Page 74 of Filthy Secret

Grover doesn’t even look at me. He fucks me like he hates me, his fingers gripping the front of my throat as he moves inside of me. It’s worse than the first time he was inside of me after I walked away. And I should not like it. But I do. Too much.

I’m not sure what exactly I expect, but when his hand slips between us and I feel his thumb against my clit, I suck in a breath, holding it before I let out a whimper. It doesn’t take him long, a few firm circles, and I’m there. Right there. I come. It’s hard and fast, and I kind of hate myself for it.

Grover takes a step back from me before he comes, then I feel warm spurts of his cum land on my stomach. I can’t lift my body up. I can’t move because he’s still got his fingers wrapped around the front of my throat.

When he’s finished, he releases my throat, and then I hear his pants, belt, and zipper before I hear the door open and slam closed. My entire body jumps, and only then do I push myself up to a seated position.

I’m naked with cum on my stomach, my body feeling used and abused… but I am also feeling great, and I shouldn’t. So, why do I like it when this man uses me like this? I’ve never enjoyed rough sex, not like this.

I just like him being inside of me. I don’t care how. It doesn’t matter. It’s just him. Just Grover, and he hates me. He’s so angry. I didn’t think he could hate me more than he did when I came back here and asked for help.

But he does.

Using the paper towel that’s on the side of his desk, I wipe the cum from my stomach before I get dressed back in my clothes. I don’t want to walk out of the room and into the bar, but there is no other way to get to the bedroom.

I walk toward the door, tug it open, and step into the hallway. One step, then another, until I’m just in the hallway. I can’t go any farther. I don’t want to. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.

“You good, babe?” a voice calls out.

Opening one eye, then another, I smile at Clink. He’s leaning against the wall across from me, his eyes finding mine and a smirk playing on his lips. He doesn’t say anything else right away. He just waits for me to respond.

“No,” I whisper, “I’m not.”

He hums. “Didn’t think so. But you will be.”

“Will I?” I ask. “Because I don’t feel like anything is going to be okay. Sure, I’m safe now, but am I okay?”

Clink pushes off the wall and takes a few steps toward me. He stops when he’s just a few inches away. His eyes find mine as he lifts his hand, touching my chin with his fingertip. Then he leans down and smirks at me.

“Maybe not right now, but that man fucking loves you. No way is this going to be for long. He’s just got to get over whatever pissed him off. He’s a hothead.”

Clink is right on at least one of his statements. Grover is a hothead. There’s no denying that. It’s a trait he’s always had, although he’s much more patient and thinks about his reactions more now than he ever did… which is what has me the most worried.

Because if he’s so much more patient than he used to be. If he’s thinking things through. If he’s so damn wonderful, then I know he thought about this, and he is done with me. And I’m scared I’ll never have him again.

“He doesn’t love me. I love him, but he doesn’t love me. That’s okay,” I whisper the lie.

Clink snorts. “Okay, babe. Get back up to your room.”

I hear the music. The party happening in the bar, and for the first time since coming back here, I want to be part of it. All of it. I want to drink at the bar, I want to dance, and I want Grover to be jealous of me the way I always have been of him, of the women who throw themselves at him.

Maybe I want him to know how he made me feel in the past. Then maybe he won’t be so damn hard on me. On my decisions. On the choices I made in a time when I felt like I had no other choices. On my lies and my secrets.

“I don’t think I will,” I say softly, stepping to the side and then turning toward the bar.

“Ryan,” Clink calls out. Stopping, I look over my shoulder at him, my eyes finding his. He shakes his head once, his lips curved up into a smirk. “You’re going to cause a scene, aren’t you?”

Shrugging a shoulder, I give him my own smile. “Probably,” I say. “Life wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t.”

“He’s gonna get even more pissed.”

“Probably,” I repeat, this time with a grin.

He shakes his head. “It’s your head, babe.”

Instead of answering him, I turn and make my way toward the music. And instead of turning and running away toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, I walk straight toward the bar.

“What can I get you?” the man wearing the prospect patch on the other side of the bar asks.