Gia (Women of Privilege Book 1) Read online

  Gia

  (Women of Privilege)

  Book 1

  WRITTEN BY

  BRIDGET BUNDY

  GIA (WOMEN OF PRIVILEGE) BOOK 1

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 BRIDGET BUNDY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION CREATED BY THE AUTHOR. ANY PERSON, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE THE INVENTION OF THE AUTHOR. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO A PERSON ALIVE OR DECEASED, PLACE, THING, BUSINESS, AND/OR INCIDENTS ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

  NO PARTS OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.

  COVER/EMBLEM CREDENTIALS:

  COVER CREATED BY BRIDGET BUNDY

  Alegreya Copyright © 2011 Juan Pablo del Peral

  allura copyright © 2011 TypeSETit, LLC

  nymphette copyright © Lauren Thompson

  QUICKSAND Copyright © 2011 Andrew Paglinawan

  COVER PHOTOGRAPHY paul hill – fotolia.com

  SECOND EDITION OCTOBER 2015

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Visit Me Online

  Published Novels

  Acknowledgements

  God, first and foremost, thank you so much for everything in this life and the next.

  To Nicety Hannon, my sister in creativity, for believing in me and giving me a chance to work with you.

  Allyson M. Deese, thank you for your assistance and expertise in editing.

  To my girls, Jasmine and Breanna. Beautiful and smart young ladies, chase your dreams, catch your dreams, and live your dreams.

  To my hubby, your support means everything to me, and I am grateful to have you.

  Mom, thanks for being my cheerleader and champion.

  And to #TeamNicety, thank you for welcoming me to the group and the great support. Love the positive interactions. Stay as you are: the best!

  Love you all.

  Chapter One

  JD is a magnificent specimen, a beautiful black man, and he’s dancing only for me. I watch his every move. His narrow hips reflect the candlelight. His muscular, rounded shoulders show little beads of sweat. His chest muscle tenses under his command, and that dick. Well, that dark, long muscle is full on hard and bouncing with his every move. This man is a professional, dancing for the dollars that floats down to his feet like falling leaves in autumn.

  When the music ends, JD is out of breath and standing before me in all his dark brilliance. He knows to wait for my command. He knows this is my moment, and anything he does on his own is a big no-no. I stare at him, taking in his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. If I could make him stand there all night and all day, I would, but reality dictates he can’t.

  I curl my index finger to make him come closer. He does so, slowly and purposefully. I drop the pile of money on the floor, and I reach my hands to him. He steps between my legs, and I touch the hills and crevices of his stomach, his firm ass, and his smooth legs. I can smell the heady scent of his dick and the musk of his cologne. I pull him closer.

  While kissing the fold between his leg and his lower belly, I can hear a distinct release of breath and a low groan. Poor boy is so horny. He must be using all of his will power to contain himself, but that’s how I like him. Craving so hard that he can’t see, think, or talk straight.

  As I rise to my feet, I lightly kiss JD’s sensitive skin. Eventually, I find his soft lips, and we make a connection that fire can’t even touch in temperature. He wraps his arms around my waist, and we work our way to the bed. He unties the straps to my robe, revealing my naked body. I lay back. JD licks his lips while rubbing his hands over my chest and my breasts. His touch makes me moan in anticipation. He moves in, our bodies finally touching, and we kiss. It’s a heated exchange that both of us can’t get enough of.

  JD grinds against me, wanting in, but I grab his hips. He knows what I want first. Without being told, he starts moving downward, kissing my cheek and neck. He lavishes more on my collar bone, chest, and takes succulent pulls at each nipple. Then JD kisses the soft, ample area under each breast and moves down my stomach.

  His moist tongue is what I feel at my bare mound, and I open my legs wide for him. JD has proven to be quite proficient at the matter of oral play. Each time he makes my head spin, and he doesn’t let up until I’m totally satisfied. I know this time will be no different.

  He gets into the prime position. His arms are under my legs, and his hands have a firm grip on my thighs. Slowly and with perfect aim, he blows on my nub. The vibrant sensation makes me shiver. His tongue slowly begins the dance. He licks, kisses, and when he knows I’m on the precipice, he wraps those soft lips on my clit and sucks the orgasm right out of me. I grab his head and scream his name. The sensation is exhilarating.

  When I reach a lull, I keep going, gyrating for another taste of ecstasy. I hold JD’s head between my legs. I don’t ever want him to stop, but he must. I just need to get that one more in. I beg, and with focused tongue intensity, he pulls it out of me. My senses of who, what, and where I am disappears in the bliss. It feels too damn good to end, but it does. I’m disappointed.

  JD crawls over me, and I stop him with one hand on his sculpted chest.

  “What, girl?” he says with heightened intensity. “Let’s do this.”

  “No, baby, I got to go.”

  The lust in his eyes turns to aggravation. I shift from underneath him onto the floor.

