Aloha, page 3
“What were you doing?”
He smirked, but said nothing. Just grabbed my ankles and tugged me further down the bed. My ass was nearly hanging off the end. He gripped my hips and flipped me over, burying my face into the soft white comforter.
His fingers snaked up my bare calves, then brushed aside my red skirt to skate up my inner thighs. I shivered at the touch. He stopped just before reaching my pussy. Instead, he pushed my dress up over my hips, slipped his hands under the material of my black thong, and dragged it down my legs.
I whimpered as he brushed lazily against my sex. A chuckle sounded behind me. Soft and unmistakably cruel. He knew exactly what he was doing.
He discarded my panties, and his fingers ran back up my legs. I clenched my red-lacquered fingernails into the comforter. When he approached my pussy this time, I pushed backward. My body was still pulsing with need from the blow job. I wanted what was mine. And the more I wanted it, the more he’d deny it. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Ah-ah,” he said.
His hand came down on the sensitive flesh. A tap more than a slap but enough for my entire body to jerk forward, like he’d just caressed my clit into submission.
“Fuck,” I ground out.
“If I slide my fingers into this wet pussy, are you going to let me fuck you with them?”
He circled my clit before dragging two fingers through the slick wetness of my pussy.
“Yes,” I moaned. I would have done anything at that moment.
“Are you going to ride my fingers?”
He pushed one finger in, and I had to bite down to keep from moaning.
“Yes.”
“Be my little slut?”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I offered.
“Whatever I want?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “Why do I have doubts about that?”
“Because I’m a brat.”
He laughed again. “That you are.”
His bare palm came down on my ass. It stung, and I hissed at the contact. Yet craved it again. I pushed backward, hoping for more. He tsked me but delivered. Another smack came, followed in quick succession by two more. I shivered all over at the pain of it blossoming on my now-rosy ass.
“Fuck,” he said with a sigh, as if he was disappointed. “I was going to take my time with you, but now that I can see your wet cunt, I want to bury my cock in it.”
I moaned an incoherent, “Yes.”
He slid his fingers out of me, lifted my ass higher in the air, and rained a few more precise smacks. I ached with need by the end of it. My mind beautifully empty and my body begging for release. I could come just from the spanking and his fingers. If I could get to my clit, I would come undone instantly.
But he never let me.
His boxers fell to the wayside, and then his hands were on my ass, spreading my cheeks. The grip stung my aching backside. A sweet yet terrible tenderness that made me want him all the more.
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. Not when it came to this.
He angled himself to fit into me and then slammed inside. I jolted forward against the bed. If it wasn’t for the arm he’d placed under my stomach to hold me up, I would have fallen flat. Instead, he kept my ass high and his thrusts deep.
I rocked back into him even though it already felt like I was being split in half. Yet I couldn’t want anything else. Not as he took me just as I always wanted to be used.
His other hand held tight to my ass, setting the bruising pace. Our bodies collided over and over again. A wet slapping sound that hit a perfect rhythm.
“Anything I want?” he asked between grunts.
“Yes,” I gasped.
Then his thumb moved to the crease of my ass. He pressed down on the pucker of my hole. Everything went black at the edges. The pleasure I’d barely been holding back swarmed up my throat, as if it were trying to claw its way out of me. Warmth suffused my body, and then I let go.
I screamed into the empty penthouse suite. My climax hitting the top of a roller coaster and then cascading over the cliff. He kept pumping into me, wringing out my orgasm, before he finally bottomed out inside of me and roared his own approval. He jerked a few times, releasing every last drop before withdrawing.
I collapsed onto the bed and turned over to gaze up at him with a delirious look on my face. The jet lag from Australia was already terrible, but add in the best sex of my life, and I could barely keep my eyes open.
He headed to the bathroom and came back with a towel. He carefully cleaned up our mess before helping me out of my dress, yanking back the covers, and carrying me into the oversize bed.
Our eyes met briefly as he tucked the covers around my shoulders.
“Wait … are you …” I trailed off.
He seemed to know what I was asking. “Where else would I go?”
He stepped away, and a second later, I heard the shower running. I must have drifted off because what could have only been a minute later, he was under the covers. His warm body cocooning mine. His hair still wet from the shower. His breath hot on my shoulder as he held me against his chest.
I snuggled deeper against him. He pressed a kiss into my hair.
“Sleep now,” he ordered.
And with a sigh, I fell into a perfectly dreamless sleep.
Chapter 5
He was gone in the morning.
The bed was cool to the touch. His clothes from the night before were missing. Mine were carefully folded on a nearby chair. The rain had stopped sometime in the middle of the night. Only dark, ominous clouds still hung heavy in the sky.
I stepped out of the bed with a sigh. I shouldn’t have even been surprised. Of course he was gone. Typical.
I had time before I needed to be back at the airport, so I used the amenities. After my shower, blow-dry, and makeup reapplication, I felt more like myself. I checked my phone, answering texts from my travel agent and a few from friends that I’d missed the day before. I admired the penthouse suite and left.
