Being My Brother-in-law's Wife (Old version)

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18.

It was my turn to watch Mason sleep and I took advantage of it. We were on our second plane to Los Angeles and it took us so many ridiculous hours to get to London that I was even thinking of dragging our honeymoon for at least two more days, just to make up for the time we spent flying.

British Airways tended to our desires and even allowed us to manipulate the seat together so we could sit comfortably next to each other. Mason’s lips were parted a bit, allowing him to emit his soft steady snores and I’d be lying if I didn’t find the sight arousing.

Erm...did I just admit to becoming turned on by a sleeping man?

Not just any sleeping man but our Mason DeLuca, my conscience put in her two cents worth with a smile.

Swiftly, I fish out his camera from his jacket alongside my phone in the process.

“Hello,” I greet the camera lens, angling the phone so that both Mason and I were included in the video montage “we are currently flying to Los Angeles from London and I later realized that I couldn’t buy you those kraal beads you asked for in Tanzania.”

Mason takes in a rather deep snore and murmurs a low word that I’m sure isn’t appropriate for all ages, “I wish I was Beca from Pitch Perfect so I could call you something like awesome nerds but I’m really not that cool. I miss you Walter and Blair and I hope you’re not celebrating my departure too much.”

A memory invades my thoughts and I remember Walter and Blair pitching up at midnight outside my apartment just to be the first two people to say happy birthday to me when I turned twenty one. They were a bunch of insane nineteen year olds and they ditched their graduation party just to say happy birthday to me.

“I love you guys so much and I can’t wait to tell you about everything. Bye.”

I found myself smiling to myself when I skimmed through the pictures on Mason’s camera, giggling at the stupid poses we took by the statues until I stumbled across something I wouldn’t even dream of associating Mason DeLuca with.

Endless pictures of yours truly sleeping and only my hair and the satin silk sheet would hide my modesty. My cheeks heated as I scrolled down even more, my heat pulsating as soon as I found a picture of an event I wasn’t even sure took place.

I tear my eyes away from the screen, biting harshly on my bottom lip enough to draw blood even though the image was probably etched deep within my mind already.

How...how could Mason take intimate pictures of me without my consent?

Slowly, I brought my eyes back on the screen and my wet cavern of heat pulsated to life. The picture was orchestrated, timed and all he had to do was creep under the sheets and pleasure me. I was asleep, yes but that arch of my back looked more willing rather than shocked.

Crap, my knickers are about to be soiled in a few moments if I carry on looking through his camera roll.

All these pictures he captured of me were of pure innocence and art – art that was both arousing and depriving.

Mason stirs besides me and a small squeak leaves my lips once I find myself wrapped tightly in his arms. His face was relaxed and angelic, probing me to trace around his features like fire would entice a moth but I thought against it.

I relax next to his side and allow myself to be coiled into sweet slumber.

“Mason, Mona just went to clean up the garden but you can wait if you want.”

“Okay, she must hurry up then – I need to catch up on power rangers.”

“Ewww Mason, how can you like Power Rangers?”

“You should say ewww to your lisp! Power rangers are so much better than Totally Spies.”

“Boy you so stupid and ugly.”

“My papa told me that the only way you can make nasty girls like you is by marrying them.”

“Boy, you finna get your head wrong. I’m not going to marry you.”

“I’ll kiss you then.”

“Ewww... get away from me you...freak!”

The ding following an announcement indicates our arrival and I stretch myself awake, feeling my bones burn underneath my skin due to the amount of activity I’ve inflicted on them. The air hostesses were gesturing how to release ourselves from the buckled seats and I was more than elated to have finally landed on stable ground.

“Mason,” I shake Mason away and slides his fingers into my hair in reflex “c’mon Mason, wake up.”

“Just until I come baby, just wait --”

“Get your Giuseppe ass up right now,” I flick his nose and he flutters those gorgeous blue eyes slowly before frowning.

“We’re here already?” he yawns, stretching his limbs before ruffling my raucous curls “that was fast.”

