I chuckle, despising myself for what I’m about to say, but I don’t have a choice. Having Astrid hate me for life in exchange for ensuring her safety is worth it. “The only thing she’s holding over me is her superior cunt as she lowers onto my cock.”
Pain flares in her eyes, and I want to slam my head repeatedly into something hard, but I forge on. I need to drive the knife in so deep it will never come out. “She wasn’t lying that day in town. Sex with her is out of this world. The things my fiancée can do with her mouth should probably be outlawed. I never knew I was a tits man until I got my hands on her boobs.”
Strike me down dead now, please.
Every word eats away at me because I loathe Gwen Wright with every part of my being. Her body makes my skin crawl like a thousand ants are dancing a tango across my flesh. If ever a woman was a libido killer, it’s the woman I’m trapped with. But you’d never know by my face because I’ve spent a year crafting this mask, and I’m well used to hiding behind it.
“You’re a little girl in comparison, and my baby is all woman.” It’s a miracle I don’t throw up from the poison spewing from my mouth. “She knows how to please her man. I’m sorry ifthat upsets you.” I shrug, like I’m really not that sorry when I’m in bits on the inside. “They do say the truth hurts.”
“You unimaginable bastard. I can’t believe I ever loved you. I hate you. I hate you so much.” Tears stream down her face, and she couldn’t possibly hate me as much as I hate myself.
“Run along now, and don’t come back.” I bite the inside of my mouth to force the words out. “What we had was a stupid teenage infatuation. What I have now is real. I never even think of you anymore.”
Lies, lies, and more lies.
“We had some good times, but you were never the woman for me. I don’t know how to spell it out more clearly.”
“Don’t worry, soccer star,” she hisses. “I got the message loud and clear. I hope you two cunts make each other fucking miserable. Tell your mother I tried, but she’s wrong. The truth is you’re an asshole. Go to hell, Callan Hunt. I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.”
Whatever was left of my heart disintegrates as I watch the woman I love rush from the room, sobbing and clutching her chest as if she feels the knife embedded there.
PART II
55
ASTRID – AGE 28
EIGHT YEARS LATER
“Seán, what are you doing?” I ask as my fiancé lifts me onto my desk and settles between my thighs.
“What does it look like, darling?” He smirks, piercing me with sultry blue eyes as his hands start slowly pushing my skirt up.
“It’s the middle of the day, and we’re at work!” I protest even as I spread my legs wider, granting him easier access.
“I’m the boss.” He leans in and nips my lower lip with his teeth. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“The door isn’t locked.” I trap a moan as he cups me over my silk panties. “Anyone could walk in.”
“No one would dare.” Gliding my panties to one side, he drives two fingers into me, and I instantly melt. Hunger wars with possession on his face as he fucks me hard and fast with his fingers. “So fucking beautiful and all mine.”
Those words, spoken in Seán’s lilting Irish accent, rouse the memory from the lockbox it’s stored in, and my plush office at The Devlin Hotel Group HQ disappears, and I’m back in that Manhattan hotel room withhimthe night I lost my virginity. Ironically, it’s only a few blocks from here.
Familiar stabbing pains spread across my chest, and I shrivel inside, all hint of my desire fleeing as the memory lingers.
Seán’s astute gaze bores holes in my face. “What is it? What did I do?” He removes his fingers from inside me.
“You didn’t do anything.” I rub at my chest as Seán fixes my skirt back into place.
“This is about him. The guy who broke your heart.”
Slowly, I nod, hating how Callan Hunt is still finding ways to derail my life. It’s a miracle Seán Devlin has any interest in me, given my issues. His ruthless reputation would suggest he’s not a patient guy, and I’ve seen him in action enough times during meetings to know he’s earned it. Yet he’s been infinitely patient with me, and I love him for it. “I’m sorry.”
Protective arms wind around me as Seán pulls me against his warm body. “Nothing to be sorry about. I just wish you’d tell me what happened.”
I rest my head sideways on his chest, careful not to get makeup on his expensive designer suit. My legs wrap around him as I hold him close. “I don’t want to talk about it. I spent years in therapy trying to forget him.”
I have no clue where Callan is now or what he’s doing. Whether he’s still with that backstabbing bitch or not. For my sanity, I steer clear of celebrity hotspots and celebrity news channels and shows, and I mostly avoid social media unless it’s business-related. My only online presence is an Instagram page that focuses solely on interior design tips and suggestions. I’ve built quite a loyal following, but I stay out of the frame, letting my work speak for itself.
