach, Blake considered his investigator Lamb’s words.

Mila and one of her other two older sisters were estranged from their Somalian parents. The three girls came to America together to attend college. All three completed graduate school—summa cum laude. The oldest, Yasmin returned home to a man of her parents choosing, married, and then they came back to America when the engineer husband began working at a Los Angeles Metrolink. The second oldest, Lido—who Blake realized was at the funeral, lived in Los Angeles with her lover. Lamb wasn’t able to determine the reason for the familial falling out, but based on the correlation for both Mila and Lido’s estrangement with their parents, cultural assimilation had to be the cause.

When GPS took Blake down PCH, he slowed his pace to practical—which was otherwise impractical for the beast at his fingertips. Pulling up the curb, he realized there wouldn't be a valet. He glanced in the mirror. Not one hair out of place. Diamond BB cuff links just right. Blake picked up the bouquet of roses and headed out of the car, mind on Mila’s lips. He wanted the argument, a verbal debate to ensue while visualizing his semen glossed on her full lips.

Blake smiled. The image was clear as day. That gorgeous mouth of hers, polished by cum. This prompted flirtatious stares from the females, meandering in and out of the building, and gawks of acknowledgment from their counterparts of the social media mogul. Yet his calculating pace stayed steady, mind on the minx’s mouth. Blake dominated the entrance of Versa Home Improvements, where a sign displayed: “Affordable prices, Affluent lifestyle…”

There were big posters along the beams and hanging from the colossal gray walls of the factory style warehouse. If he didn’t look up, the various floor models of kitchens and bathrooms became more appealing. However, red-tag sale signs totally ruined the ambiance. Then his eyes landed on
her,
across the way at a kitchen display.

Like a wave skimming a crystal clear lake, Mila’s hands swept over various focal points of the kitchen display she showed to a Latino couple with a child. Blake envied the toddler in his stroller as Mila paused to show him attention. Her bright smile was genuine, and the same look Blake remembered from his own childhood caregiver.

Then she stood, pink lips slightly parted, in the middle of a sentence. Her body stiffened as she looked Blake’s way. She gave the young couple an apologetic smile then sauntered over.

Mile stopped short of any physical contact and glared at Blake. He waited for her wrath, welcoming it.

“I forgot to tell you, even as you showered last time we crossed paths, you still smelled like an asshole, Mr. Baldwin. A
married
asshole.” She grabbed the roses and flung them straight into the trash can. 

“Aren’t we on a first name basis?” 

She turned in heels that should have been walking all over him and moseyed away. Job well done. Job very well done, might he add, gawking at her ass. Everyone else gawked at him. Those rounded melons paused as a fat man in a double breasted suit hindered Mila’s path back to the Latino couple.

He was as tall as he was wide, making it difficult to get around. He also carried himself with a lofty flare of … importance. The man latched his thumbs into the pockets of his suit asking, “Mrs. Ali, aren't you going to make introductions?”

“Sure, my current customers are this way.” Mila gave a curt wave of her hand toward the kitchen department.

Fatso gave Baldwin a quick grin of apology. “Miss. Ali—”

Blake cut him off.  “We're having a bit of a lover’s quarrel.”

The man’s face flushed, but Blake had no care in the world. Mila’s boss knew exactly who he was, the
very married billionaire
.

Chapter 8

Mila

FOR THREE YEARS,
Mila worked at Versa Home Improvement. She’d started from the bottom, needing to humble herself after the very last business she’d helped Hewitt acquire. Mr. Versa knew her worth and wanted to make her manager of the company, but no, Mila sought to become the girl she once had been. The one who helped at her father’s practice when their own Somali people fled to Ethiopia over the years. Since she no longer had her father’s love, she delighted in helping people improve their surroundings. Besides, her childhood dream of a resource center would have the referrals for housing upgrades to meet codes and standards.

Slowly, Mila worked herself up as a sales rep until she became supervisor of sales. Occasionally she helped out on the floor, so here she was, during one of the biggest sales of the year.

They stood at a modernistic bathroom display, with gray walls, white porcelain block style vanity set. Her graceful hand swept over the various focal points, as Mila spoke.

“… At least pretend to be interested, Mr. Baldwin.” Mila felt his smoldering gaze.

“You don’t believe I’m interested?” Blake’s warm breath tickled her earlobe and sent thrills of lust and horror down her spine.

“Blake, this is not a game. I’m sure you run through a slew of women, your status extended as your right. But unfortunately for you, I was raised to be much more than a married man’s
side piece
.”

There, she’d gotten it out. Asshole. In a blur, Mila bid Blake Baldwin farewell
forever
. As she walked away, she forced herself not to cross her fingers. This was too darn easy. A moment ago, his demeanor had been that of a tiger on the hunt. Mila decided to take a fifteen-minute break.

While striding to the rear of Versa Home Improvements, each step made Mila’s resolve crumble.

She pushed against the revolving door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY with such haste that it whipped back, and Mila had to brace herself, forearms up.
Where is my small taste of serendipity?
Mila stalked into the room, empty except for a few discarded pressed-fruit bottles.

