Page 34 of Two Wrongs
‘Fuck you,’she mouths silently. A look right into her brain.
Fuck you. And against everything, I want her to.
Still. Always.
‘That’s enough.’ I hear the words before the neurons connect, my voice belonging to someone else.Somethingelse. ‘Get the fuck off my wife.’ He doesn’t hear me, or maybe he does. Maybe he’s adjusting to the reality of blue balls. ‘I said get the fuck out.’
The asshole leans up on one elbow; his pelvis pushed between her open legs. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? Does she look like she wants me to move?’
She looks like she’d screw you to spite me, I don’t say, while hating every minute of it. I don’t answer him at all, conscious only of the fact that I’m moving. Synapses firing, neurons delayed, and before I can acknowledge it, I know I’m going to hurt him.
‘What the fuck!’
His shoulder in my grip, I tear him from between her legs. He rolls awkwardly, slipping from the edge of the bed. Falling. Splayed out on his back. Crawling backwards like a crab. ‘Hey, take it easy, man. I get it; you changed your mind, but you invited me here—’
I invited him here to fuck my wife. What does that make me?
I stop. I glare. I try to make sense of the animal I’ve become as both hands rake through my hair.
‘Get the fuck out.’ The words are harsh, and my throat burns.
‘S-sure thing.’
He leaves. I don’t watch, but I doubt he looks back as I turn my gaze to my quarry. The girl on the bed. My wife clad in nothing but a thin sheen of fear and a scrap of underwear. Ready to fuck someone else at my behest.
‘Fuck you,’ she hisses, scrambling backward to the head of the bed.
‘You’d like that.’
I grab her ankle, the bones delicate beneath my fingers. Stare at her dark painted toes. I don’t feel right. I’m amped—feel uncontrolled—like I’ve somehow stepped out of myself. This isn’t who I am yet not someone I’m pretending to be. I love my job—love slipping into a role—but this isn’t the same. Emotions and reactions, I collect. I hoard them like a squirrel for when I play professional pretend. For when I place myself in someone else’s skin. A scene, a photo shoot. An interview.
But that’s not what’s happening now, and this person, the person I am right now? He won’t be the same once he leaves this room.
‘Dylan.’ Her voice is husky with emotion, her eyes laced with sex. ‘Please.’
I look up from her foot in my hand. ‘Please?’ My brow furrows because I don’t understand. Any of it. I don’t understand a thing. I don’t know why she hurt me or why I’m trying to hurt her back.
‘You want reasonable?’ I ask. ‘How can I be reasonable, and how can you ask that?’ She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off as words begin to spew. ‘For fucking months, you let me think you’d screwed him—and I don’t know which is worse; that you didn’t, or that you might have.’
‘Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t be acting like a jerk.’
‘Maybe,’ I whisper, tugging hard on her foot and pulling her to the end of the bed. ‘But that’s the difference between you and me.’ Her arms frame a halo of dark hair above her head; her knees bent over the edge of the mattress. I make quick work of sliding them wider and slipping between.
‘I’m a jerk who owns up to his mistakes.’ Bending, I brace myself over her body, one hand pressed into the mattress by her head. Somehow, my other hand seems to have a mind of its own, running through those dark, silky strands. ‘You might have secured a divorce without sullying yourself. But me, babe? I’m not so lucky. I’ve fucked anything with tits and an ass.’
‘What are you doing?’ she asks, even as I draw closer tilting my head, my intention clear.
‘Adding one more mistake to my tally,’ I reply, watching as the realisation dawns in her gaze. The lust and the relief. ‘Because I’m going to fuck my wife.’
I lower my head an inch farther until her hand and my chest connect.
‘Dylan, do you think this is a good idea?’
You were the love of my life, and you didn’t want to be.The words choke me. I can’t say them. Not without coming apart at the seams.And I’ll wear your name on my heart until the day I fucking die.
Instead, I answer simply, ‘It’s not up for discussion,babe.’
Chapter Sixteen
