Page 47

A little gift for Preston.

I pose myself on the bed, making sure to prop myself up on my elbows. My hair cascades around me, strategically hiding my bare breasts, and my legs cross, dangling off the edge. It’s perfect. Seductive, but not desperate.

The door swings open abruptly, hitting the wall with a thud. Robert stumbles in, his tall frame weaving steadily as he tries to regain his balance. His tie is loosened, his dress shirt half-tucked, while his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen.

Looks like Ellie wasn’t the only Grant with a drinking problem.

The family resemblance is stronger face-to-face than I had anticipated. He has Preston’s jawline, the same dark hair, and the same piercing eyes, though a shade darker. But where Preston carried himself with grace, Robert was looser. Cockier.

His eyes immediately scan my body, a smirk forming on his lips. I discover that while he doesn’t have a dimple on his cheek, one contours his chin when he smiles.

“Well, hello there,” He slurs through his smile. “You’re even more gorgeous here than in the picture.”

I arch an eyebrow and smile even though my insides recoil when he speaks. It’s pathetic.

“You look even more handsome, too,” I purr, sitting up slightly. My hair shifts, allowing my breasts to come into view.

He groans, throwing his head back slightly. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you messaged me.”

“You haven’t?”

“You’re exactly what I need right now.”

“And what exactly do you need, Robert?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but his eyes stay connected with mine as he reaches for the buckle of his belt. His fingers fumble with the clasp in a way that’s both desperate and comical. I remember, as his pants pool at his ankles, that I need to put on a show for Preston.

“You know what I need. Stop playing games,” he grumbles.

My head tilts at the entitlement. It’s pitiful how a man can be reduced to his basic, primal instincts when driven by lust and liquor.

Without saying anything, I rise from the bed and grab his hand, moving him closer to me. His eyes widen as he approaches, and his breath quickens with anticipation. It’s not until he’s inches away from me that he looks back up at my face, his eyebrows pulling together.

“What happened to your face?” He brushes his thumb across the healing wound just as Preston had done in the tub.

I can’t answer; it would ruin everything I have planned. I drop to my knees; the movement is fluid, and Robert lets out a sharp intake of breath as I reach for the waistband of his briefs. My fingers lightly brush over his skin before I pull them down, exposing him fully.

He’s already hard, his desire undeniable, and I feel a strange surge of power when I take him in my hands. I look up at him, my lips parting as I lean in, ghosting over the head of his dick. Robert’s eyes flutter closed as my tongue darts out, tracing a slow pattern along his length, teasing him. He lets out a soft groan, and his hand tangles in my hair.

“Fuck, Wynnie. More.”

Preston will love this, I think to myself humorously. My focus stays on the task at hand: wanting to torture Preston as much as possible. I wrap my lips around him and suck gently, my tongue swirling in a rhythm that seems to drive him wild. His hips twitch, straining toward me, seeking more.

But just as quickly as I’d begun, I stopped. I release him with a soft pop before I pull back, my hand still gripping him but no longer moving.

When he looks down at me, the room seems to freeze. His confusion is immediate as he tries to process my sudden stillness.

“What? What are you doing? Don’t stop, Wynnie.”

I don’t speak.

Robert’s irritability grows, and when I don’t continue, he grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks between his fingers and thumb.

“What the fuck are you doing? Suck my dick.”

While he’s distracted with anger, I keep hold of him with one hand, and the other sneaks between the mattress and the bed frame. The blade is cold against my palm.

I squeeze him tighter, bringing my other hand with the knife up in one swift motion, jabbing it in with as much force as I could muster. Immediately, my hand is covered in blood, and he stumbles backward, eyes wide with terror, until he hits the wall. His hands move toward the knife as he screams, but I can tell he’s too scared to try to pull it out.