She'd snapped. Why had she given an irrelevant man like Blake Baldwin control? It was obvious that Blake lacked family values, and morals in general. 

Mila took in a lung full of air and leaned back on her heels against the wall.

Before she could right herself, Blake stood before her. “What are you doing in here, Mr. Baldwin?”

The man had to have multi-personality disorder. One day he wore all black to a funeral, the next he stripped in front of her, then he seemed friendly and inviting in a cashmere sweater and … hell, Mila had a photogenic memory of every part of Blake. Today, his blazer was shoved up to his elbows as he dominated the space between them. It was as if the asshole had air-rights to
their
space. Ownership to… her. And with the few times Blake and her crossed paths, or even crashed into each other, he conquered her attention, sending her emotions in a whirlwind.

She’d lied. The. Man. Epitomized. Sex. Trying not to breathe Blake into her nostrils was a task made difficult, not wholly by his nearness. “Blake, you need to go.” Mila tried to push at his arms.

Silently, Blake’s hand sought the back of her neck and he leaned in. Heart booming in her ears, Mila lost all cognition. Deaf, dumb, and all wide open. Only two senses lingered. Taste. Touch. Smell. Oh yeah, that was three. His presence consumed her with desire.

Blake’s lips locked onto hers. At first taste? Perception returned, giving her a plethora of thoughts, and branding itself along her brain. This moment was ingrained in her memory. The first taste she had in so very long. The softness of his lips, coupled by the tickle from his five o’ clock shadow. The silk of his tongue was the paintbrush, her mouth a canvass. He sought to devour her. A deep moan, so feminine. The weakling. He ended the mouth-fucking with a nibble of her bottom lip. His ultra-white teeth grazed the soft pink fleshiness, giving a tender pull. The tingling flew from one nerve ending straight to the lips of her labia. The scent of him had been astounding in its own right. Now for the touch, Mila grasped the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Blake wanted to feast on her lips, so she’d help him with that. His hand blazed across her thigh, scorching her skin with desire. As she leaned back onto the wall, he hefted her leg around his narrowed waist and over the firmness of his perfectly contoured ass.

The mere act sent his dick piercing against her hip.

Eyes wide open, shock consumed the initial idiocy, reminding her she’d spend the rest of her life alone. No cock included. She knew love once. The moment was fleeting, and that was okay.

“No.
No
! We…” 

Blake groaned into her neck, warm breath tickling her collarbone as he waited for her guidance. Mila wanted to say how readily accessible they were in the middle of the goddamn Employee’s lounge. At any given time, someone could walk in. Her words came out as gibberish. Blake, the egotistical asshole, ignored her. All six foot two inches of him dropped to his knees. Idiocy returned as he hiked up her skirt. 

“What the fuck are these?” he gasped between catching his breath. The hot pink thong was a gag gift from Veronica and Lido during one of their drunken girl nights. The material was thin, yet the metallic green punch line written on the triangle of the material spelled
you can eat my buffet
. The carpet snatcher’s, aka Lido and Veronica, had jokingly promised they had the same panties in different colors.

“They… are…
clean
.” Mila decided not to explain herself to a man who deserved nothing. “Stop.”

Instead of pulling down her thong, to Mila’s horror, Blake pulled them up! The harsh movement sparked a frenzy as the soft cotton rubbed against her clit.

The room grew silent as Blake continued his inspection, the angles of his handsome face sharpening with delight. He parted her legs, and then his nose touched her thong. Warmth radiated into her center as Blake took a deep breath. A primeval growl escaped his mouth, making her clitoris tighten. His tongue dipped out, wide, pink, wet, pleasing and leisurely stroked upwards. Mila tried to push down her thong, but, he held it firmly against her hips. She cursed herself for not being the type of woman who went commando.

“You say I’m an asshole, right?” he smirked. “You’re smart, Mila. So I believe in you. I believe in your goodness, Mila, I know you are trying to hold onto your wholesome ways but your eyes say ‘fuck me now!’ And that body, every sexy ass curve is begging for me to touch it.” He paused to take a deliriously long scent of her nether region. “You can fucking tame me. Cleanse me. If only I can just pull down this thong and burry my face into your sweet, wet pussy.”

“Just… just ppp…. pull my panties down.”

Again his face glided back and forth over her thong. Blake hooked her leg over his shoulder, now Mila’s left hand clutched into his hair while her right hand dug into the shoulder of his blazer.

Pleading on the tip of her tongue, Mila’s eyes zapped to the door. High heels clipped down the hallway. 

His masculine chest rose as he took another deep breath of her lady parts. His long tongue flicked out and prodded the cotton barrier of a drizzling sheath. 

She wanted to help him take off her panties, but a man like him took no pressure in asking. He just... took. Yet, he continued to get a delicate taste of her honey through those cotton panties. The soft, warm, faint wetness of his mouth made Mila’s eyes close and her head again fall back against the wall. At this very moment in life, nothing else mattered. If someone walked in, fuck it. She chuckled psychotically under her breath and waited for him to fully take her. 

