Mila Ali

Gstaad, Switzerland

Two Months Before

 

 

“Blake, baby.” Mila’s throat was constricted with a pain so strong it almost hurt to breathe. “Are you proposing to me again?”

He'd done it a thousand times. Each instant even more breathtakingly romantic than the last. Sometimes there were people around, but he didn't care. He didn't get embarrassed when she wasn't ready. The trepidation of holding the fiancée title again caused her heart to beat erratically.

Each time Blake asked, the “yes” lodged in her throat. The funeral of her ex-fiancé, Warren, kept roaming through her mind. The truth was marrying Blake was all that she dreamed about. It was just getting there that scared the crap out of Mila. She hadn’t had the best track record.

Tonight, they were alone in a mansion of a cabin. The vast fireplace made soft, glowing shadows on Blake’s tan muscles. Looking at the beautiful man had Mila mesmerized, even after three years together, which might as well have been thirty-five, with how hard they loved each other. Though knowing his sexy body was still hers made declining his proposal less harsh, her damn heart didn't ache any less for denying him.

She sat on the edge of the bed. The sliding glass doors were open wide, and a sweet pine breeze drifted through the cabin. Sparkling snow came down, blanketing the ground outside.

“Nah, I'm not proposing to you,” Blake said. He was on his knees; his thick waist leaning between her legs. Though lower than her, he met her eye to eye. He was just that tall. Something about his smile made her entire body cream for him. His dirty blond hair was tousled perfectly, and that cologne of his was a mixture of tantalizing and a masculine scent that always drove her crazy. In a lazy voice, he added, “But by the end of the night you'll propose to me.”

With a smile, Mila waved him off. Her brown hair, bluntly cut, framed her beautiful face and highlighted her flawless skin. “Yeah right, besides you are in trouble. If you think some sexy voice is going to compel me tonight, you have another thing coming.”

He began to chuckle. Knowing exactly the image in his mind, Mila swatted at his arms. Realizing it was going to hurt her more than it hurt him to slap his buff arm, she stopped.

“You claimed your fears today, Mila. You jumped.”

They'd just gotten back from the bunny slopes, and they’d ventured up to the mountain with the lowest elevation. There'd been little kids, all confident, staring at her like she was a punk when she took forever to jump from the chairlift.

“Yes, I jumped, and I sprained my ankle.” Mila shook her head at herself. “I let some pimple-faced, snot-nosed brats get the best of me. I can still hear them chanting for me to jump. I know some of them were laughing at me.”

“You've always commented on how good it makes you feel when children laugh.” Blake acknowledged. “Now back to this proposal.”

“Blake . . .” To declare her love was on the tip of her tongue. Wasn’t love enough? After all, she’d gone through hell. Warren had died before his time. Telling the hundreds of guests to forgo the pending wedding for her fiancé’s funeral instead still felt like yesterday. She followed the funeral with copious amounts of wine. Then there was Warren’s angry, vindictive mother who mourned her son while throwing sticks at Mila. Yeah, it was a nightmare.

Not to mention that prior to that ordeal, a native Somalian, Mila Ali, had broken an engagement with an influential man in Ethiopia before venturing to the states for college. That broken engagement caused years of estrangement between herself and her father.

Just having a man who loved her was all the happily ever after she desired. Before another image of Warren’s coffin permeated her mind, her man had pressed his big, heavy hands at her thighs. He gripped softly at them, not pawing in his usual barbaric manner.

“My ankle.”

“By the time I'm done with you, Mila, the only pain you'll be feeling is here.” His palm cupped the warm mound of her pussy. Damn, she needed him—stiff and hard—her breathing became labored at that thought.

“We both know exactly whom you belong to,” he said. His was voice thicker than before as if he could perceive the flow of wetness gushing toward her hot core.

“You. You, Blake, you. I belong to you.”

“That’s fucking correct, baby.”

Blake allowed his palm to continue massaging over her core. His thumb flicked beneath the silk shield of her panties. Mila’s body shuddered the instant the rough padding of Blake’s thumb caressed her clit. The momentary worry that she had clung to dissolved, and a humming sound erupted from deep down in her throat. Way deep down, where the head of his cock always felt as if it were going to bruise her tonsils so lusciously. 

