Page 38 of Discretion at Its Finest

I didn’t stop. “You couldn’t fix us. You couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t love me hard enough to make me stay. And I didn’t love you enough to not leave.” I was breathing harder now, my hands trembling around my frame. “There was too much happening with you, with Raymond finding out about Jamie’s affair and your paternity—it was too much. Gregory was the safe option for me and I took it because I wanted to. I needed to for me.”

His eyes lingered on me, hate and fury growing in them as they studied me in the silence.

Then his angry but controlled voice came low. “And you love him, right?”

My breath caught as he took a step closer. I couldn’t answer him. His jaw flexed once. Then twice. His gaze dragged over my face, then my body… slow and punishing.

“More than me? That’s what made it easier for you, isn’t it? That’s what you told me when you left without a second thought? When you let them bury me alive?”

My rage faltered, pulse spiking as he towered over me.

“You left me,” he repeated, stepping closer until my back nearly hit the car door. “And you think that’s the end of the story? That you get to stand there and say it like a fact, and I’m just supposed to live with it all over again?”

At this point we were only inches away. His body pressed me against the side of the car. His hands caged me in, resting beside my head as he leaned in too close.

“You don’t get to call it the truth just because you’re too afraid to admit you fucking regret it.”

I glared into his eyes. “I don’t regret anything.”

“Because Gregory was safe, right?” he spat. “Gregory was your choice?” He scoffed, the sound coming out bitter. “Because I was the risk. I was the one who saw you. Who loved every broken, ruthless piece of you… Maybe that’s why you ran.”

My pulse was thundering. “Stop.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he dared. His voice was low now, lethal in the quiet night. “Tell me you didn’t think about me every day like I thought about you. Tell me you’ve never thought about me while he fucked you. Over and over and over again.”

My hand shot out, trying to push him back, but he grabbed my wrist, holding it against his chest as he trapped me.

“Tell me you don’t want my hands on your body…” His voice was lower, closer, pulling me in, ghosting just above my lips. “Tell me you don’t still want me…”

His eyes burned into me. “Tell me… you don’t still belong to me.”

I couldn’t speak. My body betrayed me first. Because I didn’t pull away. I didn’t slap him like I wanted to. Didn’t scream or spit the truth he wanted to hear.

I just stared at him. At his mouth, the rage and hunger crawling over his face… the tension in his jaw that was proof he was holding something back… something feral.

And then—

He kissed me. Hard. He kissed me like a punishment. Like I was his fucking reckoning. And God, in that moment that’s all I wanted to be.

His mouth had crashed against mine, unforgiving and brutal. My gasp had broken the non-existent barrier between us, but he pulled me back in, devouring it like he had a right to it, like he owned it.

I should’ve pushed him away.

But I clutched his shirt instead, fisting the fabric, pulling him down harder, hungrier, like I wanted to hurt him with how much I still wanted… needed him.

He was making life a fucking hell, for crying out loud, but in the moment I didn’t care. When I felt his hands gripping my hips, all possessive, anchoring me against the car as his thigh shoved between mine, forcing my legs apart, all I could do was melt into him.

I could feel his fingers sliding lower, dragging the hem of my wrap dress up my thigh until I felt the cool night air kiss bare skin. He hiked it up shamelessly, my leg wrapping around his body as he pressed his hardened cock against my wet core. It was like he didn’t care who saw us, didn’t care that I was coming apart for him after I promised I wouldn’t, not again.

But I already was.

I moaned into his mouth, hating the way my nails clawed at his chest like I couldn’t get him close enough.

His palm curved around the back of my neck, tilting my head to take the kiss deeper, filthier, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weaken, made my mind fucking evaporate.

“You hate me…” he breathed against my lips, his hand squeezing my thigh, pushing my dress up farther with little patience. His other hand slid between my open legs as my body buckled, searching for him, aching for his touch again.

There was no warning or permission. Just my need for him being satiated as his fingers slid through my dripping heat he knew was there.