The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (14 page)

“But nope, it wasn’t
his bitch
that made Warren worried. It was you, your company… So are we at the part where you threaten me?”

His smile was pure, utter evil. Sociopathic tendencies allowed Blake to stay so fucking reserved while smiling in Lola’s face. Voice smooth as usual he inquired, “Why threaten you, Lola? You don’t know how
far
I’ve come to get to where I am. You sure as hell don’t deserve a fucking piece of me either. The moment I leave you can voice all those half-cocked ideas.”

She had endeavored to make him feel ashamed of his poor roots. Blake had done even more illegal things to make it in this world than what was about to transpire. The soft, tiny, gorgeous thing before him wanted to blackmail him? Fuck that.

Now Lamb stood before them, Lola’s sapphire gaze almost popped at the sight of the silent, sly Lamb.

“Like I just said, there’s no
use
in threatening you.” Blake guzzled down the whiskey. He slammed the snifter glass into the empty fireplace. The sound of shattering clung to his ears as did Lola’s shouting at him for this current move.

Chapter 21

Mila

THE WAVE-LIKE
vibrations rolling over Mila’s larynx signified ultimate bliss. Her almond eyes had slowly closed as her breathing became a melody. A melody that added to the tranquil vibes playing through the PDA on the veranda of Blake’s apartment high in the clouds. The masseuse’s strong muscular hands caressed her body to new heights.

The change in pressure awoke her. Mila’s eyebrow arched, she turned slightly. A sardonic smile brightened her face. “Hmmm, Blake. You’ve been rubbing my back this entire time?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah, right.” She almost wondered where he’d run off to. They were all the way in Tokyo so it couldn’t be… No, it wasn’t another woman. At first, Mila didn’t care about Blake, albeit the sex made her momentarily weak. Earlier, she’d tried to give him the ‘out.’ Starting the argument had been comparable to handing Blake the gun and bullets. All he had to do was admit to cheating.
What the hell am I thinking? Cheating on his wife, cheating on me… I don’t even have the right.

Still, Mila had glanced at the digital clock on the wall just inside of the apartment before he’d began the world’s best back rub. As usual, he’d slip out the room and a trained masseuse completed the deed. Blake must’ve been gone at least two hours.

She hopped into a seated position and hugged him. “Blake, baby, we really gotta…” The words lodged into her throat.  She wanted to tell him that even though she was angry earlier, these sexcapades had to end one day. Yet, Mila realized he didn't hug her with the same zeal. “Blake...”

His arms seemed heavy as they slowly draped around her. 

Though he now held her tightly, her lover seemed light-years away. The other day when his wife had called, Mila had been livid. Even after they’d sexed like rabbits she’d began to torment herself over the affection that she felt for Blake.
Why am I doing this to myself? Do not cross the line, Mila, Blake is just a momentary reprieve.

After forcing herself not to be so gullible or emotional, Mila went right back to wondering about
the wife.
Was she in Diane’s shoes every chance Blake stepped away? Blake was never satiated. Their fuck fests were heavenly. But did Mila satisfy him enough. She’d been talking shit when telling him to turn to any whore while they were here in Tokyo. But… “Blake, baby what's the matter?”

“Hard day.” The last time Blake had to leave her presence, he’d expressed his distaste of having to leave her in an unfamiliar country to complete a few meetings or PR conversations. As if he knew all, his hand went to her throat and thumb grazed softly over her lips before Mila could offer to be his ear if need be. 

“These fucking lips.” His eyes bore through the raspberry pink flesh of hers as his thumb print continued to love her mouth. “I love these lips.” 

His tongue went into her mouth. Mila’s eyes swept across the open patio. The masseuse had disappeared. There were no servants moving about the living area inside the open sliding glass doors, but the lust in Blake's eyes read that he was going to fuck her here regardless. Mila sucked at the soft ridges in his thumb and imagined that she were conjuring his seed, sucking his cock. Like she’d done out here, but underneath the covers. Now the railing didn’t shield them from the tall post where she’d just gotten a massage.

