Belle Pearl (3 page)

She was moaning, pleasuring herself, turned on by my outburst. For some reason, she liked it when I showed jealousy. Her iPad was all skewwhiff, balanced precariously amongst a pile of scented soaps and fluffed-up towels—maybe it would end up tumbling into the bath again. It had happened before.

“Tell me about my cock in your mouth,” I growled. “About how you can’t live without it, that you can’t live without me fucking you, fucking your hot, tight, juicy cun—” I stopped myself “—pearlette—”

“It’s so sexy, so virile, so huge, and even after that big bad boy has spurted into my mouth, he’s ready for round two.”

“Round three, round four,” I moaned. The truth was that I could have fucked Pearl all day, every day, but I knew neither she, nor any normal woman, could have taken that much of me. I looked down at my cock. It was still swollen as fuck. “When I get back tomorrow, Pearl, I’m going to lick that clit, tunnel my tongue deep inside you, reach your G-spot with my tongue, turn you over and fuck you so hard…”

I tightened my grip, racing my hand up and down my erection until the heat rose within me, my orgasm catching up with visions of Pearl’s tight pussy, hugging and climaxing all around my cock, me fucking her hard from behind and coming, fucking her mouth and coming, and in my deep, dark, secret fantasy—shamefully buried and snuffed out from my conscious mind—easing my cock very, very slowly into the forbidden part of her where I would never venture. Off limits. Not allowed, even though she’d suggested it several times.

Somewhere I dared not go because of what had happened to me. The shame. The fear. The humiliation. I had the scar to prove it really did take place that wintery morning at dawn; right there in the crack of my ass.

He was a monster, no doubt.

My mother had done the right thing.

By the time I was on my way back home to New York, very early the next morning, my dick had calmed down and my grin had changed from inane to sober, my jaw still aching from all the laughing, though, and my mind active on how I would need to keep this whole crazy episode quiet.

Very quiet.

The last thing I wanted was for Pearl to find out I’d been bound and drugged, especially by Laura of all people.

For one thing, it did little for my manhood. A black-belt in Taekwondo being nearly overtaken by a skinny blonde with a handful of drugs? It made me look like a real pussy.

Not to mention the fact that Pearl wouldn’t believe me for a bloody second. Even my own sister doubted me when I told her the story. There was no way Pearl would be convinced.

This winter wedding business was threatening to undo me. It was still only October. The sooner Pearl and I were married, the sooner all this backlog of ex-nutters would be off my case, out of my life and leave me in peace.

Surely they wouldn’t hound a married man?

Little did I know, at that point, that Laura’s shenanigans were just the beginning.

I found Pearl in bed. I slipped in beside her and needed, oh yes, I really
needed
to be inside her. Her velvet cave was becoming my security. My home. It was where I belonged and where I constantly wanted to be. I felt secure there.

I didn’t fuck her hard, and ravage her as I’d threatened to in our Skype call. No. I held her close, kissing her toothpaste-fresh mouth, my tongue exploring hers with tiny, fluttery movements so I could feel every nuance, every miniscule touch. I entered her wetness, stretching her open, my hands clasped greedily beneath her round ass, bringing her closer with every thrust as she moaned under me.

“Please don’t stop, Alexandre,” she told me, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I’ll never stop fucking you, baby,” I groaned into her mouth. “Never.”

She’d got the hang of it, all right. These days, orgasms were coming out of her like a string of pearls. I could feel her now, massaging her clit against the root of my thick dick in a rhythmical rocking movement. I sensed the heat build inside her, her pussy clamping around me, owning me. I couldn’t get enough of her. Each time she came, it was more intense, deeper—even more carnal than the time before.

The pair of us were insatiable.

Pearl was truly addicted to me. Couldn’t get enough of me. Or my cock.

Or so I thought.

A rude awakening was about to prove me dead wrong.

3

I
started noticing the change within Pearl after her first dream. She was crying out in her sleep, tossing and thrashing in the bed, the small of her back soaked with sweat.

“Get off me. You fuck!” she screamed.

I woke up with a start, thinking Rex had jumped on the bed, landing in a painful bound on her breasts (as dogs and cats tend to do), but her eyes were closed and Rex wasn’t there—he had his own bed. My hands held her wrists to try and calm her, but it made her yowl even harder and sent her into a kicking frenzy. Her swim-toned legs were strong, crashing against my calves with all her might.
Jesus, what was the nightmare that had caused this?