  “What the fuck, man!” JD is on his knees on the bed, looking like he’s in utter pain.

  I take out a crisp new one hundred dollar bill from the top drawer of my nightstand and try to hand it to him. Instead of taking the money, JD gets off the bed and stands close to me. He is staring me down, pissed off beyond he can speak, but I stand my ground; money still in hand. I would very much like to finish what we started. That long, beautiful extension of his body deserves to be swallowed, but I have more important plans.

  “This shit ain’t cool,” he says.

  “Another time, baby,” I remark calmly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  JD doesn’t want to take the money. He likes to think that we’re an item. That’s far from the case, and he knows it. With a heavy sigh, he snatches the money out of my hand and goes over to where he left his clothes in a chair in the corner. He puts them on with a whole lot of anger, and when he’s finished, he walks out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open. JD will get over it the moment I call him again, and he’ll come running back with his dick
so hard, he’ll want to fuck me before I can speak to him.

  Once I hear the front door close, I get into the shower. I’m meeting someone very important within the next two hours, and there’s no way I’m missing him.

  Chapter Two

  As I’m driving out of the gate from Tudor Estates, I realize I forgot the greeting card, and I don’t have time to stop and get another one. It’s no big deal. The person I’m going to pick up will be happier to see me than the card anyway.

  I make a quick left onto Diamond Causeway. The traffic isn’t too bad when I reach the interstate, and I make it to the Savannah Hilton Head Airport within forty-five minutes. The gentleman I’m picking up is standing outside of the terminal. He’s going to be so surprised to see me.

  His name is Anthony Moran, a longtime friend. We grew up together right outside of Rincon, Georgia. It’s a small town an hour away from where I live now on Skidaway Island. Growing up, neither one of us had much. Our families lived in modest homes. Anthony lived with his mother until he married, and I lived with my parents until I could afford to move out.

  Anthony and I used to play together as kids all the time, and we’d dream of making it big. In middle school, Anthony used to talk of being a rap star, and I was going to be an actress. I couldn’t stand reading, and he didn’t know how to rhyme. Don’t know what we were thinking, but those dreams sure sounded reasonable at the time.

  In high school, we weren’t as close, but it wasn’t because we had a falling out. We grew apart, different interests, different friends. But whenever we saw each other, we’d talk and hang out like old times.

  We graduated from high school the same year. Anthony went to trade school to become a diesel mechanic, and after that, he found Hannah, the woman that he would marry and have two children with. I never met her, and he never tried to introduce us. I found out about her through the normal rumor mill of friends. I didn’t try to contact Anthony to congratulate him. Honestly, I was hurt. It took that major change in his life for me to realize that I’ve always loved him.

  They moved to Atlanta, Georgia, like everyone else in the south when they’re chasing dreams. Atlanta was and still is the “Hollywood” of Georgia, where dreams are realized only by the lucky few. I guess they fell short of attaining their dreams or perhaps, they were successful in Atlanta; I don’t know, but either way, Anthony and his wife moved to Austin, Texas.

  After I graduated from high school, I got a job at Dillard’s, and when I got bored, I moved on to Belk and countless other stores and restaurants in the Savannah area. I had no idea what I wanted to do for those first few years. Eventually, on the advice of a girlfriend, I went to school to be become a registered nurse.

  Eleven years later, I don’t practice in the field anymore. I’ve never been married, and I don’t have kids. And now, Anthony is back in town, and I’m hoping we can start a different kind of relationship.

  I park in front of him and rush around the truck to give him a hug. His handsome face lights up. He has a wonderful minty scent about him. He’s clean shaven, has the same bright brown eyes, a gleaming bald head, and he appears to be in decent shape. Bottom line, he looks great.

  “Look at you,” I remark with a flirty wink.

  “Where did you come from?” he says with disbelief.

  I hug him one more time, just to make sure he’s real.

  “Are you surprised?” It goes without saying, but I have to ask.

  “I am. You look great.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a little dip. I’ve got on a low cut blouse and a short denim skirt. I’ve even put on the perfume he liked when we were in high school. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Put your luggage in the back.”

  “This is your ride?” Anthony points at it. “You sure it’s alright for me to get in? I don’t want to be an accessory to grand theft auto.”

  I hit him on the arm. He laughs and throws up his hands playfully.

  “So silly,” I remark as I press the button on my keys for the back door to lift up.

  Anthony throws his luggage inside the truck, and I get into the driver’s seat and wait for him to join me.

  When he’s all buckled in, I ask, “Where do you want to go first? We can go to the funeral home, or we can stop to get something to eat. It’s up to you.”

  “How about taking me to the hotel? I reserved a room at the Holiday Inn.”

  “You’re not staying in a hotel. You’re staying at my place.”

  “Gia, I don’t think so.”

