Gatsby was mine. Emile was mine. This cock was mine. All of it, all of him, was mine, and I was his. We were each other's green lights, and nothing was going to stop us from being together. Not Max, not our stupid engagement, not Lydia.
I shook the thoughts of awful things out of my mind and refocused on the task at hand. My fingers drifted between my legs and found my clit, encircling it as I continued to blow him.
"Yes, baby, fuck yourself. Come with me," he groaned.
I closed my eyes and moved my lips faster, in rhythm with the fingers between my legs. In moments, he was throwing his head back and shoving my head deep into his soft, curly hairs as his cum jutted from the tip, hot and fast into my throat. The taste of him sent me over the edge, and I came with him. I came so hard and so suddenly, when he finally let me go my vision grew spotty and I swayed with dizziness. I looked up at him and smiled, admiring his handsome face.
He really was my green light.
Chapter 46
Daisy
"Thank you for letting me know."I hung up and stared out the window over at the house across the lake I'd been living in for the last few years, waiting for Gatsby.
"Who was that?" Gatsby asked, coming into the library.
"A member of the kitchen staff from across the lake. Max has been calling them, wanting to keep tabs on me. Apparently, some of his friends are stopping by today and he wants me to entertain their wives."
"Fuck that," Gatsby snarled. "You don't have to listen to him."
I swallowed. I'd left out the rest of what the kitchen-maid had told me. Max had left threats over theirs and my heads. I stood and forced a smile.
"I know, but... I should go back. Just for a little bit. The afternoon, probably. I need to make sure everything is running smoothly and?—"
"You're really going to entertain those spoiled, awful women?"
I'd told him about the people Max associated himself with and their partners. He knew how much Idetested these women. But it was what he didn't know that made me get up and walk past him to head downstairs.
"Daisy," he protested.
"I haven't been home in almost two weeks. I need to go for a bit, otherwise it will rouse suspicion," I argued.
"Who cares? Once he comes home, you're going to tell him it's over, aren't you?" He followed behind me.
"I mean, yes, but..."
"Daisy." He paused to reach for my shoulders and spin me around. "Don't play with me. This was what we agreed upon."
"Yes, I know, it’s just?—"
"Just what? You love him? Surely that's not what it is. You haven't even worn that stupid ring of yours in a month."
I raised my hand.
Oh, I guess I hadn't.
I looked up into Gatsby's gorgeous green eyes. He was right, of course. I hadn't even realized.
"Where is it?" I demanded.
"Where is what?" He feigned ignorance.
"My ring," I said through gritted teeth. "I need it back." I held out my palm.
"Interesting how you only want it now that it’s been pointed out to you. You want it, take it." He dug into his jeans pocket and plucked out my engagement ring. I took it from him and slid it onto my finger. It felt heavy and foreign and guilt-laden.
"This means nothing," I protested.