“Why did you sleep so much?” I enquire, rising on my feet so I could retrieve our small luggage.

“I don’t sleep at night micio.” He offers a small smile with bright eyes “I want to stop by the Imperial before heading to some property belonging to the family.”

“Okay,” I nod gently “I can’t wait to shower and sleep – all this flying makes a black woman jetlagged.”

“Awww,” Mason coos with a jutted bottom lip “you’re such an Oreo and so proper.”

I was rambling about how being educated and being an Oreo were two different things but obviously Mason challenged my valid statements by claiming that I’m whiter than the average black woman and that my ‘blackcent’, meaning my black plus accent, only debuts itself when I’m pissed.

So what if I enjoy wearing my hair up in a messy bun, say please and thank you to everyone I meet and pay my dues by donating to their homeless beggars on the streets? Is it a crime to watch the White Collar, debate about Scientology in online group chats and indulge in occasional Jane Austen books whenever I get the chance?

I couldn’t possibly be ‘white’, right?

“Micio,” Mason chuckles alongside me with a grin “I would like you to meet someone very dear to me.”

“Sure, why not.” I mumble lowly, feasting on my bottom lip as I conjured all possible theories that will end up proving that I am in fact a proud African-American woman.

Mason grabs my jaw, tracing my bottom lip before holding my face as if it were fragile glass, “look, don’t take the Oreo thing too seriously – I was only joking.”

“But...but I am white,” I mutter gazing into his eyes “I don’t know how to be black.”

“Dio,” Mason murmurs lowly “I wasn’t looking forward to marrying a hood rat that would twerk every second, say dinter and lort and I’m glad to have a woman who can actually have the intellect to Google translate some Italian just to impress me.”

Is it because of I’m for a black?

“You’re right,” I smile, reaching up to grab his hands on my face “you are so right. I’m sorry, I had a bit of a weird moment there and my head wasn’t screwed on properly. ”

“And so polite,” he bring me to his puckered lips with a slight chuckle “now, would you like to meet a friend of mine?”

“I’d love that very much, thank you.”

Mason puckers his lips for a brief kiss once again and lets go of my face, allowing the reality of his absence to be known quite quickly and I couldn’t help my cheeks from heating up.

His friend ended up being a sleek black Lamborghini with complimentary wine and candy. Being the smart woman I am, I pocketed all candy for myself and shipped off the wine to Mason – who was more than happy to receive it.

Mason lived a flashy life, a life I have been deprived of long ago so I didn’t see need to lust for it during anytime of my life. Same went for the property he spoke about earlier. He could’ve gone for either a simple hotel room or a bed and breakfast but he had to pick out a mansion he claims has been under his name since he was sixteen. Funny enough, the lease on top of his counter clearly stated that this place was validated for payment two weeks ago.

One thing I also didn’t expect to find was clothing in the walk-in closet and not just any clothes but rather fine fitted expensive materials that not any budding designer could get his/her claws on. His spending antics actually made me feel uncomfortable and dizzy.

“I would like for you to wear formal because I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Nothing expensive, I hope.

“Sure,” I smile wryly at him “thank you for the clothes but I’m pretty sure I have more than enough.”

“Nonsense!” Mason scoffs, his lips twitched into a smirk before tapping his chin in thought “come to think of it, you do look good naked.”

“And you do like taking pictures of me naked, am I correct?”

An odd mood shifts into the decorated bedroom and Mason’s eyes darken gradually as he advances towards me. His eyes train on mine as he dips down onto his knees slowly, hiking up my blouse so he could reveal my stomach. He kisses my belly gently, as if he was afraid to cause any pain on my skin and he grips my hips.

“I plan on littering my art room with every painting and imagery of your perfection,” he kisses my belly once again “you will nurture me like a wife is expected to her husband and I will remind you of your beauty for as long as you want.”

