“Going, yes. You keep saying that,” he says as he slides a hand around the back of my neck and brushes my lips with his thumb.
He kisses me again. This time I kiss back, my tongue darting in and out of his mouth, my stomach clenched with longing.
I break away, stand up.
He’s right behind me, though. His hands are on my neck, massaging it. He slips a strap off my shoulder, lips grazing my neck. His hand moves down to my breasts and he stops on my nipple and traces it with a finger. I exhale, grab his thigh.
He pulls up my dress. Slides his hand down the front of my panties. I grasp his forearm. Stop him.
“I just want to touch it,” he says. “Please.”
So I part my legs a little and let him. He knows exactly what he’s doing and before I know it, I’m grinding against his hand and I know what’s going to happen next and I want it. I can imagine how he’ll feel inside of me, hot and urgent, and I’m about to give in but then I think of Graham and his belief in me, all alone in our darkened house with Jack, and I bat Jamie’s arm, twist away from him.
“Sorry, I just can’t,” I say, and push the door open, stride down the hall before he can stop me. I’m still turned on, though, but it’s not Jamie I really want, it’s Margot.
I think of her in the master bedroom, anger surfing through her. If she’s still mad at Brad, maybe we can finish what we started earlier. I remember trailing my fingers down her neck, I hear her moan all over again in my mind, and I want to kiss her neck all the way down until I reach her breasts. I know she wants it, too; I think her earlier kiss was a signal, so I stop at her door, place my palm on it, and softly open it.
The room is empty.
I scour the great room and kitchen but they are empty, too.
I have to find her.
I burst out the back door and head out into the damp night, the hem of my dress clinging to my thighs as I wade down the grassy slope, slick with dew.
I hear sounds coming from near the water, so I walk along the pier, the boards squeaking beneath me. A symphony of bullfrogs croaks all around, but as I get closer to the lake, the sounds get louder.
I step toward the boathouse and gasp.
Brad’s back leans against it. I’m still a good twenty feet away, but in the yellow glow of the boathouse lights, I can just make them out.
The front of Brad’s shirt hangs open, his jeans ride low on his hips, and his arms are wrapped around Margot, who is bent over and naked, groaning with pleasure as she bucks against him.
His hands are massaging her breasts, and as he leans in closer, she arches her head back, groaning louder. He cups one breast, lifts it, and cranes his head down to kiss her nipple.
She grunts and moves against his hips even quicker until they’re both moaning, their raw, jagged sounds skidding across the calm of the lake.
I turn and stagger away, walking as quickly as possible. Jealousy shrieks through me, and something else: foolishness. For thinking Margot wants me. For thinking I’m anything but a pawn in her attention-grabbing scheme. And rage at her for leading me on.
But also this: blinding lust. Because seeing her in that primal, savage moment only makes me want her even more.
34
THE SOLES OFmy boots are slick from the wet grass, and I almost slip heading up the hill. I bang open the screen door, which slaps behind me as I stumble inside.
The house feels empty, and after surveying the rooms, I find that, indeed, it is.
Jamie’s gone.
The bottle of vodka rests on the kitchen counter, and even though I shouldn’t, I pour myself a shot and slam it back, crashing the shot glass down with a thud.
My hands are shaking and I’m rattled by the evening.
The clock on the microwave shouts that it’s twelve forty-five. Imustleave. Plus, I want to be gone before Margot and Brad return from their fuck fest.
I walk over to the sofa, dissolve into it. Fumble through my bag for my keys and cell. My vision is blurry and the lights in the room seem to flicker.I’m smashed. I sink farther into the cushions and rest my head on the arm of the sofa.
—
