“Well, let’s hope she comes to her senses, because her immaturity has me wondering if she’s ready to have this responsibility on her shoulders.”
Nodding, I can’t stop the heavy sigh that falls from my mouth, over the line to my dad.
“Yes, Father. I have to go. We’ve reached the house, I’ll see you later.”
“Yes.” He never says goodbye, merely huffs and hangs up on me.
Baines pulls up to the high wrought iron gates and as they slide open gracefully, he heads up the driveway that will take us to the three-story mansion. It’s a masterpiece of architecture and sometimes I still look at it in awe. It’s ridiculously large and since I don’t live here anymore, I hardly see it. When I turned twenty, I moved out and got my own apartment in the city, partly to get away from prying eyes, but also, I needed to have a space that was my own. Something I worked for and not something my parents gave me.
Climbing out of the car, I button my suit jacket and head toward the main door. Before I can knock, it slides open with ease and grace and I come face-to-face with my mother.
“Carter, come in. It’s good to see you, darling.”
“Mom. How are you?” I step inside the enormous foyer, then lean in and give my mother a kiss on the cheek. I get along better with her than I do with my father. As much as I love them both, she’s always been more like me in most respects. Also, I look just like her with the Italian heritage strong in my blood, which has gifted me dark hair and my blue eyes.
“Are you staying for lunch?” She smiles with a hopeful expression on her perfect, unwrinkled face. She’s in her mid-fifties, but you wouldn’t say she is, not looking a day older than forty.
“No, I need to collect Dad’s paperwork and then I’m meeting him at Marcus’ in Knightsbridge,” I inform her, but I have a feeling she already knew that.
She walks along with me down the long hallway to the office and I know she’s going to be fishing for information about a girl, so I wait for it.
“I hear Kat didn’t make the flight?” Her question has my mind wandering back to the airport and the beautiful woman who captured my attention. It’s as if she’s ensnared me in a net. I know Bennett will get me her name and all the contact information I ask for.
Perhaps if he sees her, he’d be up for a session with us both indulging in her delicious curves.
“No, she didn’t even bother to message me. It’s ridiculous that I had to stand there for two hours.” I stroll into the study that my father converted into an office. It’s dark and dreary, like you’d imagine an old aristocrat’s office to be, with a heavy cherry wood desk and bookshelves along two walls filled with old hardcover copies of classics and encyclopedias, even atlases from every continent. Most are first editions and are worth more than a night in one of our five-star hotels.
“Did you take out that lovely girl we met at the polo match last week? She’s a friend—” And there it is. Subtlety is not my mother’s strong suit and when she starts with this, it doesn’t stop until I’m walking out the door again.
“Mom, I know you mean well, but I’m not taking out any of your friends’ daughters. Didn’t we have this conversation? I want a woman who isn’t privileged, someone who doesn’t think the world revolves around her.”
She steps forward and her hand on my arm stops me from rifling through my father’s cabinet. When I turn to her, I find those familiar blue eyes on me.
We’re so alike, whereas my sister is the spitting image of my father. My mother moved to London when she was a student, a young Italian girl attending Cambridge.
When she met my father, they didn’t fall in love and live happily ever after. Their story is not your average romance. My grandfather, my mother’s father, is a strict Catholic, and my father’s family is Anglican. I don’t really understand it, since I didn’t grow up going to church, but apparently when my parents were younger it was important to marry someone of the same beliefs. It took my grandparents years to accept the relationship.
My mother has always been headstrong, stubborn, and adamant in what she wants. The saying goes that a boy’s mother is the epitome of the woman he will seek once he’s ready to marry. And that’s true. Most of the girls my mother tries to set me up with are too pristine and entitled.
I don’t want that.
I want someone who’s going to challenge me and make me crawl on my knees to get into her pretty lace knickers, but once I’m there, she’ll need to relinquish them to me because I’ll own her. She’ll allow me to take her where I want, when I want. Most women who are part of my family’s social circle are dolls. They don’t like their hair being messed, and they certainly don’t enjoy me telling them what to do. And let’s not talk about blindfolds, cuffs, or any sort of toys.
I want someone who likes it the way I do—rough, hard, and dirty. Who’s going to take everything I give her and give back in return. And who, indeed, wouldn’t mind a threesome with my best friend. Bennett and I have shared many women in our past. It’s what we’ve always enjoyed. Most women are there for the experience and bragging rights to say they’ve had a threesome.
It’s different for us, because I know deep down, if we found the right woman, Bennett and I would both claim and keep her as ours.
“I know, Carter, but I worry about you, darling. You’re thirty-five and you’re still single.”
It’s always the same conversation, every time I visit. My mother can’t understand why I’m still alone, but what she doesn’t realize is, I choose to be alone and would rather focus on work.
The princesses I’ve been around all my life are hard work, which I don’t need to deal with. They’re clingy and needy, and the only time I want a woman needy is when my fingers are in her hot, wet p*ssy.
I prefer a strong woman who can hold her own. Who can take me as I am and not give in when they find out what an arsehole I am. Yes, I’m an arsehole, but not the pompous kind. I’m the kind that will rip your fu*king knickers off and ram myself so deep inside you that you’d feel me for days, or weeks after and I’ll do it wherever the fu*k I please.
“Mother, I met someone, so if you stop pressuring me maybe I can focus on her.” The lie slips from me so easily. Too easily. I grab the files from the drawer and turn to find my shocked mother staring at me like I’d just told her she’s going to be a grandmother.
“You didn’t tell me, Carter? How can you not tell your mother? This is news and I’m so happy. My boy makes me so happy.” She grabs my face in her hands and plants a kiss on each cheek. At least she’s happy. Now all I need to do is find the girl from the airport and make her mine.
I know where she lives. At least, I think she lives there. And tonight, I’ll know for sure.
Ella