A black car waited for me at the front. My last hurrah from my late night rendezvous. I was at the airport and before my gate at precisely the right time. My business-class flight took off at three p.m., and I was taking the elevator up to my home in New York City by seven the next morning.
I dropped my Louis Vuitton luggage at the entrance of my penthouse and heard familiar footsteps.
“Mommy!” a little girl said as she rounded the corner.
Helena dashed the rest of the way, tackling me at the ankles. I laughed and bent down to pick up my two-year-old daughter. I swung her in a tight circle.
“How’s my best girl?”
“Best!” Helena cheered.
The nanny, Kimberly, strode into the living room. Beckett was in her arms. His eyes lit up at the sight of me. He reached his arms out and kicked his little feet.
“Ma! Ma!”
“Welcome home, Katherine,” Kimberly said. “They’ve missed you.”
I set Helena down and took Beckett from her.
“I’ve missed them like crazy.” I kissed his giant chipmunk cheeks. “Mommy missed you so much, dumpling. How’d they do?”
“Excellent. Everyone woke up about a half hour ago. Slept like a dream.”
“Good,” I said with a smile. “Next time, you’ll come to Australia with me and the children.”
Kimberly laughed. “You’ve convinced me.”
I waved her off as she headed home. Having the kids alone for all this time must have been draining. I knew what those days were like. Even with all the help I’d hired over the two years since becoming a mother, nothing could replace what a mother did. Not even their father.
“Oh, Mr. Percy,” Kimberly said, stepping to the side as the elevator dinged. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Kimberly.”
Kimberly waved at me once more and then stepped into the elevator.
“Daddy!” Helena said before rushing to her father.
Camden’s eyes were all for his little girl as he swung her into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her temple as she began a long-winded babble about everything that had happened in his absence. Beckett held his hands out, too. He took him as well, carrying them into the playroom.
All the while, my eyes followed him.
“You’re late,” I told him with an arched eyebrow.
He smirked up at me. “I had business in LA before I came home.”
I tsked. “You could have told me.”
The gleam in his eyes was all desire and danger and detonation.
“Was that part of the game?”
I shook my head at him. “You’re the devil.”
He set Beckett down and extracted himself from Helena. “You married the devil, love.” He slid a hand around my waist and drew me in close. “You knew what you were getting into.”
“You could have at least flown me private.”
He laughed then. “So, that’s what this pouting is about.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You like when I pout.”
“That I do.”
“And I thought you didn’t like playing games.”
He lifted my chin the way he had the night before, taking complete control of my body in that one gesture. “I like ones that I win.”
Then he kissed me. Our tryst in Hawaii ignited between us. The man I’d married, the man I loved, the man I came home to. And no one else. Even when we played one cruel game.
Thank you for reading Katherine & Camden’s short story! I hope you loved them as much as I do. They’re my forever favorite villains. If you want to know more about them, you can read their story in Cruel Marriage.
Beginnings…
A happy ever after short story set in the Aarti-verse
Aarti V Raman
Chapter 1
Nihaal
Somewhere over Indian airspace
“I didn’t know you read books, at all.” I peeked over Mili’s shoulder, to check out said book. Ignoring the twinge of my own from where the GSW (gunshot wound, for those who don’t know) throbbed dully. It was healing nicely, thank fuck or I’d be even more pissed at the piece of shit who almost got away with murder before biting his own bullet, in a manner of speaking.
I looked in distaste at the sling my wife – God, I loved saying that in my head – insisted I wear on our journey. Apparently, airports were full of jostlers, and she wanted me protected.
My wife was efficient, practical, and hot AF while managing our life.
Mili gave me a look, one I’d never seen on her lovely face before.
She was slightly sheepish. “I picked it up at the airport. Usually, I work or nap on flights but this was a ninety-minute journey so I figured I might as well read.”
I continued peeking into her reading material. My eyes widened and then narrowed as a word caught my eye.
“Is that…” I looked around the crowded airplane. “A Jacob’s ladder?” I murmured the words in a sub-vocal tone.
I was ever mindful of our audience, even if we were in first class, which only meant more leg room and free water refills on this airline. And I did not look the part of the suave and sophisticated Formula One driver I was, because I was on honeymoon with the love of my life.
Mili shrugged, her shoulder bumping into mine. “Yeah.”
“A Jacob’s ladder is a…”
“I know what it is,” she hissed. Red crept up her neck and icepick cheeks dusting her skin with adorable color. “Do you have to be so loud, Nihaal?”
She was obviously embarrassed now.
I didn’t immediately get it. Mili was the most confident, brilliant, stunningly smart person I knew. She had nothing to hide or be ashamed of, including her reading choices.
I grinned, irrepressibly. “I wasn’t being loud at all, love.” I nodded at the page, curious to know more about the Jacob’s ladder and its…use. “It’s reading time now. Back at it.”
She snapped the book shut, drumming her fingers on the book with an innocent cartoon couple cover. The ring I’d given her just a few months ago in a hasty civil ceremony that was over before it began, glinted in the harsh airplane lights.
