Page 42 of Forever Fake

For the first time in my life, Iwanta man to touch me. My intuition tells me that sex with Blake will be like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I want that.

Turning off the water, I step out of the shower and get ready for the day. I’m relaxed and energized at the same time. Today’s going to be a good day, I can feel it. Maybe Kyla and I will tackle a new recipe. One of these mornings, I want to wake up early enough to go with her to the markets where she buys her supplies. I know she goes early to get the best offerings.

I’m taming my blond curls into more manageable waves when my phone chimes. The sound reminds me that I still need to talk to my sisters. I’ve been avoiding them for far too long.

I swipe to see the text message and my stomach drops. Dread wraps around my insides like a snake around its prey. It’s from Oliver, my ex.

Oliver

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me, babe. I think of you all the time. I like to think of you just like this…

The next message is a short video clip that auto plays. Bile rises in my throat. For a couple of seconds my gaze is glued to the screen as I watch Oliver give the camera a thumbs-up. Then he moves out of the way, revealing what’s on the bed behind him—my bruised, naked body, tied and gagged as I scream for help.

My vision blurs with tears, and my phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering as it falls on the vanity top. Flashes of memory invade my mind until I cover my head with my arms and scream. Except no sound comes out. The images continue to bombard me no matter how determined I am to keep themat bay. Whatever Oliver gave me that night only heightened my senses so that I felt every nerve ending of pain, and worse, I remember it all. Every dreadful moment.

My stomach roils and I barely make it to the bathroom in time, vomiting in the sink.

No matter how safe I feel with Blake, my past will always be around to haunt me, it seems. Uncle Lorenzo’s dead, but Oliver took his place. Who will it be next? Someone, I’m sure, because I can’t seem to escape these types of men. They find me. They’ll always find me. As soon as Blake and I divorce, and I’m no longer under his protection, another abuser will lure me in.

Or maybe I’ve been blind. Maybe Blake is one of them and he hasn’t shown his true colors yet. But he will. They always do eventually. Oliver did.

When it comes to men, I’m the worst judge of character. IknowI can’t trust myself.

What if Blake hurts me like they did?

He will. I know he will.

My temples throb with a splitting headache. I can’t let myself spiral like this. I need happy Gin today, and there’s only one way to get her to come out. Vodka.

CHAPTER 19

Blake

Yve’s been more of a pain in the ass then usual today, so I say fuck it and head home early, which is out of character for me. My workaholic reputation’s sure to suffer from this decision. Not like I care–fuck it. My singular focus on the ride home is the alluring woman I left in my bed this morning.

I find Gin lounging by the rooftop pool. My mouth goes dry as I take her in. That thin scrap of fabric can hardly be called a swimsuit.

My gaze travels the area. If anyone sees her voluptuous body this scantily clad, I'll have no choice but to pluck out their eyeballs. Finding no one in the vicinity, I return my attention to her and prowl closer.

She shields her eyes against the bright summer sunlight. "Oh, it's you," she says cheerily.

"Obviously." Involuntarily, I rake my gaze over her hourglass curves. "The time has come. We'll be officially announcing our engagement at your sister's wedding this weekend."

"Whatever you say." She beams at me with the fakest smile I've ever seen. I’m getting better at determining her moods, and right now she’s not as happy as she appears. The differencebetween fake-happy Gin, and genuinely-happy Gin is like night and day. One is a dark rain cloud on an otherwise clear day, completely out of place, and the other is like the sun itself shining down in all its glory.

"Whatever I say, huh?" I point toward the house. "Then get your ass inside and put on some real clothes before someone else sees you up here.”

Her expression sobers. However, the wicked glint in her eyes should be enough forewarning. Reaching behind her back, she tugs on the string and her entire top falls in her lap, putting her luscious breasts on full display. My palms itch with the desire to cup them. They would make a nice handful.

Then, like a cat, she stretches, all the while keeping her gaze trained on me. Defiance radiates from her in waves.

Ginevra Pontrelli is a brat. She knows it. I know it.

What she doesn’t know, yet, is that brats get punished.

Dropping into the chair beside hers, I drag her across my lap. Her surprised squeak warms my insides, egging me on.

“Disobedient girls get punished, Gin.” I smack her scantily clad ass. Once. I want to see how she’ll react. She might not be ready for this side of me yet–or ever. Not all women share my cravings, my fantasies.

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