She glares at me the entire time she decides on her outfit and then goes into the shower.
I need one too. And I want to test how far I can go, so I slip inside. It’s big enough that at least six people could fit in the shower stall.
Looking at me over her shoulder, she rolls her eyes. “I am sure you have more than one bathroom.”
“Yes, but you’re not in those,” I say matter-of-factly.
What happens next is not torture; it ranges on agony.
A teasing smile plays on her face as she lathers her skin in shower gel, foam kissing her skin when it’s my body to kiss. Possessiveness empties a lethal shot into my veins, annihilating reason, and I put a fist into my mouth, growling around it.
I am crazy for her—a disturbed fucker with no chance at regaining sanity.
I can’t believe I am jealous of her hands touching herself when I am dying to, the scent of peonies infused in rich vanilla teasing my nostrils—her smell, the kryptonite for my senses, making me so weak for her.
“Quite thorough,” I mumble under my breath, watching captivated as she washes herself.
I forgot I should do the same, but considering my blood has rushed straight to my cock, it’s impressive I can think at all.
She smirks, proud of herself as she steps out and dries herself, like she doesn’t leave me in a hard situation—literally.
My cock weeps, crying for her. I ignore it once again and dress casually.
The day to reclaim what’s mine will come. Patience. And then, I will fuck her straight to heaven and back to earth to surrender to her true god. Me.
Soon. I can almost taste the sweet flavor of her submitting to me as I lick every inch of her skin, feel her tight pussy constricting around my cock as I pound her into oblivion, her moans of pleasure echoing in my ears as I coax another orgasm until she’s a whimpering, shaky mess—my good girl craving me.
“Ready?” she asks, already wearing her riding gear, yanking me out of my fantasy.
25
VIVIANA
What is wrong with me? Skimming the verge of giving in when I should be focused on bricking up a wall that’s unscalable for him.
A lost cause, that’s what I am.
The asshole knows me too well. In my defense, I’ve accepted going with him because I miss Altea. That’s it. Not because of him. No, it has nothing to do with him. I will repeat that mantra until I believe it. Till the end of time, if necessary, to fortify myself against his attempts at winning me back.
In the car, I look out the window and put on some music to tune him out, doing my best to ignore him. But to silence his presence is impossible. I sigh, the sound ringing with dejection.
I can’t believe I asked him to wake up next to me, but I don’t rest well without him. He has trouble sleeping, and I am just a good person. That’s it. The pile of excuses will end up burying me, seizing my last breath.
We leave New York behind, the raucous sounds of the city melting into a peripheral one. The road stretches out in front of me with endless possibilities, and the ocean follows us on our journey like a silent companion.
This drive was a mistake. One hour confined with him feels like half an eternity.
My thoughts always circle back to him. My body always seeks his closeness. Instinctively, I am drawn to him. He doesn’t have to touch me to play with my senses.
I am stupid. A stupid woman in love with the one she shouldn’t be.
No one has hurt me more than he has, yet I still crave him like an addict, undeterred that it will demand my soul, my very life in return.
“Excited for tomorrow?” he asks, tapping a finger on the wheel.
I glare at him, then return to looking out the window.
“You’re going to be amazing. Those kids will adore you.”