“I could take you down right here Mila.” Blake's voice was breathy as they leaned against the post. “Or out in the open.” He delved into the warm wetness. His eyes scoured the buildings across the way as if he sought an audience. “To have you begging me to take you under, to make you cum how sexy would that be with envious onlookers.” 

She stopped delighting in the taste of his thumb, “No Blake. That wouldn't be sexy at all.” 

The left side of his mouth curved upwards. The emotion, the life, the perceived heartbeat seemed to slowly seep back into the man she’d fallen so damn quickly for. 

“You're art to me Mila. The most gorgeous piece I have acquired.”

The words were a lofty complement, yet she had no desire to be owned. 

“It took a while for me to enjoy art.” Mila assumed it was because his rich parents had probably shoved it down his throat. “When I first took interest, it was because of an elegant museum curator. She taught me the art of standing back, to just observe art for its uniqueness,” Blake said pushing a strand of hair from her face. “it changed my concept. I thought they were fucking assholes. Selfish. Disgusting pricks for not allowing the world to observe such beauties. Then my eyes landed on you Mila.” 

Her pupils dilated; he'd gotten her exactly where he wanted. She'd fuck him in front of an audience of a million if he wanted. A tender gulp slithered down her throat. She wanted him to slam his dick straight into her pussy right here. Even if there were people walking by.

Chapter 22

Mila

Los Angeles, CA

SUNDAY BRUNCH WAS
worse than Sunday service. Mila had already felt the judgment of being in the large cathedral structure with a melancholic Jesus, palms open wide, yet gauged out. Ouch. The pastor, though, didn't further condemn her by biblical verses of adultery. No, the man upstairs had left that for her older sister, Yasmin. 

The once a month Sunday brunches and token church attendance on Mila and Lido’s behalf had begun to even out, now that Warren wasn’t around. Veronica stayed at home on those days because Yasmin had chewed her the fuck out one time.

At the table of shiny silverware and crystal which caught the sun and sent rainbows across the room, Mila and Lido sat across from Yasmin and her husband, Faaid. The family got together at the same upscale Beverly Hills buffet for years. Faaid had once enjoyed Warren’s company. Warren had been nice enough to keep up with soccer—actually more statistically interested—in order for the two to chat while the sisters caught up. They hadn’t had been here in almost six months, meaning Faaid hadn’t gotten used to it just being him with the ladies.

“Where have you been, Mila?” Yasmin forked up baby arugula. Those enchanting black marble eyes never wavered. Yasmin kept her hair in silky short tousled curls. Her buttery brown skin always seemed pampered, though she never invited her younger sisters to the spa.

“Mila just got back from Tokyo,” Lido interjected with a devious smile. The look in those eyes didn’t speak volumes to her
walaashay weyn
. Mila gave a quick elbow to the bony broad’s ribcage. Lido wanted to start an argument.

“Tokyo, is that true?”

“Why? You sound like father! Are you going to tell him?” Lido’s eyebrow arched.

Faaid mumbled something about not being full. Nobody acknowledged his presence; Yasmin didn’t even care.

“Can’t I make small talk with my
Walaashay yar
?” Yasmin snapped.

“Most definitely.” Lido nodded. “You started the chit-chat, but keep in mind I always got the back of my
Walaashay yar.”

Mila sighed. It was hard being the youngest. “Yes, Yasmin, I stayed a few weeks in Tokyo. I even sent in a few–”

“
Few
?” Yasmin’s eyebrow arched.

Mila’s shoulders deflated. Of all people, she wanted to tell her siblings first about sending in the proposal for a few government grants. With the commission Mila made for Blake’s altruism, Mila had paid off the house. She also had enough for a down payment on a building in West Los Angeles. Today, she planned to see if her sisters wanted to tag along to view a few locations her realtor had found. But,

“Twenty-eight days, let’s just call that a month,” Lido gestured, wanting more of a rise out of Yasmin.