He kisses the skin again and I could feel his scruff rubbing against my belly, “as I said in my vows, I will cater to your every need, quench where you thirst and appreciate every inch of your being as it’s undone to me.”

He rises up on his feet and gives me a sweet kiss on my lips, “I want you to get dressed for tonight and I will drive you to your surprise.”

Leaving this marriage will be harder than I thought...

I ended up going with dark jeans and a white blazer that was punctuated by nude heels. The evening was formal and knowing the people of L.A. I allowed my risqué to seep through just a tiny fraction – wearing only jeans and a white blazer. My chest was covered by the plunging flaps of the blazer but I needed to get past Mason before actually stepping inside his car.

“Turn around,” he mutters and I do as he says, patting my effortless high bun just to make sure the whims of curly hair didn’t leave the bundle “I don’t think you’re covered up enough.”

“Mason, forgive me but I am not a child.”

“You’re basically naked under that blazer – I can even see my stomach.”

“It’s the best way to show off my flat chest – besides; your flat stomach is ab-tastic.”

“Your body is for my eyes and my eyes only – why don’t you just wear a dress?”

“Mason just stop, okay? I feel great and I’m tired of dresses.”

“Wear those suits that jump then.”

I am not even going to indulge myself into this brawl and I even had something up my sleeve to shut him up. My fingers sought after the most delectable dress Mason bought and jumped right into it, the wickedly sweet smile on my lips was just the icing on the cake.

While preparing my ensemble I allowed myself to go over Mason’s apparel today. He wore fitted dress pants that hugged his thick muscular thighs and a simple dress shirt teamed up with his infamous Italian shoes.

Why do I always look at his feet?

Finally, after capturing the curly hair back into their bun, I left the bedroom, “Let’s go then.”

“Motherfúcking Jesus, Jae – fúck the stupid surprise and go back in there.”

“Mason please, you asked for a stupid dress and you got one.”

“I’m fúcking you in my car tonight, I need to release this pent-up anger you’ve created.”

My stomach tugs right after his words and instinctively, I grab his car keys and charge to the car. The red silk dress dances in the wind as I jog to the car but Mason happened to arrive to the car first – looking very pissed and not amused I see.

“Mason – we can’t make love at this moment.” I panic, holding up his keys as if it were mistletoe.

“Why the fúck not?” he question, his jaw clenched and boy did he looked gorgeous.

“I...I just did my hair and make-up --”

“I know the perfect way to make your lips red and it involves my teeth --”

“And my mascara will run!” I finally finish my sentence with wide eyeballs “wait – you want to bite my lips?”

“They’re sweet – sue an Italian guy for enjoying his African Queen’s lips.”

“Alright, King Shaka Zulu,” I giggle quietly at my own words “can you please drive me to my surprise in one piece and that my walking is not alternated.”

“Fine,” he scoffs, sucking his teeth “I will not make love to my wife ever again.”

He steps inside the car and only then did my eyes widen at his words, ”c’mon, I didn’t mean it like that boo.”

Mason drove me to a remote area and his eyes would occasionally dart to the vast thigh-slit that showcased one curvy thigh before dipping down to a toned calf and painted toe nails. The dress was to merely spite him but ended up creating more trouble than I had imagined – an aroused Mason Giuseppe DeLuca.

One of the buildings Mason led me into reeked of sanitizers and floor detergents that burned my nostrils. The room was dark and I only had Mason’s hand for security.

“Are you ready?” Mason asks softly in my ear and I struggled to find my speech – believe me, I tried but I just couldn’t say anything.

“Micio, words. I need words.”

“Yes.”

The lights flicker on following Mason’s clap and my eyes widened like a child’s would in a candy store. This was mass insanity – I can’t believe Mason actually did this for me.

“Micio do you --” I catapult myself into his arms, squeezing him tightly before discreetly removing my rings and dumping them inside his pocket “I take it your happy then?”

I nod eagerly, eyeing the set of the crime series Bones before noticing something in the corner of my eyes. The mess of blonde hair sitting atop of the male’s head couldn’t be missed and I pushed myself off Mason before running to Michael Grant Terry.

