Page 47 of The Guilty One

She struggles to tug her dress back up, to cover herself with her one free hand, and I click my tongue. “I guess I could just send this to Matteo instead. Break his wittle heart.” I pucker out my bottom lip.

That causes her to go still as she turns to look at me. I drop her wrist, waiting.

“You and I both know he’d believe me if I said you came onto me,” she says, bluffing. “If I said you assaulted me.”

I scoff, looking away. “Like hell. Have you seen me? I don’t need to assault anyone. Girls come to me.” I step forward again, slipping my leg in between her thighs as I lower my voice. “They beg for me.”

“He loves me.” She swallows. “This will break him. Please don’t do this. He’s your friend.”

“You’re my friend,” I mutter into her hair. She smells like absolute heaven. I nip at her ear, tracing the outside with my tongue. She shivers, sucking in a breath. I’m done waiting. “So be friendly.” I shove her to the ground, and her knees hit the tile with a sharp smack. She cries out but doesn’t give me the satisfaction of making more of a sound than she has to.

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

“I’m not asking anymore.” I unzip my pants and shove myself in her face, snapping a few more pictures with my phone. She realizes what I’ve done but is too slow to move. When her eyes meet mine, we both know I’ve won.

Her chin quivers as she locks eyes with mine, silently pleading.

“Do it, or I’ll ruin his fucking life.”

She swallows, her perfect little eyes meeting mine. “Please, Tatum.”

I grab hold of her throat, squeezing until she can’t take a breath. “Beg me again, ask me to stop again, and I’ll bend you over this desk instead. And I promise I’m not as much of a gentleman as Matteo. This is the easy way. So make your choice.” I release her neck, and she sucks in a deep breath.

She closes her eyes, a tear streaming down her cheek, and then she takes me in her hand and leans in, mouth open wide.

Fucking heaven.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CELINE

“Tate?” His voice is like a fever dream. It doesn’t feel real. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, some huge part of me felt like I’d never hear it again.

Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m imagining all of this. Maybe I really have had some sort of breakdown. I’m not sure any of this is real.

“Tate? Is that you?”

I can only hear him breathing.

“Please. Please say something. Tell me something. Anything.”

There’s a long pause where I’m sure he’s going to hang up, but then I hear, “I miss you.” His voice is soft and slow, like he’s trying not to be heard, and it reminds me of talking on the phone long after curfew when I was a teenager, covers pulled over my head.

“It’s really you.” My voice cracks. “I can’t believe it. I miss you too. So much. Where are you? What is happening?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Sorry?”

Once again he doesn’t say anything, leaving me in silence as I listen to the sound of his breathing.

“I know about the money.”

Again, there’s nothing.

“The boys miss you, Tate. Please just…if not for me, will you come back for them? At least to say goodbye?” I hate that I’m crying right now. Hate that I’m begging. “I don’t understand. I thought things were okay, and I don’t know why you left or what I did wrong, but I miss you. I really miss you, and I want you here. I want you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay and that this is all a misunderstanding. The boys miss you so much, Tate. They miss their daddy.” I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. “Please say something.”

“I can’t.”

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