Page 44 of Georgia: Britain's Story: Part 1
“Are you fucking kidding me, Bambi? You can walk around our house all you want without underwear, but don’t you dare do this when you’re not here, when you’re not with me.”Was that a Freudian slip? Our?
I can’t help the moan his words elicit from me. His hand comes down on my ass with a hard smack and I cry out, another moan escaping my lips. “That’s right, Bambi, you’re fucking mine. This is my pussy.” He grips my sex tightly and laughs. “Of course you’re fucking soaked for me, baby. You love this, don’t you?” I nod my head affirmatively and he slides two fingers into me, hard. “I know your punishment, Bambi. You don’t get to come until you’re in our bed, begging me for it. Only then will I consider letting you come.”
He spanks me harder, one more time, and I cry out his name. He slides his fingers out of me, releasing me from his grip. He lets my dress fall back down, and turns me around to face him. He commands me, “Open your mouth, Bambi.” I obey, and he slides the two fingers that were just inside me into my mouth. I grab his wrist and hold him in place, sucking his fingers clean. His eyes are wide while I work him over. I only let his fingers and wrist go once I’m satisfied.
“For the record, I was rooting for Russian roulette,” I tell him, as I grab one of the plates and head to his breakfast nook. I hear him whisper under his breath, “Fuck, Bambi,” and I just laugh.
SIXTEEN
Britain
Liam joins me at the table, depositing his plate first, then returning with two glasses of white. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife, so I try to ease into something slightly more normal for dinner conversation.
“How was work?” I ask him in between bites. He looks up at me and pauses for a moment, like he’s not sure how to answer.
“It was good. Just working on the Sonoma property. Going over selection for the buildout on our sales center.”
“Will it be a lot like Broken Ridge then?”
“Similar concept, different style.”
“I love the French provincial look of everything at Broken Ridge. Really, it’s so well done. Were you behind those designs, too?” I can’t tell if he does or doesn’t want to talk about it. I know when I’m in a project at work, I could talk about it for hours, passionately, but he’s holding back. He nods in response to my question. So he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I saw your mom today.” I’ll try a different approach now.
“Oh, yeah? Did you go to the cafe?” he asks.
I laugh first then say, “Yeah, um, may have made a scene. Jim might think I’m deranged.” He’s not laughing, though. He looks stiff, frozen midbite. Maybe I should elaborate.
“It’s a long story, but basically the only thing Georgia left me when she passed was a box full of her old notebooks. I’ve been trying to read through them while I’m here. Just a way to connect with her. We weren’t super close, I don’t know if you knew that beyond the obvious. I’m rambling, but basically the notebook I read today was the one where my mom confesses she’s going to stop seeking treatment for cancer. A cancer I didn’t even know she had. I didn’t find out she was sick until a week before she passed, when she went into hospice. So I went to see your mom because Georgia mentioned her by name in her entry. She said Sandy took her to her doctor’s office.” I look up to see he’s relaxed some, but is very concerned. “I just wanted to talk to your mom and thank her, mostly. But I ended up ugly crying in the cafe trying to explain why I needed to buy a coffee mug. By the way, I broke one of yours on the deck this morning. I was reading out there, and I just dropped the coffee cup, and it shattered. Sorry about that.” I finish and he’s already grabbing my hands in his.
“I don’t give a fuck about a coffee cup. Are you okay? I had no idea about any ofthis, the box, the notebooks. I didn’t know thatyou didn’t knowshe was sick. I just thought your relationship was strained. Baby, are you okay?” I forget how nice it is to have someone care about your emotional well-being.
“Yeah, I’m definitely better now. Your mom took me to her house for a mid-morning tequila, which turned into lunch with Carly, and um, I’m good now. Well, I mean, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not being there for Georgia when she was sick. I feel bad enough for leaving her alone for so many years. I’ll have to add this new revelation to the ‘crap I need to work through’ list.” I’ve got tears in my eyes now.Great.
“I promise I won’t cry on every date.” I laugh as I wipe away a stray tear. He moves in and wipes away a tear on the other cheek.
“Bambi, your tears are my weakness. I’d do anything to take them away.” I give him a half smile, not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.
His phone starts vibrating on the kitchen counter, but he ignores it. It’s still going, but he’s still looking at me, looking like he’s dying a small death right now. Like he’s in pain.
“Please, go get your phone. I’m fine. Promise.” I urge him to go with my knee.
“Are you sure? I blocked out my schedule. They’re only calling if it’s really important.”
“Absolutely, go,” I tell him again, and this time he listens, walking over to the counter. He grabs the phone and walks to the hallway that leads to the pantry and mudroom. I can’t really hear what he’s talking about, but it sounds intense. When he walks back into the kitchen he’s no longer on the call, but his expression is stoic, like someone just died.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, but clearly it’s not.
He lets out a long breath and says, “I need to go check something, but I’ll be right back, okay?” I don’t really have any other option, so I just return with my best version of a reassuring, “okay,” punctuating it with a half smile so he doesn’t feel bad. Work is and clearly has been his life for a long time. I would never expect him to just stop that because of me. I hope that’s not something he’s worried about.
I’m basically just picking at the food on my plate, taking random sips of wine, alone, in his massive kitchen when he finally returns bearing a grim look on his face.
“When you came home from my mom’s today, did you notice anythingoffin the apartment?” That’s a random question.
“Um, no. I don’t think so? Why?”
“I’m so sorry to do this, Britain, but I need you to go make sure nothing is missing or stolen.” He looks ashamed when he says this, and I can’t figure it out.