“Wendell!” I squeal, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing every inch of his forehead – sue a black forensic investigator for liking foreheads.

“Oh, I can’t believe my mother finally got me a black big-bootied hoe for my birthday.” Michael grins spinning me around although I felt his hands grab my behind.

His accent was Californian with a slight tinge of British – think of Lindsay Lohan’s British accent in Parent Trap but not so articulated.

“Alright,” Mason bellows, his voice raspy and harsh “hands off the goods.”

Michael lowers me down slowly on my feet but his breathtaking smile nearly sent me to cardiac arrest, “and who is this man, my sweet?”

“Her husband,” Mason slackens his jaw with fiery eyes “I’ll blow your head off if you touch her ass again.”

“Where are the rings, mate?” Michael question smugly, taking my hand and pressing his thin lips on the forehand part.

“Right on – Jae, where are your rings?” My husband questions with widened eyes and he is not amused.

Taking time to steer away from this mess I have created, I say, “Oh look, Emily Deschanel.”

It only dawns on me now when I realized that the whole cast of Bones were stepping into the set with wide inviting smiles – okay, I’m not sure if I’m quite understanding what is going on right now.

Tamara Taylor lurches forward after they’ve gathered into a small group and she looked like a rare beautiful jewel, “Mrs. Mason DeLuca, our source tells us that you’re quite infatuated with our show.”

“Most certainly. I’ve had a lot of cases whereby I had to identify Osteoporosis and I always have my Bones-mode on whenever evaluating the deterred bone structure.”

Emily steps forward now, a sweet smile spanning on her lips, “None of us studied forensics in our lifetime and it would honor us if we had an actual criminal forensic investigating guest-starring in our show.”

Oh my...

I am not on Punk’d right?

“Wait – guest star as in – I’ll be on the show – you’re not kidding right?”

“Absolutely not,” Michael smiles cheekily “we would be honored because my wife wouldn’t mind knowing that I filmed alongside an actual criminal forensic investigator.”

Pause.

Did he just say wife?

“Can I just have a moment to talk to my husband, please?”

They all nodded simultaneously with soft grins and I took to Mason as quickly as I could. Gingerly, I haul out my wedding rings from his pocket but he halts my actions by grabbing my chin.

“Don’t ever, and I repeat, ever take your wedding rings off.”

His eyes were lethal and dark yet his hold wasn’t so painful, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re such a defiant little pussycat,” his fingers trail down to my neck and he takes in a long drag of my scent “I will not talk to you ever again revolving this matter. Your rings stay on, understood?”

“Y-yes,” I gulp and he takes the rings from my clutches, sliding them on himself with an arched brow “I’m sorry for removing my rings okay? It was a stupid teenage girl move and I apologize.”

He hums softly, brushing a fallen curly strand from face and drags down his thumb to my pulse, “now go out there and show them black females are educated – show them my African Queen is educated.”

I pucker my lips for him, hoping that he’d at least lose the mood but I wasn’t prepared for the make out show we gave our audience. My breathing was becoming short and quick yet I stood on my toes to meet his whimsical passion with those deadly lips of his.

“Just to let you know,” I breathe softly on his lips with my eyes fluttered close “Michael has thin lips.”

“My tongue just went down your throat and you’re telling me about another man?”

“I’m more into something wetter, plumper, softer --”

“My lips?” he chuckles throatily and presses his lips on mine.

“Most certainly.” I giggle softly before pulling away from my Adonis and being coaxed by the stylist to touch my hair.

She was a preppy red-head, reminding me of Blair in the early days of our friendship and she was definitely gorgeous.

“Can we straighten it?” she asks softly, her red-stained bottom lip in between her lips.

“I...I don’t think my husband would quite approve.” My eyes find the man, who looks bored out of his wits yet manages to do something on his phone. Soon it will be back to reality for us and I’m not sure as to how we’ll take it.

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