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“A what?” Nikki cuts in, looking at Nat like she’s just blasphemed.
“A smooth—”
“Oh, hell no.” Nikki shakes her head. “I heard you. I was wondering if you heard yourself. And how were you planning on achieving this smooth look?” The challenge drops heavily between them. I’ve never seen Nikki with anything other than curly hair. I love her curls and would never ask her to change them. I also know better than to tell a woman what to do with her hair.
“A blow-dry and silk press today, then maybe go over to the salon and get you a much-needed relaxer.” Patting her own silk tresses, Nat nodded for emphasis. “We all want what best for the campaign, right? Focus groups have said they like me with a smooth look in comparison to celebrities with natural hair.”
“Oh, okay.” Nikki shrugs.
“Okay?” I look at her in surprise.
“Yeah, okay. It’s okay for her to be governed by what other people think. I, for one, couldn’t care less. I’m not ruining my hair for a campaign, Mathias. And if you think I will, you are sorely mistaken.”
Pride suffuses me watching her stand up for herself. Natalie would always fret over the public’s opinion. Nikki’s reaction is refreshing to say the least. She’s always felt like an outsider. That’s why I wanted to be her soft place.Only for her to betray youwhispers like a cursed litany in my mind.
“I couldn’t care less.” I eye her, letting my look convey the deeper meaning to her alone.
Pressing her lips tight, she turns to Natalie. “You heard him. He doesn’t care. So what clothes did you bring?
An hour later frustration licks at me. I’ve sat through the hell of Nikki’s fitting, abandoned hair styling, and barely tolerated makeup application.
“Are you going to order the casket?” she asks snidely when she emerges in a polka-dot tea dress with some type of sweater around her shoulders.
“What are you’re wearing?” I ask, rubbing my forehead. Is it possible each outfit is getting worse?
“It’s a cowl neck. They haven’t been in style since the early two-thousands. I think your girlfriend got these clothes out her grand-mammy’s closet. I think I smell mothballs or maybe just balls.” She twirls for emphasis.
“It’s coming back in style.” Natalie seethes from across the room along with the two assistants she brought.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Nikki quips with saccharine sweetness. “I, however, shall not be wearing this or any of the other monstrosities you brought. I am twenty-three, not seventy, and although you may be able to look good in these getups, they make me look dowdy.” She whips the dress off right in front of us all.
“Now, I can breathe.” She sighs dramatically. Everyone in the room is stunned for entirely different reasons. Natalie and her crew because of the impropriety of Nikki’s actions and me for the raging hard-on I have from the wife I never wanted standing before me in nothing but her bra and panties.
“By the way”—she hooks a hand behind her, unsnapping the bra—“you can keep these old-lady bras.” She drops it in on top of the dress, then shimmies out of the panties, “And these granny panties you call foundation garments.”
Surging to my feet, I scoop her up in my arms before rushing for the bedroom. “That’s all for today, ladies. Thanks for your time.”
ChapterTen
Nikki
“What the hell is your problem?”Thi—no, Mathias—yells at me, looking like he’s about to explode, tossing me on the bed.
“What the hell is your problem? You know I’m not wearing that stuff. If you care how I reflect on you, then having me look like an old church lady who’s fallen on hard times, ain’t it.” I move into a sitting position, my legs folded in front of me, until I realize he can see all of me. I pull a pillow on my lap to hide behind.
“It’s a little too late for that.” His mouth pulls down in disapproval. “As for how you reflect on me, I’m sure your little stunt will be all over the blogs in about fifteen minutes unless Nat had the forethought to get a nondisclosure agreement from her assistants.”
“I’m sure she did. She’s very efficient,” I assure him calmly. “I see the Nat of yesterday who was all rah-rah for this marriage has been replaced by the petty bitch of today. You know she did that on purpose,” I tell him. Sure, she knew about our friendship, but the moment she realized she was usurped by me, the orphaned waif, she decided to get petty. I’ll be damned if I let her play games with me.
“She actually dresses conservative like that,” he says, his visage still dark, still forbidding, still hot.
Walking over to the side of the bed he tossed me to, he snatches the pillow, then tosses it on the other side of the bed.
Pushing me back, he leans over me, pressing my body into the soft down of the bed. “Throwing a tantrum of any kind, for any reason, is not acceptable behavior.” As he positions himself between my legs, I feel his hardness grinding against me. His big body has me spread open for him. My thighs are spread so wide, I can’t move them. He’s heavy. I’m trapped beneath him.
His dick is throbbing against me, pressed against my opening. My wetness makes me feel more and more of him through his pants I’m drenching.
“Stripping like a hoyden getting ready to go skinny dipping with your carnival friends is also forbidden,” he growls. I gasp when my pebble-hard nipples brush the cool cotton of his shirt.