“I want to own you, for you to always belong to me.” Though Blake was his usual overly confident, assertive self, there was something in his voice that made Mila pause.

She sighed. “I swear. I'm giving you all of me. Always have, always will.”

Since they had met, they didn’t even have to touch. A magnetic force field brought them together from across the room. As time passed, the whirlwind had only picked up speed.

God, why didn't he just believe her? They didn't need a ring . . . no vows . . . Hell, the way that I attempted to climb Annapurna, just because I couldn’t wait to declare that I loved him . . . shouldn’t that alone be enough?

Mila tried to clear her mind as he cupped her pussy in his hand. “Blake, baby, talk to me . . .”

His only response was to love her treasure more. Her hips arched, taking what he offered—three thick fingers that only made her more ravenous.

“Fuck me, baby. Fuck me,” Mila begged. It seemed like she spent half her time begging for his cock.

Still, there was no listening on his part. Blake reached forward and kissed her pleads from her mouth. His tongue glided around hers. It sent her mind spiraling into delirium. He had to coax her hips in order to slide her panties down.

“I’m gonna fuck you, but first, you get a taste,” he said, tossing the silk material over his shoulder. Mila assumed that he meant for her to drop to her knees before him, but Blake made no move to get onto the bed. He continued to taunt her pussy with the ever so soft stroke of his fingers, and the strum of his thumb against her clit.

She didn’t realize her hands were clutching against the Egyptian cotton linen until Blake took her right hand in his left one and glided it toward where his other hand was. His fingers stroked the sweet hollow of her while his thumb massaged her perineum. He was pulling out all the stops.

They’d become so attuned to each other that he didn’t even have to say the words. An intense ache sent goosebumps over her chocolate brown skin as Blake’s fingers finally left her hiding place. With his other hand still engulfing the top of her own, he guided her toward her wet and pulsating entrance. His left hand went to her lips. She had never tasted herself.

“Close your eyes,” Blake commanded. He pushed himself closer between her thighs to have a hundred percent access to her beautiful body. As soon as her slender, silky fingers caressed the lips of her pussy, Mila let out an intense moan. She didn’t have a moment to take in the crescendo of heightened sensation since Blake was leading her fingers into her body.

“Now, this pretty pussy is the sweetest taste I’ve ever known,” Blake murmured against her earlobe. His sexy lips were lined by a neatly-cut goatee. He was the epitome of masculine beauty. His voice was a mixture of pure testosterone, heavy and baritone. “Now, love yourself.”

His hand left hers. Mila continued to love her body slowly. He sunk back, his buttocks resting on the back of his heels, and Mila took in his glorious naked body, ripped with muscle after muscle. Dark blond lashes shaded emerald eyes that did not leave her moist flower.

Mila knew he was speaking to her. Those thick, ever pleasing lips were moving, but she continued to toy with her own pussy.

Again, he spoke. “How does my pussy feel?”

Breaths coming in gasps, Mila had no words. Damn, dick must love my body. It was soft, a most luscious feeling. As Mila worked the words around in her mind to utter a sentence, Blake’s hand gripped her wrist, and her fingers were quickly removed.

An instant later, pain slammed through her nether regions. A pain accompanied by a firework of pleasure she had no idea existed. Blake had swatted at the lips of her womanhood. Harshly. It made her body quiver.

“Fu-fuck me, Blake!” Mila gasped. Had she said those exact words? Had she strung them together correctly, coherently? She almost begged him to slap her pussy once more, but once again, Blake’s large hand enveloped her own, guiding her fingers back into her core.

“Feet on the bed,” he ordered.

Her deer-caught-in-the-headlights look compelled Blake to grab her ankles and place them on the bed. Now, her thighs were pressed against her breast, and she was damn near squatting at the edge of the bed. Blake placed himself before her. Mila’s opposite hand rested against the broad plane of his shoulder, steadying herself. He reached over, though his demeanor had darkened sinfully, and thoughtfully grabbed a few blankets, wedging them at her lower back. This gave new meaning to legs wide, pussy on deck, a request Blake often had.

