Page 67 of Unleashed

I snap, “Is this our interaction now? Fighting or the silent treatment? This is worse than arguing.” A triumphant, brief smile touches her lips, and I ache to feel them. “I have nothing to wear. Since I work at a fucking gas station and all.” Her restrained laugh only angers me more. “I know you’re pissed about things I said, but this is all necessary. You don’t see what he’s doing to you. I don’t care if you can take it. I won’t. Not even for you.”

As I stare at Simone’s profile, she shakes her head, but her jaw twitches before looking the other way. Since she’s listening, I run with it. “I’m not glazing over what happened to us. I won’t forget the things I said, how I hurt you, and everything we lost.” In the mirror, Simone makes a face like she swallowed a mouthful of nails as she carries the shoes to her dresser.

I sigh. “If you don’t want to talk to me, whatever. I don’t want to talk to you, either.”

She tucks her shoes underneath her arm and pulls open a drawer. Simone removes a pair of lacy white underwear before heading to the bathroom. Well, shit. Now I’ll think of what’s under her dress all night. I guess I would’ve, anyway.

I get up and follow her. “Come on. Be mad at me, but you heard your dad. He thinks we’re running a scam. It started out as one, but...” I shove my left hand into my pocket to keep from feeling the ring and reliving the day Simone put it on my finger and then into her pussy, orgasming on it. Christ.

Simone leans her hip against the bathroom vanity with her back to me, waiting for me to leave. But I linger there until she gives up and pulls her T-shirt over her head. When her bra slides down her arms, I see the side of her left tit bouncing as she works on her jeans. Fuck. I’ve never seen a body like Simone’s. It says a lot from what I’ve seen in porn. Everything about her is perfect.

“Uh, right,” I mutter and clear my throat. Her jeans fall to her ankles with her underwear. Her ass is bare to me, and every single one of our fucks occupies my mind at once. I clench my hands as I imagine fucking her ass, and I’m harder than the doorframe I bump into. I shift to leave but can’t stop staring at my ex-wife.

Simone steps into the shower, turning into the spray, allowing me to see her side tit and hard nipple.

I whisper, “Fucking hell,” and grab my dick through my jeans in sympathy, but it’s not like I can do anything here.

Simone soaps her tits, and suds cling to them like my cum previous times. Her hands move between her legs, and I swear I’ve died. I swallow through the pain, screaming through my body, heart, and soul. She was mine. I was hers. How did we get here? I should be fucking the hell out of her in that shower. On the bed. In the car. I could never stay out of her pussy for long. I found what I was searching for. But then lost it just as fast. Forever.

Escaping the unbearable torture, I leave the bathroom, shutting the door.

My hard-on digs into my jeans, and the pain radiates through my groin and down my thighs. I don’t know when I’ll ever fuck a woman again. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to.

I pace her room, trying to tamp down my erection. I think of things like her dad, brother, Rhodes Jr., and that muddy crackhead. I then pull out my phone and text Ferrera. If I have to suffer tonight, so will that bastard.

On Simone’s dresser sits her jewelry box, and an overwhelming impulse or masochistic urge hits me. I go to the box, and I lift the lid. Like, what am I expecting to find? A severed head? Jimmy Hoffa? An engagement ring? That would end me, which isn’t a giant leap since I’m in the home stretch already.

I see a man inside and drop the lid with a loud bang. I look around and, realizing what happened, mutter, “You’re such an idiot.” This time, I don’t let my reflection in the lid mirror scare the hell out of me.

I open it again and see rings galore—even her mood ring she removed to wear mine. I scan the rings but don’t see the ring. My heart drops into my stomach and boils in the acid. I beat off and jizzed on the damn thing while on her finger. Of course, she got rid of it. None of it means shit to her.

I slam the lid on purpose and sulk over to her bed to sit and wait. As I contemplate whether becoming a monk is an option or if I’m having a heart attack, I notice her phone on the bed and messages popping up from Hadley and Sylvie. What the hell? Hadley mentions Wilder not wanting to go, but she will. Thank Christ.

So, why can’t I invite my friends? Most of Simone’s friends are my friends, except Sylvie. Why in the hell is she talking to her?

Removing my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket, I scroll through my contacts. Taking a deep breath, I send a text and wait for a reply. This may end up a train wreck, as well.

My phone dings with a reply, and I hold my breath, reading it. I grin and decide this night may not be so bad.

I hear the water shut off and imagine Simone leaving the shower. After two eternities, Simone exits the bathroom, and everything about her slams me when I look up from my phone. As I gawk, her sugary perfume pretzels my dick—she wasn’t lying about doing that to me. She piled her hair on her head and wears so much makeup that she looks different. But still so goddamn fuckable.

My gaze moves to her dress, a shimmering gold fabric that barely qualifies as clothing. The front dips past her tits, and when she grabs a purse from her closet, I see her naked back, all the way to the top of her ass.

When she turns, she catches me staring at her like a bitch in heat. She hesitates before dropping her black-lined eyes and storming past me.

I go into the bathroom to calm down for a minute so I’m not on full display. When I hit the stairs, I hear her dad on the phone, complaining about life. Remembering the role I’m playing, as soon as I reach the foyer, I grab Simone’s hips and yank her against me. With her towering heels, she’s my height. I lean in to lick her neck and hear her soft gasp. From behind me, her dad ends the call, so I tell Simone, “Maybe we should go upstairs for another round. I can never get my fill.” I rub my hands up and down her hips. Simone hums, and I bite back a moan.

Her dad coughs as if to remind us he’s here. Like that’d stop me, anyway.

Simone clears her throat and purrs, “When we get home. I don’t want to mess up my hair or makeup. Then you can have me all night long.” Well, fuck.

The mad doc whines, “Regard your audience.” I roll my eyes and breathe over Simone’s shoulder, unsure if I should kiss her there. But once I start, I’ll be unable to stop. “You’re going out dressed like that, Rodwell?”

Still holding Simone’s hips, I dig my fingers into her, hoping I leave red marks for her to see later. “My fun clothes are still at my old apartment with my former roommate. There’s not a lot of room in Simone’s closet for my shit, but I’ll move them here sometime.”

Simone’s dad cringes, and I grin as I run my hands along Simone’s ribs, taking full advantage of being a dutiful husband.

He sighs. “I wish I could believe a word you say.”

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