Page 25 of Sinful Temptations

My heart lurched. After dragging myself to the table, I plonked onto the chair. Running my hand over the crumpled paper, I spread it out. I read the first one on the list . . . the one thathadbrought me so much joy.

First orgasm in a shower.

“Fuck you, Pierre.” The words wobbled through my tears that I tried to force down.

I grabbed a pen and stabbed the paper. I did it again, over and over, shredding the letter to dozens of tiny pieces. When there was nothing left, I flopped forward and cried.

I couldn’t breathe. Sucking in air hurt my chest.

Sitting back, I stared at the pile of shredded strips, and a bolt of memory slammed into my head.

Only it was my mother sitting in front of a pile of shredded paper with tears streaming down her face. It was the day after my fourteenth birthday. The day after my fatherhad walked out our door for the last time. The note Mother had shredded was from him. It’d had just eight words.I’m outta here, you slut. Don’t bother calling.

My mother was a slut. She had sex with anyone who’d flop into bed with her.

Acid curled deep in my belly, sharp and painful.

I’d had sex with men I didn’t really know too. And I’d liked it.

Oh fuck.A throb started at the base of my neck and pounded behind my eyes.

I’d just slept with a married man.

I was a slut. A dirty rotten slut.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Iwaslike my mother.

A wave of bile shot up my throat. I scrambled off the chair and raced to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. I heaved again. And again. With nothing left in my belly, I crumbled onto the cold tiles and cried my eyes out.

It was an eternity before I dragged myself upright.

Every time I squeezed my eyes shut, I saw Pierre fucking his wife, and that stupid smile on his face when he spied me watching.

I wished I’d slapped him harder. And kicked him in the nuts.

I needed Zali.

Ahhh shit. I didn’t have my phone.

A sob burst from my throat, but I fought it.

I had to get my phone. I couldn’t leave Paris without it.

I yanked on clothes and before I knew it, I was outside again. The air was weird—hot and prickly, matching my emotions. Pumping my fists back and forward, I strode up the street, heading toward the man who’d taken my newfound sexual freedom and turned it into something disgusting.

I am just like my mother.

Oh, God. My whole life I’d been telling myself a lie.

And just like her, I’m a liar too.

Rain began to fall. Not tiny little raindrops—giant fat ones that splattered on my cheeks and nose and drenched my hair. But I didn’t care.

I kept walking. At the traffic lights, I stopped with other people, all clutching umbrellas. I knew I looked weird. I wanted to scream that I was weird.

I’m a freak.

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