Chapter 23: Brutal Prince: Chapter 23

The election takes place two days later.

Cal is all patched up. He needed stitches for a couple of the slashes, but now you’d hardly know he’d been in a fight. I, on the other hand, have to wear a giant cast, since apparently that idiot bouncer broke two of my fingers when he slammed the trunk on my hand. Now I’m extra glad I shot him.

It’s making it damn hard to type anything on my phone, which is annoying, because I have a very important project in the works, and I don’t want it getting all fucked up because I can’t check my email.

“I can help you with that,” Cal says, reaching out to take my phone. “You can dictate, and I’ll type.”

“No!” I say, snatching it back. “I don’t need help.”

“What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously.

“None of your business,” I tell him, tucking the phone back in my pocket.

He frowns. He’s already on edge because we’re supposed to be getting the election results any minute. I really shouldn’t bait him.

His phone rings, and he almost jumps out of his skin. He holds it to his ear, listening.

I can visibly watch as the relief pours over him. He hangs up the call, grinning.

“Congratulations!” I shout.

He picks me up and spins me around, until I lock my legs around his waist and kiss him for a very long time.

“You did it,” I say.

He sets me down again, his bright blue eyes boring into mine.

“We did it together, Aida. We really did. You got me the extra support I needed from the Italians. You helped me win over the right people. I want you to come work with me. Every day. Once you graduate, I mean.”

My heart gives a funny little flutter.

That’s crazy. A couple of weeks ago, I hardly thought Callum and I could share a room without murdering each other.

“Roommates and coworkers?” I say teasingly.

“Why not?” Callum frowns. “You’d get sick of me?”

“No. You’re not exactly the chatty type,” I laugh. “Actually, you’re pretty . . . calming to be around.”

It’s true. When Cal’s not driving me into a rage, he steadies me. I feel safe around him.

“What are we going to do about Zajac, though?” I ask him.

Dante and Nero made off with about $500K in cash from the Butcher’s casino, as well as smashing up a bunch of his machines. We haven’t heard anything since. Which seems like it must be the calm before the storm.

“Well, Nero thinks we should—”

At that moment we’re interrupted by Fergus and Imogen, who have heard the news. They burst into Cal’s office, wanting to celebrate with champagne.

I try to sidle out to leave them alone together, but Imogen puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me back in again.

“Don’t you want a drink?” she asks me. “We’re celebrating you, too, Aida. A husband’s achievement belongs to the wife, and vice versa.”

Imogen has apparently forgiven me for murdering her cabinet. In fact, she insists that we all go to dinner to celebrate, including Nessa and Riona. I notice that our reservation at Everest is already set. I have to smile at Imogen’s confidence in her son.

“I guess you want me to change, then,” I say to Callum.

He looks down at my t-shirt and shorts.

“I don’t know,” he says, giving me a little half-smile. “You look pretty cute as-is.”

I raise my eyebrows in astonishment.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

Cal shrugs.

“You look beautiful in everything. I’m not going to boss you around about it.”

I give him a little sideways smirk and whisper up to him, “But what if I kind of like it when you boss me around?”

He grabs my arm and growls into my ear.

“Then go put on that little blue sundress I bought for you and see how I reward you.”

As soon as he gets that controlling tone, the tiny hairs rise up on my arms, and I get that warm, throbbing, nervous feeling.

Part of me wants to disobey him.

The other part wants to see what will happen if I play along.

So I go into the walk-in closet, find the requested dress, and put it on. Then I brush my hair, pin it back with a clip, put on some earrings shaped like little white daisies, and slip my feet into sandals.

By the time I finish, Callum is waiting downstairs for me. I descend the staircase like a prom queen, trailing my hand along the railing and trying to look graceful.

Callum grins up at me, looking extremely handsome himself in his pale blue dress shirt and slacks. He’s shaved his face clean, making his jaw look sharper than ever. Now I can see the flawless shape of his lips, and the way they smile just a little, even when his eyes look stern.

“Where’s everybody else?” I ask him.

“I told them to go ahead in the other car. Jack’s driving us.”

He takes my hand, pulling me close.

“Nothing under that skirt, I hope,” he murmurs.

“Of course not,” I say primly.

Jack is already waiting by the town car, holding the door. He’s been marginally nicer to me since robbing the casino with my brothers and cousin. I don’t know if it’s because he likes my family or because he’s scared of them. But he hasn’t made a single rude comment since. And I haven’t had to shoot him at all.

Callum and I slide into the backseat. I can see that Cal already put the partition up. He turns on the music too, louder than usual.

“How far is the restaurant?” I ask him.

“I think I’ll have just enough time,” he says.

Not bothering with his seatbelt, he gets down in front of me and puts his head under the skirt of my sundress. I gasp and turn the music up a little more. Then I lay back against the seat.

Callum is licking my pussy with long, slow motions. His mouth feels incredibly soft with the fresh shave. His lips caress my skin, and his tongue slides between my folds, warm and wet and sensual.

