Heavy Love(43)

I look at the smile on Victor's face, and wonder if he even understands  what I am talking about. His car, his clothes, his choice of hotel stay  while here makes me even wonder why I'm divulging such a ridiculous  story. But just having him listen makes me feel my mother's presence, so  I continue. "That's as brainiac as my mom would become. We would tally  up the different items that we bought. Whoever got the most bang for her  buck didn't have to cook dinner."

"Who won?" he asks, kissing my forehead.

"Dang, you're really going to ask that." I smile at Victor. "Mostly my  mom, Gina. If I hadn't lost so much, I wouldn't have ever known how to  bake a cake and a box cake."

He laughs with me at that.

"Lux, when was the last time you went coupon shopping?"

I shift around, leaning against him. "My mother, Gina has been gone for a little over a year, so just over a year then."

Next thing I know, we're downloading coupon apps on our phones and doing  our own challenge. Then we decide to go shopping. I will look him up  and down. "And loser does what?" I ask.

Vic busts up laughing. "Am I to assume that you don't think I can cook?"

"Isn't that what Alfred is for?" I joke.

"Who?"

"Batman's homeboy," I reply in my old BAPs – the movie – voice and then I say, "Oh, never mind, is that a British thing?"

"I didn't have much of a childhood," his smile wavers. Before I can ask  Victor about that, he says, "I'm always up for a challenge. But this  time it will be for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

My eyebrow arches.         

     



 

"It's Saturday. You're staying with me all weekend," he makes this  statement like a fact. I'm thrilled because Victor wants to be with me  longer. I want to accompany him for a lifetime.

I reply with a grin, "Okay, buddy you are on!"



Victor is a sore loser at the coupon bet. I even offer to help him cook  dinner. Don't ask where my brain is. It's easy to say that I must have  gotten Gina's brains instead of my dad's, but she would've been ashamed  at how the weekend went. We end up cooking together. Sex and food are  our only companions. Victor proves to be worthy of 5-star chef quality  with Italian and English food. While he grubs on my Mexican food and  southern cuisine that Mom taught me to cook. Then he grubs on the sweet  nectar in between my thighs as my bare-ass rests on the cold marble  countertop in the Bulgari suite.

We stay in this state for 72 hours. Each time, he fucks me as if it  would be my last. I lose more of myself to him. So good, so wanton, so  hard. Victor commands my body. He drains me of everything, and then  drains me some more. He feeds me. He kisses me all over and fucks me  until I quiver, shake, and give in. Victor cuddles me in the morning  light and starts all over again. So while in a haze of oxytocin,  adrenaline, and pheromones, I fall in love. There is no trepidation or  uncertainty about future rejection because I am just that stupid. Victor  has the type of love that makes me dumb.

All the while, at the base of my brain, this mystery and tension adds a tiny dose of fear.





Victor

When I was 9 Burt began the bandages. It was after the first of many  psychotic hunting trips with my father. As the Rolls Royce pulled up,  with only a driver and father's butler accompanied the father-son trips  we had. But I couldn't wait to get back to Burt. I stay with the  knowledge that as soon as these trips would end, Father would go away  again. Father would visit Her Majesty, The Queen – his mother –  and perform  the other stupid duties that Duke's handle.

Burt opened the back door, and waited for me to get out. Soon as I did,  his eyes turned a metallic gray. He looked at me and then at my father.  Then back again.

I had grown accustom to the pain of being punched or kicked by Father  when my target wasn't precise. But Burt's expression told me that my  face looked like shit. Without words, Burt glared Father dead in the  eye.

"Should you be dismissed of duties?" Father challenged, stepping out of  the other side of the luxury vehicle with a glass of brandy in hand.

"No, Father. Burt, help me grab my luggage," I quickly cut in as Burt  was seething. Though my left eye was sealed shut from a shiner, Father  gave me after missing the last kill; I have to save my butler.

"Help grab your luggage?" Father's voice boomed. "Is this why you're such a ninny? The help has given you assignments to do?"