  “I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he replies, “but I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

  “What problems are you talking about?”

  “The man friend problems.”

  “I’m single,” I reply. “How long do you plan on staying in Savannah?”

  Anthony sighs and shrugs. “I really don’t know yet.”

  “My place is nice and clean and free. You’ll save a lot of money if you plan on staying a while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Anthony, you act like you’re going to be in my way. I would love to have you in my home.”

  “Okay, but only for a couple of days, Gia.”

  “Or longer.” I speed off, joining the flow of traffic.

  “The funeral home,” he says.

  “What?” I ask with confusion.

  “Take me to the funeral home, please.”

  Anthony’s mother, Grace Moran, died in a house fire a little over two weeks ago. I heard there was a hotplate left on in the kitchen, and a towel caught on fire. She never woke up. Her body was found in the bed, and some of it was burned beyond recognition. It makes sense. She was a heavy drinker, mixing gin with her meds daily before going to bed. I warned her not to do that. The doctors warned her, too. But she was a stubborn old lady.

  I feel sorry for Anthony. Not only has he lost his mother, but he doesn’t get along with his brother. He’s getting a divorce from his wife of eleven years, or so I hope, and last I heard from his mother, Anthony was fired from his job. He has rotten luck, and I’m hoping I can turn it around for him. I think he’s forgotten that we’re friends, and that I will always be there for him.

  “Gia, how did you know I would be at the airport? Oh, wait a minute.” He lifts his hands. “You don’t have to answer. Lauren told you.”

  “She did.”

  “How did she find out? Nick wouldn’t have told her, and I didn’t tell him I was coming to town.”

  “Mac,” I answer.

  “Oh, okay. How is she doing, by the way?”

  “Mac is good, working crazy shifts in the hospital.”

  “No, Lauren.”

  “She’s alive,” I respond.

  “Nick still treating her bad?”

  “Do you think he’s changed?”

  Anthony doesn’t answer. Both of us know the answer to that question.

  “So,” he says uncomfortably, “I was wondering. Who does this Mercedes really belong to? What’s the lucky guy’s name?”

  “It’s mine,” I reply with pride. “I bought it myself.”

  He points down in the general direction of the floor. “You bought this with your own money?”

  “That’s right. I bought it with my own money.”

  Anthony looks at the backseat area and then at the space age displays and knobs in the front. With a silly expression on his face, he nods his approval.

  “It’s nice,” he replies. “Not what I was expecting from you.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. Not this for sure. You must be doing well for yourself.”

  “I’m doing alright.”

  He shifts in his seat and smiles at me. He’s so gorgeous. I missed that smile. “I’m happy for you, Gia.”

  “Thank you.” I make sure to put some flirt behind my gratitude. He doesn’t catch on.

  We’re quiet for the rest of the trip, and by the time
I pull into the funeral home in Rincon, he’s dozed off. I touch his hand on the cut that he got from trying to slam dunk a basketball in high school. He was showing off. For who? I don’t even know. I only heard about it.

  His lips are slightly open. I want to kiss them. Anthony and I have never kissed, and I wonder what he tastes like. Is his lips sweet or minty? I bet they taste like peppermint. Are they soft? They look like they’re soft. Perhaps, I can try to sneak a kiss, but he’s in an awkward position, and it’ll be weird trying to kiss him outside of a funeral home. Feeling absolutely stupid for having crazy thoughts like that, I blow out in frustration and pat his hand to wake him up.

  “We’re here already?” Anthony yawns and stretches. “I must have went to sleep.”

  I watch those supple sweet lips. Damn, I should have kissed him anyway.

  “You want to go in with me?” he asks while unbuckling his seatbelt.

  “Sure.”

  Chapter Three

  Anthony’s oldest and only brother, Nick, is standing in the lobby with the funeral director when we come in the door. The two brothers glance at each other. No words are exchanged. Their anger has not subsided even after all this time.

  “Mr. Hall,” I say to the funeral director, mostly to break the tension in the room, “this is Anthony Moran, Grace’s youngest son.”

  They shake hands, and Mr. Hall gives his condolences.

  “Thank you,” Anthony says. “Is there anything I can do to help with the funeral arrangements?”

  “No, there’s nothing you can do,” Nick sharply answers.

  “I’m just asking,” Anthony snaps back.

  “Why don’t we go to the viewing room?” I say while grabbing Anthony’s hand.

  Not waiting for an answer, I lead him around the two gentlemen and down the hall. We enter the first room on the left. The gold and black urn is on a white column pedestal just to the right. Flowers surround the general area. Sitting in chairs against the walls is Nick’s wife, Lauren, and their two kids, Christian and Victoria. The moment she notices Anthony she stands and greets him with a handshake. Lauren wants to hug him, but she knows if she’s caught with her brother-in-law’s innocent arms around her, they’ll be hell to pay in that funeral home.