“Keep fucking your pussy, Mila.” His words lashed out, hot and vulgar, yet she delighted in every syllable. “Good. Beautiful.”

A gulp of her own saliva slithered down her throat.

“Now, who owns your pussy?”

“You do.”

His jaw clenched. Again, he grabbed her hand, leaving her pussy with no love. The subsequent pop against the meat of her second lips had her shoulders shaking, and her lips quivering in delight. He slapped her once more, this time with a bit more force, and she clung to him, whimpering. She needed his cock to fill the void between her thighs.

“Now, love yourself once more, beautiful.”

She did, gladly. This time, her fingertips glided inside so easily. Her pussy was beginning to rain down hard. She caught a good friction, imagining his dick once more.

“If I say, ‘who owns your pussy?’ you begin with, ‘Blake owns my pussy.’ Got that?”

“Blake owns my pussy.” In her desire to please him, she added, “Blake owns me.”

For the third time, his fingers clamped around her wrist. When her hand went toward his face, Mila’s heart skipped a beat. She wouldn’t admit to the pleasures in pain or being slapped—hell, it went against how adamant she had been on their first encounter—but oh, she wanted him to slap her pussy. Then slam his cock right inside to smooth out the pain. Instead, he kissed the inside of her wrist where her pulse was vulnerable yet heightened. He took each of her fingers and placed them on his lips.

He kissed the tips of each finger. His thick mouth becoming more glossed by the second. Blake clamped a hand at the back of her neck, brought her mouth to his, and feasted on her lips. He leaned further against the bed, bringing himself closer. Blake growled into her moans. Before Mila could beg, Blake’s cock slid into the ocean he had created.

She expected a good fucking—ass smacking that matched the beastly thrusts of his cock—but what she got was even better. She received love. With every stroke of his cock along her soaking wet walls, Blake looked into her eyes. His mouth met hers. He kissed and loved her, moving with her as her head lay back on the pillow. Mila hadn’t known what total bliss meant.

Each and every time, Blake Baldwin reinvented sex.

He made barbaric fucking feel so good that it made her lungs grow raw.

But now, this man that she loved with all her heart made her want to agree to marriage. Mila wanted to kneel before him and offer to propose to him as Blake’s cock slid in and out of her valley.

“I love you, Blake,” she panted as his hand cupped her breast and stroked her nipple.

His smile almost made her want to die in his arms as he continued to love on her. Their tongues collided, and she wanted to tell him that they could do it. Just do it, already. Get married.

“Blake,” Mila began. Blake kissed her mouth. His cock sliding ever so slowly into her body.

He whispered his love against her lips.

“This is perfect.” She caught his gaze again, as he glided in, out, in. “This . . . what we have,” she found herself saying, “is everything.”

His beautiful emerald orbs hardened.

Mila closed her eyes momentarily. Damn, he knows I don’t want to get married. I just chickened out!

Before she could speak up, Blake placed her legs over his shoulders. His hand slammed down onto the headboard, and his cock became a piston. The quick force of him thrusting in and out sent Mila’s brain to another level. She screamed and panted and thanked him.

“I love—”

His hand gripped her thigh. In a second, Mila was face down with her ass in the air.

“I love you too, Mila,” he growled, as his cock once again entered her. Blake slammed in and out of her until her voice was all but gone. When he came, his entire body stiffened above hers. Hot torrents of cum squirted deep into her valley. She loved it.

***

Later that night, Mila’s body molded against Blake’s rock-hard frame. Darkness surrounded them. As the strength of his arms encircled her, that smile from multiple-satisfying orgasms wavered. One day he’d stop proposing to her. He won’t keep at it forever, will he?

Even Yasmin, her oldest sister, had broken down and told Mila that she needed counseling. It wasn’t that she had a fear of Blake cheating or growing listless with her. Her fear resided in the engagement. To be a fiancée for the third time? It was the in-between that scared the wits out of her and kept her from those two choice words. She wouldn’t mind waking up married to him already, not at all. But the dreaded engagement . . .