Her Perfect Revenge (32 page)

It took Christina exactly thirty-five minutes to shower, change, blow dry her hair and apply a light makeup before she was presentable enough to go back downstairs.

She'd chosen to wear a low-cut, black dress with spaghetti straps that exposed her creamy arms and chest. Even though she'd rushed to get ready, she knew she looked good.

When Christina reentered the salon, both men were still there, waiting for her. William had a curious expression on his face while Bill's was set with a stern, icy look. William smiled and gallantly led her into the dining room. A sulky Bill followed.

Dinner was a quiet affair with William doing most of the talking. He tried to draw them both out but all he got for his efforts were one-sentence responses.

Neither Bill nor Christina addressed each other or even looked at each other. By the time coffee was served, a frustrated William had had enough.

He forcefully threw down his napkin and rose out of his seat. "I don't know what's going on but it's going to stop tonight. The wedding is less than two weeks away and things better be patched up before then," he threatened, before stomping out of the dining room.

When the doors slammed behind him, Christina turned to Bill and glared at him. She was still fuming about the dunking in the pool that he'd given her—and the fact that he hadn't believed her love for him.

Bill glared back. He was still furious at her for pretending to love him so that she could keep her cushy, Havenwood position—and the fact that she hadn't believed his love for her.

Neither said anything to the other. It was an impasse.

As if on cue, they both rose up out of their chairs at the same time, intending to leave.

Christina shot him a dirty look. "I can't believe I'm in love with a bastard," she announced.

He returned the glare. "And I can't believe I'm in love with a bitch."

"Go to hell," she angrily retorted.

"Same to you," he seethed.

Christina's blood was boiling and she was about to burst. How dare he! How dare he—about everything!

Acting on impulse, she looked down at her half-eaten plate of food. Scooping up a handful of mashed potatoes, she turned back to him—ready to fire.

Reading her mind, he threatened, "If you do what you're thinking about doing, then let me warn you, I won't be a gentleman."

"When were you ever a gentleman?" she snapped back.

"I was a gentleman tonight by the pool. That dunking you got… let me tell you, you got off easy," he angrily replied.

Christina still had the fistful of mashed potatoes poised at his head. "It figures someone like you would think that," she shot back.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means… you are an asshole, Bill Havenwood; and you don't know the first thing about how to treat a lady."

"Show me a lady and I'll show you how well I can treat her."

"Are you implying I'm not a lady?"

"Hey… you're the one standing there with food aimed at my head and I don't think that definition is in the dictionary if you look up the word 'lady', do you?" he taunted her.

Christina's anger went up two more degrees, hitting the danger zone. Her hand went back—ready to fire the gooey potatoes at him.

Bill softly warned her. "Don't you…"

He never got that last word out as the mushy mess hit him squarely on his right eye and cheek. Slowly, Bill's hand came up and wiped off the food. He stared at her hard—then reached down and scooped up his own handful of mashed potatoes and aimed it at her.

"You dare throw that at me and you prove that you're a louse," Christina warned.

"Then I'm a louse," he replied, before promptly launching the food at her.

It landed on her hair and face; and specks fell on the table, on her chair and on William's wildly expensive rug on the floor.

Christina gasped in shock at his audacity. How bloody dare he! With her napkin, she wiped off as much of the mess as she could.

Fuming, she rounded on him. "You've got some nerve, buddy!"

He smirked at her then—that damned, smug Havenwood smirk that she hated so much. "Hey, you threw the first punch… lady!" he mocked her, implying she was no 'lady'.

"Why you…" She furiously looked down at the table of food trying to see what she could throw next.

She spotted the silver bowl with the thick, gummy cream of corn. Scooping up a large handful, she hauled back and threw it at him with as much force as she could muster. It caught him on the nose and mouth; and landed on his jacket.

Angry, Bill wiped it off with the back of his hand.

