However, I’m not going to change my mind. No matter how hard she cries or begs me to let her leave.
Meirna is everything I’ve ever wanted and more.
And that’s when I thrust inside her tight cunt and remind her that her love, the shit she says runs deep for Bobby, it runs in her veins for me, too.
Chapter 15
Meirna
My whole body tenses and releases the moment Bronte’s cock stretches and bottoms out inside me.
All the fight I just had, where I wanted Bronte to just leave me alone, turned on me like Judas and fled.
No warning.
Completely off-guard.
And confusing.
Bronte wedges himself closer, spreading my thighs wider with his body and bestowing more leverage for him to plunge deeper and faster inside me.
This isn’t soft and sweet.
It’s not even the times we’ve shared previously, even though they were deliciously hard and possessive.
No, this time, I pissed Bronte off.
And I did it purposely in hopes he’d give up his plight on me and go bother someone else while I tried to piece together everything to make sense in my brain.
Everything Bronte has said to me lines up with the documents and text messages he freely gave me.
But I need to hear Bobby admit it.
I want to hear him verbally say that he’s in with a mob, that Harding Holdings is financially in trouble.
And that he’s been having sex with a woman named Jolene.
You’re never going to get that.
However, that’s for another time because, currently, I’m getting ruthlessly plowed into by Bronte as he rips his shirt over his head and pins my arm—that I didn’t realize was free—back to the hardwood floors.
Bronte’s muscular body looms over me as he takes everything he wants.
I watch his biceps and triceps flex as he thrusts. The way he studies and is entranced when he looks between us when he enters me.
I know lying back and allowing him to fuck me isn’t the way to get away from him. But I can’t deny that I like how he does it.
Especially when it’s so fresh in my mind.
When the last few days before finding out his true identity, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed being sore in all the right places and feeling completely sated and satisfied.
But he’s not Bobby.
He’s not the man I agreed to marry.
“Let me go,” I croak out, my voice barely audible to my own ears when I need it to be stern and foreboding.
“Give me the right word,” he counters immediately. “Until then, enjoy our moment, Daydream. I’m always in a giving mood around this time with you.”
