Page 64 of Two Wrongs

Griffin is being adorable, and I want to laugh and live in this lighter-hearted moment with him, but it’s time to stop deluding myself. “What are we doing? This is so much more than sex, and it’s getting really complicated considering there’s an obvious end date to what we’re doing.”

“Logically I know that. But then I get all pissed off at the prospect of you even being in the same room as my son, and I know that I can’t walk away from you. When it’s time you’re going to have to go.”

I gesture to my bag sitting on the floor by the front door. “I was doing just that.”

“Not like this. I want to know you’ll be okay. I can’t have you out there thinking I didn’t want you, that I used you. That’s what you thought I meant by what I said earlier, isn’t it? You know what I didn’t find that pissed me off?” he asks me.

I’m afraid to hear the answer, but I need to. “What?” I mouth.

“A reason I could keep you. A way that I don’t have to sit by and watch as you convince my son there’s a chance to salvage your marriage if he gets help. I want him to get that help, badly, but I don’t want to sacrifice you for him to do it.”

Lying to Liam never set well with me. If he is only going through the motions to keep me, then he’s going to relapse the moment I leave. I feel like I’m going to end up being held emotionally hostage in a marriage I no longer want.

“I don’t plan on lying to him. I can’t tell him we have a chance. If he’s only getting better for me, it won’t last. I’m hoping we can talk to him and help him decide to stay for himself,” I tell him.

Griffin pulls me into his arms, and I melt. This is becoming my favorite place in the world, and I already miss him, even though he’s right here. There’s so many reasons I should go grab my bag and walk out the door, but there’s a big reason why I won’t.

I love him. I shouldn’t, and I doubt I’ll ever tell him. Hell, maybe it’s some kind of trauma bond, but right now, right here, my entire body and soul belongs to Griffin Hale.

Basically, we’re fucked. He says he will need me to walk away in the end, and I’m not sure I will ever find the strength to do that.

26

Griffin

“C’mon,” I tug on her hand, “I still want to teach you how to cook.”

I can’t really blame her for the skeptical look she shoots my way. “Really? Look, I forgive you for being an ass earlier. It is after all one of your core personality traits, but it kinda makes you a shitty teacher,” she scoffs.

Closing in behind her, I wrap my arms around her stomach, and lift her up. “I wasn’t asking. I need to know you can take care of yourself.”

She squirms in my arms, but I don’t put her down until we’re back in the kitchen. “You mean when I’m out in the world, on my own, no family, and no friends for the first time in my life? Yeah, I guess the main priority would be whether or not I could make,” she picks up the can of tomatoes, “what the hell are we making anyway?”

I take the can and put it back with the other ingredients in the order they’d be used. “Lasagne,” I answer her after everything is back where it belongs.

Wren looks closely at all the ingredients I’ve lined up for us. Her eyes flick back to mine, and she bites her bottom lip. “How annoyed would you get if I just mixed this all around?”

“Very,” I grunt.

She smirks at me. “So, just your normal, everyday self then?”

I pull her against me. Her plump ass rubs against my hardening cock. “Don’t you know it turns me on when you act up?”

Her back arches, shoving that firm ass harder against my aching dick. “Also your normal, horny self.”

“Behave,” I warn her. Somehow I summon the willpower not to fuck her on the countertop. We can save that for when the food is in the oven.

Wren blinks, and her face transforms into the innocent mask that haunts my dreams. The wet ones at least. “Yes, daddy,” she says, but the husky rasp in her voice lets me know I’m not the only one on edge.

She refocuses her attention on my obsessively organized ingredients. “Where’s the marinara sauce?”

I grab the tomatoes, garlic, onions, oregano, and basil and push them towards her.

“We’re making the sauce too? Do you make your own noodles?” she asks as she grabs the ingredients to look at them.

“Not for lasagne. I’ve tried it before, but dried ones work just as well. Better for some recipes, like this one.”

Her face is flushed and her pupils dilated as she stands there and looks at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on.”

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