Page 68 of And Then Came You

So, I do what I do best. I seek revenge in the arms of beautiful women. I laugh at their jokes and compliment their already inflated egos, seeking some semblance of the intimacy I found with Lexi.

It’s a lost cause.

So am I.

I pound into the nameless woman from behind, her screams rising with each thrust, but my mind remains on the one woman I’ll always want and never have.

With a roar, I slam into her before pulling out and collapsing on the mattress. The lady of the hour—although the term lady is a stretch—drapes her leg over me, purring in my ear about how wild a ride I am.

I just want her gone.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I pull off the condom, washing away any traces of my latest mistake. I glimpse myself in the mirror. Shit, I look haggard.

“Ready for round two?”

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “You know where the door is. Let yourself out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” When she doesn’t move, I grab out a fifty-pound note, tossing it at her. “Here. Money for a cab.”

“Fuck you, Samuel Bernard.”

“You just did. Now go.”

She gathers up her things and storms out the door, cursing me the entire way. I suppose I should feel bad.

I feel nothing.

Lexi made sure of that fact.

* * *

The show, by all accounts, was a success. I ran on autopilot, but I’ve walked that stage enough times to fake my way through.

Several of the makeup artists commented on my appearance, and I halfway considered tattooing fuck off across my face. Really give them something to talk about.

Thankfully, that idea passed without incident.

Now, I’m back home in London, with a bevy of photo shoots and women lined up for the foreseeable future.

I’m playing the role of the quintessential ladies’ man. Hey, I don’t hear them complaining.

Nope, they clamor around me, begging for some attention. So, I’ve lined up a new woman every night this week. Tonight, I have two.

I haven’t screwed anyone since that brunette I kicked out of my suite in Paris.

These women want to suck my cock, and I let them.

Sometimes, it’s good to be king.

Am I an asshole?

Ab-so-fucking-lutely.

But the booze and the floozies keep my mind occupied. I dread the quiet. That’s when thoughts of Lexi drift into my head, along with the fact that I haven’t heard from her in weeks.

I wanted to delete the photos of her from my phone, but I couldn’t do it. I tried, my finger hovering over the trash can icon, but the idea of losing our moments ripped at the last shreds of a heart I still have.

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