I all but groan with pleasure and distress because I know what this man can do.
He can fuck me stupid and get me to say things like how much I want him to fill every hole inside my body.
That I love how rough he thrusts into me just by my moans and the way I arch into him.
“Are you alright?” Bobby asks worriedly on the side, and when I don’t answer quickly enough, he barks out, “Meirna.”
“No,” I answer to both those questions as Bronte continues his offensive attack on my neck. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? Why didn’t you warn me?”
Silence greets me on the other end of the phone, but Bronte responds when he begins sucking and lapsing viciously at my neck.
Maybe that’s why. He’s vicious.
“He’s…complicated,” Bobby finally says after a few long seconds. “Bronte hasn’t been in the family for years. I need you to tell me?—”
“Why?”
“What has he said?”
My eyes narrow because Bronte’s confessions are still fresh in my mind, but Bobby’s immediate defense has me side-eyeing why he was so quick to do so.
He’s getting in your head.
Focus.
“Meirna, I’ve been losing my mind over here. And I don’t feel like giving you a history lesson on the motherfucker who justkidnappedyou under false pretenses that it was me. I’mnotokay.”
I’m not either.
I’m in defense mode. Everything and anything makes zero sense. I have another side of the story that I didn’t know.
Two, actually.
One that Bronte didn’t exist.
And, the other, that he had while Bobby was the bad guy.
“Maybe it was a cry for attention.”
Bronte and Bobby both scoff at the same time from my comment, for different reasons, I’m sure.
“He’s a grown man, Meirna,” Bobby argues. “And he’s coming back for the family fortune, and I don’t know what his intentions are.”
One of Bronte’s hands falls to my thigh, and he cups the inside of it.
“You said you didn’t share,” I mutter.
“Yeah, I did,” Bobby says. “And I don’t. And I’m not going to. That first day we met, it changed everything. That kiss…I couldn’t resist myself because I knew you were it for me.”
I freeze from the blatant lie that just came freely from his lips.
He didn’t kiss me.
He doesn’t remember.
No, Meirna…he wasn’t there.
Bronte’s tongue lashes out against my neck, once, twice, before pressing another long and dangerous kiss along the length of my neck.
