Page 32 of Filthy Secret
Slowly, I move inside of her. I want her to come again, but honest to fuck, I’m not sure how long I can hold back.
I already want to come, and I’ve only been inside of her for a few seconds. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a smile playing on her lips as my hips thrust as I move in and out of her with a controlled pace that will make it last a few seconds longer than it would if I just lost myself to her body.
“Grover,” she breathes. “You feel amazing.”
Rising to my knees, I look down at our connection. I’m stretching her, my cock barely fitting inside of her, and it’s fucking beautiful. I glisten with her wetness, and I wonder how the actual fuck I lived without this for six years.
That thought pisses me off, so my thrusts become harder and faster. She gasps as I fuck her. My heart races at the thought of her walking away from me again. Lying to me, stealing from me, fucking leaving me and never looking back. Not coming back until she needed something from me.
Fuck.
When I come, it’s with a growl, and it’s not lovely or beautiful. It’s full of anger. Pulling out of her immediately, I roll onto my back. I don’t reach for her. I don’t wrap my arms around her. In fact, I don’t say a goddamn word to her. I stare at the ceiling.
“Grover?” she calls out.
She shifts around in the bed, and I know she’s covering herself with the sheet. I don’t answer her. I need to let the anger dissipate before I say or do something really fucking stupid, and I am ready to do both right now.
“I don’t know what just happened.”
Turning my head, ice in my veins, I look at her. “You happened, Ryan. Fucking you.”
Without another word, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I walk toward the bathroom, then close and lock the door behind me. Turning on the water, I wash my face and wait in there for a few moments, then turn it off and open the door.
The room is dark, and I can see her back to me in the bed. I grab my clothes from earlier off the floor, pull them on quickly, along with my boots, and I leave.
Walking out the front door of the house, I ensure that it’s locked up, then I send a text to a prospect to come and watch the place before I climb onto my bike and ride away.
I can’t stay here right now. I can’t see her right now.
I need to get away.
I need to breathe.
RYAN
My body aches but in a good way. My heart, though, aches in a very bad way. I know where he’s gone. He’s fucked me, he’s gotten what he wanted, and now he’s going back to his men. I knew this was what was going to happen. When I left him the first time, I knew that if I stayed, this would be my life.
And here I am.
Exactly where I knew I would be.
I hate myself for this.
What I hate more is that he’s right. I lied. I walked away. I stole. And then I came back when I needed something from him. I take deep breaths as I try to keep from crying.
It doesn’t work.
I cry.
And I don’t sleep.
I lie awake, waiting, hoping he will find his way home. That he’ll realize I want him. I need him. I love him. But he doesn’t. And he probably shouldn’t because, at this point, I’m absolute garbage.
Pulling my shorts and tank back on, I go to the bathroom and clean up. What I don’t do is look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t want to see myself, and this time, it has nothing to do with my bruises. Then I search for the remote control to the television. Glancing at my cell phone, I let out a heavy sigh at the time.
It’s three in the morning.
I flip through the channels and settle on an old episode of The Golden Girls, hoping it will take my mind off everything. And it works for a while. But I can’t help my thoughts as they drift toward Atomic.