“Please fuck me,” she begged. As usual the man only responded when he wanted to.

When Blake’s tongue no longer sought solace through her cotton panties, Mila’s eyes opened. The longing evident in the melancholic look on her face. 

He stood.

She died.

Blake planted a hand on the wall behind the side of her ear. Pinning her to the spot.

“Now, we both know what I want, Mila. And this assessment has assured me that your sweet fragrance has the ability to cleanse me.” His tone blanketed her with an unquenchable thirst. Blake made her want him. He need not even wait for her response.

He unrolled the sleeves of his blazer, and Mila’s heart clenched. She caught her breath. He paused before turning around. She waited for him to give a time, a place, any order. However, he wanted her. She’d follow.

“Oh, one more thing.” Blake thumbed his lip for a second. The fucker made her eat every intense second of waiting. She didn’t know if running to the trashcan to dig out the flowers or apologizing for calling him an asshole would suffice, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

“My beautiful Mila, I'll be away for a month. Let's not operate under the guise that I don’t have the means to take you with me. I refuse to. See, I’ve never been more insulted in my life.” Blake’s smile twitched. That unreadable, dark cloud phased before his radiant green eyes.

“In 30 days I'll return. You will be ready for me.”

She nodded. 

“Your flowers have been removed from the trashcan, Mr. Versa has personally ushered them to your desk. And your assistant has no doubt retrieved a vase and water so that you can take care of the gift that I’ve given you.”

“But I don't have an assistant.” 

He shrugged. “I'll see you soon.” 

Mila took Blake Baldwin in from head to toe. His tie perfect, not a hair in disarray. No lint on his suit. He leaned in, his cool breath tickling her lips. Silently, Blake savored her mouth once more. No frenzy like before. Elegant, poetic. A farewell. And then he was gone. 

She wanted to cry, only a whimper would escape. By God, she wanted this man now! In the middle of this employee room. She wanted to fuck Blake Baldwin on every kitchen model display counter and island, every shower and bathtub. Mila wanted to fuck him on the VERSA welcome mat right in front of the sliding glass doors. Then she wanted to lay in his strong arms take a break, take him home and fuck him until the numbness passed away... 

~~~

Mila settled on a Mediterranean Lean Cuisine for dinner. With the sliding glass doors open, the cool sea breeze entered the house. She lit candles and even took out another magenta colored poppy plate, the same regimen she used while working for Hewitt Corporation. Those years of being young, cocky and wanting to show the world just how much she knew were filled with nights alone. Except, back then expensive organic take-out while researching the next big investment meant a good night. These days, after having known love, Mila just felt alone. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the incessant white-noise from the microwave reminded her just how alone she was.

Mila stopped at the quartz countertop and snatched up her cell phone. Even if she'd always cling to the guilt of not living up to her father’s standards, Mila sought the voice that had soothed her for a lifetime.

“
Subax wanaagsan
—Good Morning,” Mila’s mother said, voice questioning. Though her mother was up before the sun arose, praying or cooking, Mila glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:37 here, and she calculated that it was just after 6 a.m. in Ethiopia.

“Ma, how are you?” Mila greeted in her native tongue, leaning both elbows against the counter, eyes captivated by the flicker of the candles on the dining table. The glow illuminated across the vast wood chairs, this place was her ghost town. A bolt constricted Mila’s chest as a memory flashed through her mind. Their tiny box car packed to capacity, although only mementos were squeezed in the back with the three sisters. Mila had watched a mother and child trekking across the wilderness. The woman's child clung to her back, legs dangling. The boy couldn't be but a few years younger than Mila. She couldn’t fathom how Somalia, her home, had become a place to fear. A place to run from…

“
Wann fiicanahay—
I am fine.” The soothing voice she needed to hear dashed away an image of the Somali mother’s blistered feet, caked with blood and mud. It ceased the six-year-old Mila’s frantic questioning as to why they couldn't stop to help, even as it was obvious there was no room in their car.

But, this soothing voice was hushed. It hurt to the core when her mother’s tone lowered. Mila could just imagine Mrs. Ali's retreat to one of the darker areas in whatever room she currently stood in, in order to continue the conversation.

“How is da—”

“Mila,” her mother cut in, just as the microwave beeped. It made Mila’s heart tighten. The untold rule was that she didn't speak of the father. She was not to utter her father’s name. It was too late to apologize. “How is everything going?”

“Great...”

“Oh my beautiful daughter, tell me. Tell me what’s wrong,” Ma chided, in the motherly tone that wrapped itself around Mila like a warm blanket on a frosty night.

Mila bit her tongue.
I’ve lost the man I was to spend my entire life with. The man that I’ve imagined having three children and growing old by my side as we debated everything under the sun.
As Mila admitted to “just” missing Warren. Within her brain, she shouted:
I just want to ask how he's doing. More than that, I'm sure I'd be great if I could just say hello to dad.