The Unusual (Eye of the Beholder). Deepak Kumar Battini

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      CHAPTER ONE

      After tucking the children in, Orissa floated to the bedroom. She opened the door and paused by it, her eyes warm. Gareth was in bed, mismatched eyes peering through a pair of spectacles as he frowned over the financial reports of Wellington Conglomerate.

      He worked as Desmond’s business manager on the side, at his brother’s insistence, but mainly, he was chief financial officer of the family empire. Samuel remained stubbornly the CEO, refusing to turn over the reins to his more-than-capable elder son. Gareth wasn’t angling for the position though yes, he thought that someday his father should turn it over. If and when he became CEO, that meant more time away from family and he wouldn’t be able to handle Desmond’s finances anymore.

      Turning a page of the report and still looking at it, Gareth said, “You’re hovering, angel.”

      Orissa grinned and shut the door. “I know that at times there’s a lot we take to bed with us but I didn’t think I would have to worry about piles and piles of papers.” She sat at the foot of the bed and took one folder. She leafed through it absently.

      Gareth made a notation on the page he was reading. “Just give me a few more minutes.” He glanced at her and smirked. It didn’t make him any more handsome but he clearly wanted her. Orissa stared back at him with exaggerated innocence before sliding off her silk robe from one shoulder. She was wearing a pink satin nightie underneath. “Or twenty seconds.”

      She giggled and shoved the folders out of the bed and onto the floor, uncaring of the mess. Gareth chuckled, wrote some more then carelessly tossed the folder away. She crawled to him, loving the twinkle in his mismatched eyes of vivid green and midnight black. Gareth spread his arms wide on the pillows, raising his chin to receive her kiss.

      “Wife comes before work,” she playfully chided him between gentle presses of their lips and quick swipes of tongue. As she spoke, she started unbuttoning his shirt.

      “Doesn’t she always?” Gareth said as she pushed his shirt open. He did not have the body of a romantic hero. In fact his tummy was already pudgy. But there was no other man Orissa would want, nor love. Yes, his appearance hardly inspired women to fantasize but he was generous, kind, always put her and the children first. Hard as it was to imagine, sex with Gareth Gorman was also the best Orissa had ever had.

      She rose a little on her knees to shrug off her robe to reveal her nightie. It was pink lavished with white lace. It wasn’t very new and it had been months since it was last worn. They had sex often enough but since Desmond’s accident a month ago, they had been too tired. The twins also had chicken pox together and they were not happy about it. The couple had their hands overflowing.

      Orissa lay on her back and Gareth settled on top of her. Their mouths met in a kiss of relief and hunger. She moaned happily as his hands cupped her breasts, squeezing the full mounds through the silk.

      “God, Rissa, it’s been so long,” Gareth groaned, his lips tracing her throat.

      “Yes,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his pale curls. Looking in his eyes, she confessed, “I missed us.”

      Gareth smiled at her tenderly then kissed her. “Angel, tonight I’m all yours.”

      She squeezed him. “Goody.”

      They helped each other out of their clothes. As soon as they were free, they reached for each other and kissed, caressed. Orissa was moaning lustily as Gareth tugged her nipples deep into his mouth when his cell phone rang. She whined as he released her nipple with loud, wet pop, wincing as cool air lanced at the swollen tip. It tightened painfully. As a look of uncertainty crossed his face, she grabbed him by the ears.

      “Gareth Gorman, if you don’t fuck me tonight, you are not going to fuck me for another month.”

      Gareth looked absolutely horrified and nodded. He lowered his head back to her breasts to resume his kisses. Murmuring his name in approval, she gently urged his head lower and he complied. She felt him smirk against the taut flesh of her belly as she nudged him lower, until his breath was feathering her sex.

      Orissa cried out as he spread her and licked her clit. Her eyes closed, her mouth fell open to pant out his name. “Gar-“ she began when her phone rang.

      Gareth, annoyed, raised his head. Orissa opened her eyes and together watched her cell phone vibrating across the bedside table.

      “Who the hell calls this late?” Gareth demanded.

      Orissa sighed and looked at him. “Your brother.”

      The ringing stopped. As Orissa spread her legs, Gareth’s cell phone rang again.

      “Let’s go fuck in the bathroom,” Gareth told her.

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “We are not going to fuck in the shower. Damn it!” She glared at his phone.

      “If we fuck in the bathroom, we can tell him we didn’t hear!”

      Orissa wailed, “Look, I said you must fuck me but what if something’s happened to him?”

      “Again? Desmond is an idiot but he’s not stupid enough to get into another accident.”

      They exchanged a look and sighed. Orissa sat up and covered herself. Gareth glared at his phone and answered. “What is it this time, Desmond?”

      “The genius housekeeper you hired rearranged my stuff!” Desmond was raging at Gareth a half hour later. His eyes were red and his hair a mess of waves. One side of his face was creased from the pillow.

      “When Orissa insisted on hiring help to come over once a week to fix things up, I was specific that my supplies be left untouched.” Desmond gestured wildly at his shelf. “Look at this!”

      Gareth did look. In his opinion, the items were at least in order instead of the jumbled, shoved-together mess that Desmond was wont to do. His easel stands were pushed together in the corner. His sketchpads piled neatly on the desk, his paintbrushes in a can holder. The housekeeper had also put his painting supplies, charcoal in separate shelves.

      He watched as his brother slumped heavily on a stool, looking defeated with his right arm in a cast and rumpled t-shirt and boxer shorts. Brushing his hand impatiently through his hair, Desmond looked at him.

      “I’m sorry to drag you out of bed like this. But I really wanted to work tonight. I can’t work in a place where everything has an assigned spot and looks so pristine. I need a place where I can spill and do what I want.”

      Since the accident, Desmond had transformed from frustrated to angry. He was often shouting and cursing at the cyclists that had caused him to break his right arm. Drawing and painting were his outlets and with his right hand sidelined now for a month, Desmond had become the equivalent of a desperate, caged animal. Gareth knew that he and Orissa had a screaming match just the other day. The cause of it was she caught Desmond attempting to slice his cast open to free his arm. She said that the bones weren’t set yet. Little did she know it was the spark that would have the dynamite going off.

      With Desmond missing an arm, his loft had become a pile of dirty dishes, takeout boxes with rooting food, floors littered with art supplies. A housekeeper had been coming in the last two weeks while Desmond was having his check-up and therapy. He didn’t have complaints about the service at first as she stuck mainly to cleaning the floors and righting the furniture. Apparently, she had crossed СКАЧАТЬ