Father didn't come around much. Rumor has it that he was sleeping with a  few of the Queen's allies from England to France to Scotland, and had  almost gotten himself tied to a Princess in Somalia. Being Duchess is  what saved my mother, even though she was not royalty before Father.  Lady Mary became overseer of the duchy while Father went to play. She  took over all duties and only had Father around when need be.

So luckily, it was just Burt and I until my little brother was old enough to tag along.

As I think about Luxury and her mother's relationship, I can't help but  admire her. To have been so close to a parent; how valuable is that?  While Lux and her mother did coupon shopping and baked cookies, I  learned to be a better hunter – whenever father came around. I've grown  and transformed into the man I am today, with Burt's caring and Father's  cunning.

It's a dreary October. The sky threatens of rain, but the lush green  rolling lawns to the left go as far as the eye can see. Sidney Golf  Course is sparse of players on such a crisp day and the tennis courts  around us aren't even half as active. All the blue bloods of New York  are huddled inside of the vast palace like Sidney building, or having a  drink and a cigar on the veranda.

"Look at you, Duke of Arlington, if Mother could see you now." Graham  gives me a brotherly hug and a smile on his baby face. I snatch the tags  off of his new tennis uniform. At 24, my kid brother thinks the world  of himself. He wears designer shirts with logos, just to remind him of  his name.

"Well, if Mother saw you here, she would be appalled all the same,  Graham." I take a deep breath. Prince Graham has no royal tasks to  consider. With the Queen's many children and grandchildren, we're at the  bottom of the totem pole when it comes to succession to the throne.  Yet, as the second son, Graham is free to roam the world and do as he  pleases. It wouldn't kill him to accompany mother to a few royal  remembrances and processions, but he doesn't. So I ask, "How long have  you been in the States?"         

     



 

Graham laughs at me as we unzip our tennis equipment at the Sidney  Members only club – this might be the only part of our visitation that  Mother would approve of.

"I have a few homes here, Vic. One in Martha's Vineyard, another in Beverly Hills and one in Vegas – "

"No, Graham, you do not own any assets in Vegas," Graham's butler replies, standing like a penguin statue on the sidelines.

"I stand corrected," Graham nods. "Almost bought this 50,000 square  mansion in Vegas. Oh, now I remember, I had this blond totty to the left  and a redheaded totty to the right after getting out of my Bugatti.  Breast the size of melons, they thought it would make a good deal," he  shrugs.

I opt not to shake my head at my little brother's financial clutch.  Having money puts him in this roll of having to impress women. My  investment team has grown about 300 years of D' Ross' funds while Graham  could blow it all in one day – in addition to forgetting how.

We get started on a game and the flashy chap bro can't even keep up.  He's lean looking, and at 6'2, just slightly taller than I. He's neither  fat nor skinny, only medium build and enough skin not to be called pale  white flubber boy. Graham was a late bloomer if you could call him  that, sounding like a bitch until he was way past his teens, balls  having dropped at the old age of 17. He had been fat, with titties, and  now he just gets by as a beta male with vicious ambitions of being an  alpha male, thus the cheating and tossing money around all the time.

Hell, I got more of a sweat teaching Lux about different sex positions.  Her sexy body is still on my mind, as I whack the tennis ball with all  of my might. Swoosh it goes. Instead of hitting it back, Graham ducks  down.

I grimace, because I usually take it easy on him.

"Fuck, Vic!" Graham grumbles. He wipes the sweat from his brow, and slowly gets up.

"Get the fucking ball, Graham," I order. "Run wanker run," I mumble as  he goes jogging down the lush green landscape to apprehend the flyaway  ball.

"You arse!" My kid brother shouts, and then starts back in a huff,  complaining about how this was too much on his back. Once Graham was  born when I was 11, Mother finally set her sights on preparing me for  the royal assignment, realizing that Father wouldn't. So I worked hard,  got a couple black eyes Graham was old enough to catch Father's  attention. My sacrifice was all for the sake of keeping my little  brother safe. Now he's sheltered, knows nothing about organization or  health as he walks over. Instead of getting into stance to continue  playing, he comes around the net.