What a fucking day. Nearly six hours after I arrived, I finally make it to my hotel for a few blissful moments of silence and peace. Flopping onto the bed, I close my eyes and drag a deep breath into my lungs.
The Ellorys are understandably pissed. I think I managed to talk them out of canceling the contract entirely, but I’m going to need to be on site more often than not over the next six months to keep them off the ledge. And god help the next person on my crew who fucks something up.
I don’t mind mistakes. I do mind carelessness, and my crew damn well knows it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I groan as I reach for it. I swear, if it’s the Ellorys again, I might actually throw my goddamn phone at the wall.
But it's not the Ellorys or any of my crew. It’s a text from my wife.
Not just a text, either. A photo of Mia, her cheeks pink and her mouth ringed with chocolate as she grins up at the camera. She’s wearing another one of my t-shirts and she looks so fucking sweet it makes my chest ache with missing her.
You should be missing your wife, asshole.
The guilt twisting in my stomach isn’t helped at all by Sloane’s accompanying message.
Sloane:Hope things are going good up there. Don’t worry about your babygirl, she’s in good hands.
What kindof fucking game is she playing? Is this my punishment for bringing Mia home, being constantly taunted with what she used to be to me?
With what I can never have?
If it is, it feels like far worse than I deserve. Maybe I still harbor feelings for Mia and yeah, maybe I should have handled things differently. But I’m doing my fucking best to avoid the temptation in those big green eyes.
Tapping the message, I type out a response and then delete it. I want to ask Sloane what the fuck she’s up to. I want to tell her not to let Mia eat too much ice cream or she’ll be up all night with a tummy ache. I want to say so many fucking things that I know I shouldn’t, and it’s making the thumping behind my right eye grow worse with every passing second.
Ethan:Things are good. Looks like you’re having fun.
There.Innocent enough without being accusatory, or so I hope. Sometimes there’s no telling how Sloane is going to react to things I say, but I can’t really see any way she could misinterpret that.
A few minutes later, my phone dings again with another picture. This one is of the two of them, snuggled up together on the couch, looking for all the world like the best of friends. Thechocolate has been wiped clean from Mia’s face and her head is tilted onto Sloane’s shoulder.
They both look… happy.
And fuck me if hope doesn’t unfurl in my chest, so sudden and big it feels like it’s squeezing all the air from my lungs.
Maybe you could have it all. Your wife and your babygirl.
But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I reject it, my stomach once more churning with guilt. Asking that of Sloane would be the worst kind of betrayal. Hell, justthinkingit feels as though I’ve turned my back on my wedding vows.
Tossing my phone aside, I shove up from the bed and stalk toward the bathroom, stripping my clothes off with every step. I flip the shower on and step beneath the steaming spray.
I just need a hot shower to wash this fucking day away, and then I’ll feel more like myself again instead of this monster I barely recognize.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is them. My wife and the woman I shouldn’t want but who is like a burr beneath my skin. They’re both here with me, naked in the shower, their wet bodies pressed up against me.
Mia, be a good girl and get on your knees for Daddy. He’s had such a hard day and he needs your sweet mouth to make him feel better.
In my mind, Mia does exactly as she’s told and even though I know it’s wrong, so fucking wrong, I wrap my hand around my aching cock and pump. The fantasy spins out, with Sloane winding her hand into Mia’s soaked locks, holding her in place as I fuck my babygirl’s full, pouty lips. She gags, because she always gags, no matter how gentle I try to be. But instead of pulling her back, Sloane grins, sharp and wicked.
Listen to our baby, Daddy. Our poor babygirl, choking and gagging on her Daddy’s cock like the good fucking girl she is. Do you think she can take more, Daddy?
Need coils tighter and tighter in my core as Mia does just that, taking me even further down her throat despite her gag reflex. Her eyes are wide, and I can’t tell if it’s the water from the shower or tears streaming down her cheeks.
And I don’t fucking care. All I care about is forcing her to take me in ways I never managed on my own, while my wife tightens her hold on our babygirl’s hair.
Until the pleasure overwhelms me and my cock swells in my hand, my cum spattering the walls of the shower. Dragging air into my lungs in shallow, ragged breaths, I force my eyes open.
Force myself to take in the stark evidence of my shameful thoughts.