"So you like it rough, do you?" he gritted through set teeth. "Well, so do I!" He too looked down on the table and spotted a large bowl of chocolate pudding that no one had touched during dessert. Grabbing it, he menacingly started to walk around the table towards Christina.

Christina backed away. "Don't you dare!" she screamed at him.

At that precise moment, Geoffrey, the under butler, walked in to clear the table off. On seeing Master Bill and Madam Christina caked in food—and Bill advancing on his fiancée with the bowl of pudding, he quickly did a one-eighty out of the room—and shutting the door behind him, ran to tell the rest of the staff what was going on in the dining room.

Meanwhile, Bill was still approaching Christina with the pudding while she kept backing away.

"I warn you, Bill Havenwood, stay away from me," she threatened.

"Or else what? You'll leave? We both know you won't do that. You've got a great setup here and you don't want to lose it."

"That's crap and only a pea-brained ninny like you would come up with an idiotic idea like that."

Bill laughed, "Oh, so I'm a ninny and an idiot, am I?"

"Yes," Christina shouted, just as her back came up against the wall. She gasped in surprise.

Bill took a few more steps towards her and he had her cornered. He gave her an evil smile, "Well, it's better than being a sharp-tongued witch like you!"

And then he smoothly dumped the whole contents of the bowl of pudding onto her little black dress. Christina gasped as the creamy, slimy concoction slid down the front of her dress, onto her chest and exposed cleavage. She was breathing heavily from anger, not believing that the rat had actually had the nerve to do it. She looked back up at him and saw the twinkle of laughter in his eyes, as he brazenly looked her up and down.

"Now there's something you don't see everyday—chocolate covered breasts. Yummy." he said, laughing at her again.

"Well, eat this then…" she angrily replied as she ran both of her hands over her 'chocolate covered breasts' and scooped up as much of the pudding as she could.

And before he'd even had a chance to stop laughing, she smashed the dessert into his open laughing mouth and smeared it down his damned, expensive jacket, making sure she used enough force to grind the food mess into the fibers.

"There! I'd like to meet the dry cleaner who can get that out!" she yelled at him.

Stunned, Bill looked down at his ruined suit. "This was an Armani," he seethed at her.

"Well, now it's garbage," she retorted.

His angry eyes locked onto hers—as hers did to his. They were both furious, both shocked at what had happened—and they were both breathing heavily.

Suddenly, in an instant, the charged air in the room changed. The anger disappeared and was replaced by a sexual energy that was almost electrical in nature. Christina felt a tangible pull on her lips emanating from his lips, as if a string were attached and someone was pulling them together.

Bill felt it too.

Who kissed who first—neither of them knew. But in a flash, both of their lips had locked onto the other's and they were wildly, passionately kissing each other, tongues darting in and out, each tasting a mixture of mashed potatoes, cream of corn, dark chocolate pudding—and sex. It was dirty. It was messy. It was fun—just like their relationship together had been all along.

Christina's 'chocolate covered' breasts caked the front of Bill's jacket with pudding as she plastered her body to his and their hands slipped in the gooey mess as they tried to touch each other. They laughed in between kisses as neither could get a firm grip.

Christina's sticky hands ran up to his shoulders and pushed his jacket off of his body. It fell to the floor in a heap.

Her hands then frantically yanked his shirt out of his pants and quickly started to unbutton it. Exposing his chest, her hands greedily ran up and down his naked skin, leaving streaks of pudding everywhere. Still wildly kissing him, she moaned into his mouth at the intense pleasure it gave her to touch him.

His hands had slipped her spaghetti straps down her arms and the top part of her dress fell to her waist exposing her pudding-caked breasts to his touch. His hands massaged and kneaded, taking their fill, before finding her nipples. He began to roll them between his thumb and index finger as if he were winding a watch—and Christina began to moan again, this time like an animal in heat. What he was doing to her was making her crazy as shards of exquisite pleasure ran down from her breasts to her privates.