I love fucking him in the car. I never knew why people had chauffeurs, and now I realize it’s one hundred percent for this reason—so you can turn a boring commute into the best part of your day. Someday, when we all have robot cars, you’ll look into the other windows and that’s what you’ll see—everybody banging.

I’m starting to get a Pavlovian response to the smell of leather conditioner. Suddenly it’s the most erotic scent in the world.

I love the feel of the seats against my bare skin, and the way the motion of the car rocks me and presses me all the tighter against Callum’s tongue. He’s so fucking good at this. He looks so cold and stiff, but actually his hands and mouth are like warm butter. He can tell exactly how hard to lick and suck, so it’s maximum stimulation without tipping over into too much.

I’m rocking my hips, riding his face, trying hard not to make any noise. I may have given up my vendetta with Jack, but that doesn’t mean I want to put on a show for him.

But it’s hard to stay quiet when Cal slips his fingers inside of me. He gently twists and slides them in motion with his tongue, finding all the most sensitive spots.

I squeeze around his fingers, my breath quickening and my skin tingling. Warmth spirals outward from my belly. My pussy is soaking wet and extra sensitive.

With his other hand, Callum reaches up and pulls down the front of my dress. Freeing one of my breasts, he caresses it with his hand, gently pinching and tugging on the nipple.

He gradually increases the pressure, until he’s roughly squeezing my tits, pinching and pulling at the nipples. For some reason, this feels fucking fantastic. Maybe it’s because I’m already so aroused, or maybe it’s just because I like when Cal is a little rough in bed. There’s so much tension between us that it gives relief to the aggression. It gives us somewhere to channel it.

I’ve never had a relationship quite like this. There were always people I hated, and people I liked, and those two categories were polar opposites. My boyfriends always fell in the “sweet and fun” category, not the “drive me fucking insane” one.

Callum is becoming a little bit of both. And somehow that makes my attraction to him ten times stronger. He captures all my emotions: resentment. Jealousy. Rebelliousness. Desire. Temper. Curiosity. Playfulness. And even respect. He bundles it all together in one package. The result is absolutely irresistible. It captivates me entirely.

Cal keeps licking my pussy, fingering me, and squeezing my tits all at the same time. Stimulating every part of me until I’m squirming and grinding against him, ready to explode.

I can feel the car turning, starting to slow.

It’s now or never.

I let go, cumming over and over again on the flat of Cal’s tongue. The rolling waves of pleasure crash over me. I have to bite my lip and squeeze my eyes tight shut to keep from screaming.

Then the car stops, and Cal sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Just in time,” he says.

I’m panting like I ran a mile.

“Your hair is crazy,” I tell him.

He smooths it back with the palm of his hand, smirking at me.

“Yes, yes, you did a great job,” I say, laughing.

“I know,” he says.

He takes my hand to help me out of the car.

We take the elevator up to the fortieth floor of the Stock Exchange Building. I haven’t actually been up here before, though I know the restaurant is supposed to be nice.

The view really is stunning. Imogen has, naturally, snagged the best table in the place. We have a panoramic view of the city laid out below, and part of the lake as well.

The others are already seated. Nessa’s wearing a flowered romper, her light-brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She’s got more freckles now that it’s getting hotter. Riona has her hair down—unusual for her. She really does have the most stunning hair I’ve ever seen. Thick, wavy, deeply hued. I think she dislikes how vivid it looks. How much attention it steals.

Tonight, however, she’s almost in as good a mood as everybody else. We’re all talking and laughing, ordering decadent things off the menu. I look around at Cal’s family and for the first time I don’t feel like a stranger. I feel comfortable at the table. Happy to be there, even.

We’re talking about the longest book we ever read.

“I read War and Peace!” I tell them. “I’m the only person that ever did, I think. I was stuck at this cabin and it was the only book on the shelf.“

“I think The Stand might be my longest,” Riona muses. “Unabridged version, obviously.”

“You read Stephen King?” I ask her in astonishment.

“I’ve read every one,” Riona says. “Up until the most recent one, because I haven’t had time—”

“She was so scared of It,” Callum interrupts. “She’s still terrified of clowns.”

“I’m not scared of them,” Riona says loftily. “I just don’t like them. There’s a difference . . .”

“Do you want more wine?” Cal asks me, holding up the bottle.

I nod, and he refills my glass.

When he sets the bottle down, he drops his hand down to my lap. He finds my hand—the one not in a cast—and intertwines his fingers with mine.

His hand is warm and strong, squeezing just the right amount. His thumb gently strokes mine, then goes still again.

Cal and I have fucked plenty of times. We kiss, too. But this is the first time we’ve ever held hands. He’s not doing it for show because we’re at an event. And he’s not grabbing me to pull me close. He’s holding my hand because he wants to.

Our relationship has proceeded in such a funny, backward way. Marriage first. Then sex. Then getting to know each other. And finally . . . whatever this is. A feeling of warmth and desire and affection and connection spreads through my chest, a feeling that burns and grows stronger by the moment, especially when I glance over at the man sitting next to me.

I can’t believe it.

I think I’m falling in love.