Page 40

Brooklyn

CHAPTER FORTY

"So you don’t know where she is?" William asks, referring to Shelley Edward, the woman I knew as Enya.

Every time I hear that name and remember who she is and what she did, I feel an almost overwhelming urge to break something. That woman tried to kill me out of jealousy because she was replaced by me. She almost left my children motherless out of sheer spite.

What kind of monster does something like that?

"No, we don’t know," Athanasios answers for me.

"No offense, Brooklyn, but your life could be the plot of an action movie," William continues.

"I’m not easily offended," I reply. "But I disagree. For me, it’s more like a horror movie."

"We’ll catch her, Brooklyn," Athanasios says.

He’s finally starting to relax after the disastrous dinner at his parents’ house. God forgive me, but I hated his mother, Medeia Pappakouris, in ways I can’t even articulate. She’s unbearable. Prejudiced, snobbish, shallow. I could go on all night describing her—unfavorably.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep my composure, but it wasn’t easy. Never in my life have I been confronted by someone I instantly disliked so much.

Of course, she has stiff competition for the top spot on my list of despised individuals because Jordan and Shelley are firmly tied for first place—and likely always will be. Still, I can’t imagine myself ever liking Athanasios’s mother, even in the distant future.

Just thinking about her expression when I said I was a hairdresser brings back the irritation.

"It’s a good thing you’re not easily offended," William says, "because otherwise, you might’ve gone for your prospective mother-in-law’s throat tonight." There’s no subtlety in his words, and I see my boyfriend’s expression darken. "What the hell was wrong with your mother, Athanasios? I know she prefers?—"

I notice an exchanged look between the two of them, and L.J. falls silent.

"She prefers what?" I ask, making it clear I caught on.

"Nothing," Athanasios’s friend replies. "I just think all mothers have this crazy idea that they know who’s perfect for their sons."

After his words, he fidgets with his collar as if it’s suddenly too tight, and I wonder if it’s not just Athanasios and me dealing with a difficult mother.

"Don’t you think it might be a good idea to tap her phone?" William asks Athanasios, nodding in my direction.

I frown. "Do you think she might call me?"

"Yes. If she used to work for the FBI, she could easily track you down."

Athanasios looks at me, silently asking for permission. Knowing his need for control, I can tell he wants to do what William suggested but is trying not to overstep my boundaries. I appreciate that about him—unlike Jordan’s way of always making decisions for me.

Having someone to share decisions with is one thing. Having someone think they can make choices on your behalf is entirely different.

"I don’t like the idea of people listening to my conversations," I say, "but I think William’s right. Until that woman is behind bars, we need to cover every base. How would you even do that? Are you going to ask the police to monitor my calls?"

This whole situation is so far removed from my world that I have no idea how such things work.

"Don’t worry. I’ll handle it," Athanasios replies enigmatically, and I don’t press him for details.

Half an hour later, William says goodbye, and the three of us stand up. L.J. waits until we’re safely in our car before retrieving his from the valet.

"Why did he do that?" I ask, puzzled.

"Because he’s excessively cautious. He wants to make sure everyone he cares about is safe."

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask any more questions. Perhaps Lazarus’s behavior stems from some secret Athanasios doesn’t feel comfortable sharing.

"I liked both of them," I say as we settle into the car. "You three somehow manage to be completely different and yet complement each other perfectly."

"We hated each other for most of medical school. It wasn’t until the final year that we became friends."

"Why?"

He looks uncomfortable before finally answering, "There was . . .an event in the past that brought us together."

I feel awkward for prying, sensing he wants to drop the subject. "I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I was just curious because you three act like brothers, even with such distinct personalities."

"We’re not that different. Our essence is the same."

"What do you mean?"

"We’re controlling, distrustful, and don’t like most people."

I sense he’s only continuing the conversation out of politeness, so I decide to steer it elsewhere. "As much as I liked them, I’d rather talk about something else."