“Pearl, chérie, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open. She was panting; beads of sweat were gathered like raindrops on her brow, under her arms, behind her knees.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What the hell were you dreaming about?” I asked, holding her close. But she shoved me away, a sneer etched on her lips.

“I’m going to take a shower, I’m drenched.” She tried to smile at me but it was obvious I had done something terrible to her in her dream and she hated me in that instant.

“Baby?” I tried again, taking her hand. But she shooed it away, wrestling herself free from the confines of my embrace.

“Please, Alexandre. I just need a shower, I’ll be fine.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “Nothing. Really, I can’t even remember. I was being chased by a sort of scaly-fish monster or something. Just a typical bad dream, nothing more.”

Liar
.

Meanwhile, Sophie had suddenly decided that Pearl was marvelous. She was almost obsessed with her, wondering why Pearl was spurning her friendship.

“Because,” I said, “you’ve been a bitch to her in the past and she doesn’t trust you an inch.” We were sitting at a bar in a restaurant in SoHo, waiting for our table, listening to
Lady Grinning Soul
by David Bowie. It reminded me of Pearl.

“But I’m getting her a bloody Zang Toi wedding gown—it’s costing a fortune!”

“If there’s one thing you need to know about Pearl, Sophie, it’s that she doesn’t give a toss about money. She does appreciate the thought, though, but she’s suspicious of your motives, and I don’t blame her.”

“What, just because I called her a cougar?”

“You called her worse, if I remember. And when you came to dinner the other night you were being all bitchy. Pearl noticed, believe me.”

“That was not directed at Pearl but at you, dear brother…my jibe about the engagement ring. You could have had
our
diamond if you wanted it so badly, not buy that second-hand gem that belonged to some Russian royalty who fucked horses.”

I laughed. “You were guarding that silly Indian diamond like a phoenix, Sophie. And the vintage piece I bought for Pearl and had converted into that spectacular, eat-your-heart-out-Liz-Taylor ring, I would hardly describe as ‘second-hand.’ It belongs in a bloody museum.”

“Anyway, Pearl is an enigma. She makes me…I don’t know…I feel—”

I nearly spluttered my beer all over the bar. “Jesus, you don’t
fancy
her, do you? Lay off; Pearl’s
mine.”
This place made great Bloody Marys but I’d be steering clear of
those
for a while, so I’d settled for an ice-cold beer.

Sophie cackled with laughter. “No, but I do have to say I think she really is very beautiful. She has an angelic face. Really, she looks like an angel in a Botticelli painting. There’s an innocent soulfulness about her eyes. There
is
something special about her. I just wish she wanted to be my friend.”

“Give it time, Sophie. Pearl’s like a cat. You have to let her come to you; not be pushy or she’ll run away.”

“By the way, speaking of felines, Claudine called me,” Sophie told me. “She says she’s left several messages and you haven’t got back to her. She’s very upset. I mean,
really
upset. Hurt feelings. You’d better get in touch.”

Oh no.
“What does she want?”

“Well, she split with her boyfriend recently.”

“Oh God.”

“She’s doing well, though. She’s just been offered a campaign by L’Oréal. You know, the glamorous older model, the over thirty type of thing. She looks amazing for her age. She’s quite a stunner.”

“If you’re into bones that look as if they can snap in two and skin paler than alabaster, yes, she’s a beauty.”

“Anyway, you’d better call her because she’s been really bugging me about seeing you. She says she misses you and wants to hang out. She sounded very depressed, very doomsday about everything, despite her modeling success.”

I could feel my insides churn. Would there never be an end to this slew of exes battering at my door?

“I’m getting married, Sophie. I don’t want to see Claudine. Nor Indira, nor Laura. Nor any other beautiful ex that might pop out from under the fancy wood paneling.”

Sophie laughed again and said in English, “It never rains it pours. I love that expression.”

I felt my lips tighten.
Bloody Claudine. I thought I was off the hook.
“I’m in love with Pearl,” I enunciated—to myself as much as to my sister.
I won’t be roped into a guilt trip noose about my neck again. Claudine needs to sort her own fucking issues out with men. There is no way I’ll partake in any more mercy fucks for Claudine.

Sophie dabbed her lips with a hint of gloss. “Alessandra will be all over her, I just know it.”

“Who?”

“Alessandra will be all over Pearl.”

“That’s right, you met Alessandra Demarr, that time backstage after we’d been to see her in that play. I’d forgotten about that. What’s she like?”

Sophie turned her face away from me and said, “Oh look, our table’s ready. I’m starving, aren’t you?”

At the time I didn’t put two and two together.