Here they were, making love in the dining room where anyone could walk in at anytime, where the staff might overhear their moans through the doors—and she didn't give a damn and neither did he.

Too far gone, their lips separated and Christina pulled Bill to the floor. She landed on her back and he, on top of her—and their food-streaked, half naked bodies smeared pudding and creamed corn and mashed potatoes onto William's antique Aubusson rug.

Neither cared about that either.

For a brief second their eyes locked into each other as their breathing continued to keep pace with their rapid heartbeats. His eyes were silently asking her for permission to continue and with another low moan from her, she grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him again to her lips, eating and tasting him as much as she could.

He grunted with satisfaction then and returned wild kiss for wild kiss. She tasted so good to him—and he was on fire for her.

Suddenly, he made an odd sound deep in his throat and pulled away. He stared hard into her wild eyes.

"Christina… I can't stop…" he gasped, in between his heavy breathing.

She stared back at him, her breasts rising and falling as her breathing matched his. "I don't want you to," she whispered.

Bill briefly closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side. "No… you don't understand. God help me… I don't have a rubber."

Christina grabbed both sides of his face with her hands and gazed into his hot, fevered eyes. "God help me too, because I don't care," she whispered back.

It was crazy, it was insane and it was irresponsible. They were both adults and they should have known better but the time for 'should haves' and 'could haves' had long past—and they were both at the point of no return.

He hesitated then—and Christina looked into his face and saw he was trying to get control back for the both of them.

But she wasn't having any of that. She wanted him now and she was going to have him now—and damn the consequences.

Christina opened her legs to him, nestling his hard erection, still concealed in his pants, more deeply into her pantied crotch and she started to kiss him again with frenzied abandon. With a low moan of surrender, Bill began to kiss her back. The moment had passed as had all sensibility—and they were both lost to their passions again.

Bill's lips left hers and his tongue began to lick its way down her neck, to her chest, to her breasts. Tasting pudding and skin, he took one nipple in his mouth and stroked it back and forth with his slippery tongue before moving on to the other one. Christina began to mew like a little kitty cat, a sound she'd never heard come out of her before. She was so hot for him and she couldn't help herself.

At the same time as he was laving her breast, his hands had hiked her dress up to her waist, exposing her black panties. As he groped for them, his hand came into contact with the delicate lace covering her V and he palmed her there for a few seconds before grabbing the thin material and tugging. The fragile, black lace ripped in his fingers and he yanked them off and threw them to the side.

His fingers came back to her and he began to stroke her back and forth. She was wet and it was all for him. A thrill shot through him that turned him on even more—if that was at all possible.

Christina loved every hot thing he was doing to her as she arched her back to his hand. He was giving her so much pleasure that she could barely stand it. She wanted him inside of her—and she was going to have him.

Crazed with desire, she reached for his belt buckle and undid it. Then, her shaking hands found his zipper and unzipped him. She snaked inside his pants and freed his hard erection. Her hand wrapped itself around him and she began to stroke him firmly.

At the touch of her soft, delicate hands on his fullness, Bill groaned and his lips left her nipples and came back up to her swollen lips—sucking, and biting, and tugging, and licking, and kissing. They were like two animals mating—no reason, no logic, all instinct.

Then she felt his hand remove her hand from him and in an instant, he'd plunged into her—deep and swift and hard. She cried out at the exquisite delicious sensations that shot up into her body as she felt the walls of her body wrap themselves around him.

He began to move inside her and she closed her legs around him and arched her back again. She rode him as hard as he was riding her, matching each of his strong strokes with her own—their breathing harsh, their bodies damp with sweat.

It was fast.

It was furious.

And it was all on the dining room rug.

Christina came first. She cried out as she felt her release and the walls of her innermost place began to contract and milk him. He felt her spasms and with one last thrust, he buried himself deep within her, as deep as he could get before climaxing himself. It was primal, it was possessive—but he just desperately needed to be as deep within her as he could be before he came. She was his—and he was branding her.