He turns to me, noticing the shift in my tone. God, he’s learning to read me too quickly. "What do you want to talk about, then?" he asks, his sharp gaze locking onto mine.

"I was a perfect lady today," I begin. "I didn’t rise to your mother’s provocations." He starts to say something, but I press two fingers to his lips. "No. Forget about her. Focus on me. I want your full attention right now."

His gaze changes, going from icy cold to molten fire in seconds. I love knowing I can shatter his indifference.

"You should be a good boyfriend and reward me for being so well-behaved."

His hand grips the nape of my neck, pulling my hair with enough force to sting slightly—but I love the roughness. "I don’t like you well-behaved. I like the wild woman who moans for more when I fuck her."

I close my eyes, trembling with need for his touch. Athanasios knows how to press every button inside me, as if he’s an expert on my body.

"How long until we get home?" I ask.

"Twenty minutes. In a hurry?"

I nod but quickly decide I can’t wait. The streets are nearly empty, and his driver is skilled behind the wheel.

I lean forward and press the button to raise the privacy screen between us and the driver.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

I don’t give him time to argue. I undo my seat belt, then his.

There’s plenty of space in the limousine for what I have in mind.

Kneeling before him, I place a hand on each of his thick thighs, sliding them slowly upward until I reach his groin.

"Brooklyn."

"I want to taste you." I’m eager and hungry, not waiting for permission. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I undo his belt and unzip his pants just enough to free his already rigid length.

"Fuck, I can’t say no to you."

I smile. "Then don’t." I lick my lips, savoring the anticipation of having him in my mouth.

"Shit!"

I know he likes being in control, so I waste no time. I stroke him the way he’s taught me, but I want more. I slide him fully into my mouth.

His hands tangle in my hair and grip my chin, guiding my movements. I don’t mind. I have him exactly where I want him.

"You taste incredible," I say.

"Suck me while looking at me. I want those beautiful eyes locked on mine while you take me."

I’m used to his filthy talk during sex, but tonight his voice is thicker, more passionate, and I know he’s as lost in this as I am.

I savor him, devouring him for long, heated minutes. His grip on my hair tightens, and I can tell from his ragged breathing that he’s close.

Then, suddenly, he pulls me up. Before I can process what’s happening, he positions me with one leg on either side of his lap.

"I’m going to come in this pussy," he growls.

The day after we made love for the first time, I got a contraceptive injection. Today marks the deadline for it to take effect. I’m surprised he remembered.

"You remembered."

"I’m obsessed with everything about you." He pushes my panties aside and teases my wet entrance with a finger. "Soaked. My naughty girl."

Before I can take another breath, he thrusts into me, seating me fully in his lap.

"Ahhh . . .”

"You can’t tease me like that and expect me to wait. Don’t you know by now that your desire acts like dynamite in my system?"

It wasn’t teasing—it was need. But I don’t want to talk; I want him to take me. "Harder," I plead.

He lifts me by my hips, guiding me up and down his length with his powerful arms. I feel completely vulnerable yet utterly consumed by the pleasure of his possession.

"I’ve been dreaming about this all week," he says, his voice strained, "filling you up completely with my cum."

His relentless thrusts leave me breathless. He meets each descent with a sharp lift of his hips, driving even deeper inside me. The intensity builds, and I feel my climax rushing toward me like a tidal wave.

I bite down on his chest to muffle my cries, worried the driver might hear.

When he feels me clenching around him, his movements grow even more primal, his hands gripping my ass like claws.

"I’m going to fill you up," he warns. "I want my cum dripping out of you. Say it. Ask for it."

"Yes," I gasp. "Mark me. Fill me."

His lips crash into mine as he thrusts a few more times, hard and deep. When he finally comes, I feel his release flood me, and his low growl vibrates against my lips as he bites down gently to stifle the sound.

"What are you doing to me, Brooklyn?"

"I want more of everything we share, Athanasios. But I’m scared, and I won't take this path alone. If you promise to stay by my side through it all, I won’t hold back. I won’t deny you anything."