Yasmin had already texted Mila that church and brunch would be a cordial affair. So it was clear to them all that Yasmin was curving her judgmental attitude. Though they weren’t close, Yasmin seemed to be trying for Mila’s sake. She’d even called during the months since Warren’s death. She didn’t attend the funeral, but calling without forcing the family card for them to have get-togethers was a good thing.

“Well, a month in Japan.” Yasmin sighed. “Sounds like a tranquil vacation. So, Mila, you had good news to tell us. I’m happy about that. I’ve been a bit worried about you, Mila…”

“Yes, the good news.” Mila turned in her seat so she could glance back and forth at the both of them.

“
Worried
?”  Lido said. “Yasmin, you’ve been worried. I didn’t see you at Warren’s funeral. We haven’t had brunch since he died—”

“Mila’s trying to tell us something,” Yasmin stressed. “Look, I texted Mila about brunch the week after the plane went down, Lido. Why must everything be a show for you, huh? We have to measure our love.”

“
Texted
?” Lido screeched as if the rest of Yasmin’s statement went straight over her head.

“I’ve called her a few times too. Lido, does that meet your standards.” Yasmin turned toward her baby sister.

Lido put her hands together in a round of applause. “Now, me, myself, and I,
oh,
and my drop, dead …”

Mila mumbled, “Now introducing Veronica.”
Every time we get together Lido has to slap her sexual relationship in everyone’s face.

Lido continued, “… Gorgeous, 104 pounds of sexy—”

“Veronica, just say it damn,” Mila cut in, her resource center plans fading to black. “I love Veronica like a sister, Lido, but damn, its physically impossible to shove a person down other people’s throats. So stop trying. Yasmin is just—”

“Just what?” Lido folded her arms.

Mila shook her head. “Who the hell are you representing today, Lido. Huh? I had to tell you all something, but now it doesn’t even matter. You’re so busy wanting to cause problems. You’re so ready for war that you forgot who you’re representing.”

They both took a moment to regress. Mila gave a quick smile to Yasmin for not engaging in combat with Lido, as was the norm. How quickly had the conversation hopped to different subjects? When it came to Mila being in Tokyo, her oldest sister had really tried not to judge. Mila never cut in when the two argued. She found it just as exhausting trying to speak when Lido dominated the entire conversation.

Finally, she took a breath as her sisters began to eat. “Listen, I know you’ve been worried. Everything is fine now; I’ve paid off my home.” And so as not to allow Lido the ammunition to strike, Mila further elaborated, “I’ve been doing well at Versa.”

She decided to save the nonprofit organization talk for another time. Especially since she was scouting locations and awaiting a response from the government, which could take months. An hour later, as the ladies handed their tokens to the valet, they gave each other the customary goodbye. Yasmin seemed reluctant to leave while Faaid stepped forward to tip the valet.

The willowy Lido got into her Bentley convertible first. Her older and younger sister smiled in pride as every eye, from valets to old folks getting out of luxury cars, were on the model. Some knew her by name, others were just as awestruck. Relishing the attention, Lido waved while pulling away from the curb.

Instantly, the attraction faded. Each sister returned to her own thoughts. Faaid waited in the driver’s side of their BMW as Yasmin embraced Mila once more. “May I make a suggestion, Mila?”

Mila teetered on the heels of her ballerina flats. She’d driven her trusty Honda Accord, even though Blake had surprised her with a Maserati Alfieri. The sleek, carbon fiber luxury sports car was at her home when they’d returned from Tokyo. She hadn’t complained, since Blake wasn’t dropping funds into her bank account.

Now here she stood, certain that Yasmin was about to read her like a cheap, raunchy eBook.  “Sure.”

“I don’t just agree with any magazine I read in the grocery store check-out line, but there are pictures of you and … and a
man
.” Yasmin paused, as if bottling the anger brewing in her gut. “A married man, Mila. It doesn’t matter if a man is to marry another, or another, or another,” she said with a shake of her head, “You are much more than a second or a
third
, Mila.”

Now they were at the pivotal point in this discussion. Gaze cast on the asphalt, Mila asked, “Are you going to tell father…?”