In a flash of memory, I remembered how she looked on our wedding day. She’d worn a blood-red sari and flowers in her long hair.
Mili had a quiet unstoppable beauty that she’d honed through the use of makeup and wearing really good outfits but on our wedding day, she’d been…sexy and unattainable.
I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw her that day, which explained why I was a dick to her later that night. At least, that was the story I told myself when I thought of the dark, destructive first week of our marriage.
I knew Mili would have a different version of the events…
…And she just might be right.
“I’m not going to read it if you’re…” Mili pushed gently at my uninjured side. “Going to hover.”
“Why not? It looks like so much fun.” I murmured throatily.
I fingered the spine of the book suggestively. Running one long finger down it, while making fiery eye contact with Mili. But I couldn’t hold it for more than five seconds.
My lips twitched as I tried to flirt, unsuccessfully, with my wife.
She smiled too when she leaned into me, no longer sheepish. “It is fun. So, I read it, idiot.”
“You read about men with pierced peens when you’re not napping or working, woman.” I mock-frowned. “Is this something we should talk about?”
I was extremely curious about her preferences in this area. So far, we were doing bangingly well for being newlyweds in the most untraditional sense of the word. But, as my Tio Paul was fond of reminding me, ‘Practice makes a man win races, Nihaal. So fucking practice’.
I was inclined to agree with my mentor and racing team Menzo Monadnock’s Team Principal on this point. ‘Practicing’ with Mili was infinitely better than alone, in the cockpit of a tin can hurtling through concrete beyond the force of gravity.
“Nihaal.” Mili chuckled, a rich, feminine sound that went straight to my unpierced peen.
I sat up a little straighter.
“Mili.” I grabbed her hand in one of mine, the hand that wore her ring. A simple golden band, nothing fancy or unique.
Maybe we needed something a little more…us, I mused.
“Nihaal.” Mili took her hand back. “It’s just a book,” she assured me. “It’s fun. And escapist. And I learn something new every time I read one.”
“Like the proper way to service a Jacob’s ladder?” I couldn’t resist teasing her.
She burst out laughing. A sound that turned a few heads in her direction, mostly from disapproving older women and men who had a distinct gleam in their eyes when they saw her.
I outstared them all with a hard glint I’d honed over battling it out on the toughest racetracks for years.
That’s right, people. She’s gloriously mine.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
I shrugged. “I could be…persuaded. If you…” I recalled the exact phrase the author had used in the book. “STFUATTDLAGG.”
My jaw dropped a second later. As I suddenly understood what the phrase meant, especially when paired in context of servicing a Jacob’s ladder.
“Good fucking God, Mili.” My face heated up at the graphic image forming in my head of two faceless people doing that in a men’s club. “What are you reading?”
Mili grinned again, secretively. Seductively. “Fun. Escapist.” Tapped on the book with a nude-painted nail. “Educational.”
I shook my head. “I would never, in a million years, imagine that the brightest mind from Yale and Cambridge, Drake Fallahil’s right-hand, Mili Iyer-Bhatnagar, would read—"
“Spice,” she said primly. “It’s called spicy romance. And I love it. Any problems?”
I shook my head again. Because she had another glint in her eye. This one was more battle-like and less fuck-me. I’d never won against that look.
“Of course not. I’m just…” I searched for a word that would accurately describe my feelings and not get me killed on this flight, “Surprised.”
Mili subsided at my honest answer. “We’ve been together for such a short time, Nihaal. Obviously, we don’t know everything about each other.”
“Eighty-one days of knowing each other.” Her face melted in pleasure because I knew the date of us meeting. “And fifty-nine days being married, Mils.” I toyed with her ring again. And she let me, so I was in the safe zone.
“You kept count.”
I grinned now. “It was a memorable meeting, sweetheart. Of course, I’d remember the day I met you.”
And it had been. I’d just won the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix and was taking a much-needed shower in my hotel suite assuming I was alone, when she barged straight in and I…
“It doesn’t feel like it, though. Does it?” Mili cut into my spicy thoughts. “It feels like…”
“I’m not going to say the clichéd thing like forever,” I teased her.
Although, if I was being honest with myself, so many events – important, life-altering, and tectonic – had happened in the last three months that it did feel like a lifetime.
“You’d never be clichéd,” she murmured.
“You’d never let me,” I reminded her.
“You do know the important things about me.” She sighed out, laying her head on my good shoulder. It made me feel ten feet tall to see my Mili, my Firecracker, be soft and vulnerable with me.
Because she was so capable – like trying to solve the mystery of the strange and deathly happenings in my home, Bhatnagar Stud and Race Farm by herself and being the best lawyer-fixer ever – it was easy to forget Mili was also fragile.
Especially with me.
Especially now.
“So, is there a reason why we are not headed to Hawaii for our honeymoon, where I get to see you in a coconut bikini and…” I leaned in and whispered something decadent in her ear – like the author in her book would write - that caused Mili to blush something fierce. Watching her do that was fucking amazing.
