The one good thing I did for myself, knowing I have to attend this rich-asshole gala? I chose my own dress. A deep crimson that complements my skin tone and long dark hair, it has two spaghetti straps, paired with thick off-the-shoulder straps that drape beautifully, a sweetheart neckline, and a long, flowing skirt. It’s romantic, sexy, and it makes me feel confident. If I have to wear a dress and attend this event, I want it to be something that makes me feel good, regardless of what Blake thinks.
I promised myself I would keep the peace between Blake and me until I can secure funding for Bloomfield Animal Haven, but ever since I made up my mind that our relationship is coming to an end, it’s become harder and harder to fake it. I can’t wait to never have to attend another one of these events again for as long as I live.
It’s the last thing I want to be doing, but I pile my hair on top of my head and clip it, stepping into the shower to wash andshave. I pump some bodywash into my palm, starting at my chest and running my hands over myself.
As my fingers brush over my nipples, a warm dose of pleasure spreads through my body, settling between my legs. I do it again, this time rolling each bud between my fingers. My eyes shutter closed, conjuring an image of Rhys’ hands caressing and exploring my body, his hands rough on my skin, but gentle in their touch. I grip my breasts tightly in my palms, squeezing and then toying with my nipples again.
I let myself go to the image of him, imagining what it would feel like to have his lips against mine, the way his tongue would delve into my mouth. Would he be sweet, or would his control snap? My breathing hitches as I swear I can smell him here with me, all cedar, leather, and spice. Warmth pools between my legs, my clit throbbing, the pressure building and building.
My fingers trace circles down my soft stomach, teasing myself a bit before I finally reach my core. The hot water beats down on my back as I lift a leg, setting it on the edge of the tub to spread myself wide and have easier access. My free hand continues to play with my nipples, twisting and pinching, the pleasure zapping right to my clit now. My fingers slide easily through my slit, finding my opening and slipping a finger inside. I’m drenched, my finger effortlessly going in. I imagine it’s Rhys touching me, his intense emerald eyes watching his movements, not wanting to miss a moment of what he’s doing to me. I pump several times before dragging my wetness up to my clit and spreading it around.
“God, Rhys,” I moan under my breath. My clit aches, my breasts heavy and desperate. I rub circles over the tight, sensitivebud, my hips gyrating, chasing the impending orgasm that I want so damn bad.
My head drops backward as I fully let go, picturing the strong, tattooed hand of the only man I want touching me, his thick fingers pumping in and out of my body, the veins on his forearms pulsing and straining. I pinch my nipple again, this time keeping pressure on it and twisting and pulling, my fingers pressing down firmer on my clit. “Oh, god.”
The orgasm builds and builds, then finally it crests, pushing me over that cliff and into euphoria. Wave after wave of pleasure rushes through me, my clit throbbing as I bend forward, releasing my breast and bracing myself on the stone wall of the shower.
As my orgasm ebbs, I pull back my fingers, letting the hot water rush over me. God, did I really just get myself off to images of Rhys doing it for me? Oh god. The way I want to explore that.
My breathing calms, my heartbeat still banging around in my ribs like I just ran a marathon. I really,reallyliked that. I can’t imagine the real thing. Rhys manages to light me up with just a look, my body responding to him so naturally. Hell, his touch on my arm is enough to make my knees weak. The real thing? I’d perish. Float away on the wind or melt into a puddle of nothingness on the ground.
I thought once I told him I was engaged, he would leave. I assumed I’d never see him again. The fact that he’s come back time and time again, and how close we’ve gotten without any pressure from the outside world, shows me the type of man he is. He doesn’t bring up Blake or my engagement, doesn’t ask me about my plans, or if I’mleaving him. He just gives me his undivided attention and seems content to just spend time with me without rushing or pushing for more. I said it before, even if nothing romantic ever happens between Rhys and me, I just want that man in my life for eternity. He’s too good a person to not want to have in your corner.
Did the motorcycle club confession scare me at first? Yes. But that’s a normal response to seeing him beat up and hurt. Even if, based on the condition of his knuckles, he’s probably the one who left with the upper hand. I don’t know enough about what he does to fully understand the complexity of it all, but I know he’d never hurt me, and if he had to hurt someone else, I feel confident in my belief that he’d make sure they deserved it. Especially after growing up in a home where he watched his mom receive abuse at the hands of his dad. Rhys wouldn’t just hurt anyone, and he definitely wouldn’t get any enjoyment from it.
I don’t like violence. Even as a young girl, I avoided confrontation, never talked back to my parents, never fought with my friends over clothes, boys, or plans. Even now, I avoid standing up for myself when my own life is on the line. Blake doesn’t want what’s best for me; he wants what looks good for him. That’s not my idea of happiness—what people see from the outside. It’s what’s on the inside that matters; it’s the conversations that happen behind closed doors between two people, it’s how they feel when they’re in each other’s presence, regardless of the circumstance, it’s how they can share a simple look and suddenly know and understand everything the other is trying to convey. I’ve never shared that with Blake a day in our lives.
But a few weeks with Rhys, and my entire life has been flipped upside down. He doesn’t need to be told;he justknows. Nothing seems to get past him. From the first moment we met, it was like he looked right into the core of my soul, recognizing it right away. My heart flutters in my chest, my stomach aching with need—to leave this place, this situation, to run somewhere that I feel safe, secure, and happy.
I step out of the shower just as my phone starts to vibrate on the bathroom counter with an incoming text message. I dry off, wrapping the towel around my body and picking it up, knowing it’s Kira.
Kira: You still going to the party thing tonight or have you changed your mind?
Me: I’m going. I agreed to go a long time ago and I’m going to see it through, no sense in disappointing people
Kira: Except for yourself.
Kira: How does Rhys feel about you going?
Me: He’s my friend, Kira. He’s supportive. Do you remember how to be like that?
Kira: Oh I’m supportive, just not of your current situation, the other option though? Who knew you had a thing for leather. God damn.
My face heats,and I bite my bottom lip to hold back my smile. Rhys is gorgeous in jeans and his leather jacket. He fills it out so well, all huge muscles, thick waist, and thighs. His wrists alone are massive, and his hands?God.
Me: I’ll send you an S.O.S if I need you
Me: I’ve done this before and survived, I’ll be okay
Kira: Okay. I’m here if you need a bailout. Love you
Me: Love you too
With a deep breath,I finish getting ready for the gala, my head floating with thoughts of Rhys spinning on repeat. I’ll be on the arm of a man I no longer even like, in a place that makes me feel uncomfortable, surrounded by people I can’t stand. Why am I going, again? I’ve been suppressing my unhappiness and sacrificing for long enough.
It’s time for new beginnings.
After I’ve dolledmyself up enough and slipped into my dress, I join Blake in the living room with ten minutes to spare. My engagement ring weighs as a heavy reminder on my finger that all of this is fake and has an expiration date. Nerves finally set in as he sits reclined on the living room couch, his head downcast, staring at something on his phone.
