Yours Suddenly

Chapter 7

Alexandra

Today, Mama and I went shopping with her childhood friend and bodyguard, Matthew. They’re both in their mid-fifties and were former lovers, she tells me, as Matthew drives us back home. He smiles ruefully as he glances back at us in the backseat. He was also one of her late husband, James’ close friends.

“So if I ever end up remarrying,” she whispers loudly, “it'll probably be to someone James trusted.”

Matthew turns red as we ease into our driveway where over a dozen cars are parked: a Maserati, an Aston Martin, a Lamborghini, a Bugatti, a Mercedes... My eyebrows rise when I see the dark blue Rolls-Royce that is Roman's favorite. My heart quickens when I think of the times we've made love in it and how the leather of the seats had to be changed because of that.

“You look surprised,” Mama says to me.

“Yes,” I say. I whip my dark hair over my shoulder. “I haven't seen him in like a week.”

“Mmm,” Mama says. As we step out of the car with our numerous shopping bags, Matthew takes them from us, light work for his wide, six-foot-seven frame. We walk to the front door and before we reach it, Roman steps out looking breathtaking as always in a black dress shirt and grey suit pants.

My heart aches at the sight of him. Why did I have to be such a romantic?

“Afternoon, Mama,” Roman says, bending his six-foot-five frame to kiss his diminutive mother on the forehead.

She palms his cheek, a worried expression on her face. They seem to communicate with their eyes before she gives a light nod and walks past him to follow Matthew.

The two of us are left alone. I'm aware of the tension in the air as he takes me in, curiously, as if searching for any kind of harm on me. Stepping forward, I sink into his arms.

“I miss you,” I say, breathing him in.

His chin grazes the top of my head because I'm in six-inch heels. “I miss you too,” he says. “We have to discuss something.”

I look at his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he says a little distractedly as he takes me by the hand and leads me into the grand foyer. I see a familiar man who is almost as tall as Roman by the foot of the staircase, not a cousin, but an employee who runs errands.

“This is Blake,” Roman says. “He will be your new bodyguard. I’ve been spending so much time away from you so you will need someone to look after you when I’m not here.”

I look at Blake, my heart sinking because Roman just confirmed I won’t be seeing him much any time soon. Blake gives me a polite nod and I step forward to shake his hand.

“No,” Roman growls, making me jump. “No man touches you but me.”

My hand falls to my side, the possessiveness in his voice making my heart flutter.

“Blake is here to ensure no other man touches you,” Roman finishes. He takes my hand and leads me up the staircase. Blake stays in the foyer like a sentry, already performing his duty against some evil that might come through the front door and snatch me away.

“Also,” Roman drawls as we ascend the stairs, “you can't be moving around all the time.”

“Oh.”

“I would prefer you stay home.”

Confusion lights up in my brain. “What do you mean? You just want me to stay here all day?”

“Preferably.”

There's something in his voice I don't like, something almost accusatory.

“Why would you want me to not move around?” I say.

We reach the landing and walk towards our bedroom.

“Roman,” I say.

“Yes?” His low, rumbly voice nearly melts away my indignation but not quite.

Why would he think I need a bodyguard? And what was that about no other man touching me? Where did that come from?

Surely he doesn't think… I would cheat on him?

He saw me having fun the last few days without him as I hung out with Mama and Adrianne… and decided my fun had to be from another man?

We enter our bedroom and when I pass through the door, he closes it behind me and pushes me up against it gently.

Our faces are so close to each other as I gaze up at him. His good looks are so distracting, and for a moment I forget my anger.

“You smell so fucking good,” he says. He wraps his large hands around my waist and begins to knead gently. A moan builds up in my throat and he brings his face down to my neck and inhales deeply. My arm fastens around his neck as he brings his crotch against my chest and begins to grind lightly.

I missed this. I missed him touching me, acknowledging me.

Just then his phone rings, a shrill assault that destroys the spell between us. My anger returns to my body and I'm about to ask him if he thinks I would let anyone touch me but he's already on the call, brow furrowed. Without acknowledging me further, he steps out of the room, leaving me there panting and horny and confused and pissed.

If I'm not miserable over him not paying me any attention, he thinks I'm getting some action elsewhere? Throughout the day, my anger is like a simmering pot of stew and at certain times, the heat cranks up and I almost erupt all over the place.

“If looks could kill,” Adrianne remarks.

I ignore her, stealing the grape she's about to pop into her mouth and popping it into my own mouth.

“Okay, rude,” she says.

After dinner, Adrianne and I go to the home theater to watch Yours Suddenly, Sawyer which happens to be one of her favorite movies too. Two hours later, we’re crying at the sad ending where Frankie and Evelyn can’t be together after all, though my sadness is mixed with being frustrated with my husband.

“You know what?” I say. “You and I are soulmates.”

“If this is a proposal,” Adrianne says, wiping her tears, “then I say yes. Leave your husband.”

“Either way,” I say, “I'll still be Mrs. Trent.”

“Right? Who needs men?” Adrianne says.

We say goodnight to each other and as I head up to my room, high-fiving cousin Lisa’s daughter, Kaylee, as she descends to get a glass of milk from the kitchen, I think I have to do something about all this.

I'm feeling vengeful.

When I walk through the door, I'm surprised to see my husband there. He's just come back home.

He's lying on his back on the bed in nothing but white boxers, seemingly half asleep.

Oh no, he doesn't get to sleep. Not after what he said earlier.

Quietly, I get into the bathroom, a wide, pristine white-marble space where many an orgasm has been wrung from me in front of the ornate mirror, my hair being pulled back, my ass being slapped and groped, dark, low vicious growls of how good I feel being fed into my ear. The memories of those hot nights embolden me.

I take out new lingerie from my shopping earlier today. Victoria's Secret, simple yet sexy. I put the bodysuit on, removing my hair from its ponytail, spritz myself with some Chanel No. 5, and step back into the bedroom.

I get even more annoyed when I notice he's snoring, his mouth slightly open. Still doesn't take away from how fucking gorgeous he is. His tattoos snaking across his vast chest and muscular thighs, his dark hair slightly ruffled. Wetness gathers in my core as I recall his fingers roughly inside me before he brought them up to his lips to taste, and then giving me a taste of him tasting me.

Not knowing what else to do that would properly sate both my anger and hunger, I jump on him.

His eyes open slowly as if a feather dropped on his lap. No groan, no flinching, no look of alarm, just eyelids closed one second and then opened the next. He looks at my cleavage in his face, and I stare down at him. His hands wrap around my waist, and I'm about to tell him that he can't have any, I’m about to play hard to get, when he removes me gently from his lap.

“I don't need that right now,” he says impatiently.

I want to run out of the room in embarrassment.

Instead, I roll away from him and lie on the bed as he closes his eyes once more.

After a few awkward seconds of silence, I manage a snippy, “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” he says in his bored voice, even more bored than usual, and I want to cry as I switch off my lamp.