Page 66 of Worth the Trouble

“It’s fine, sweetheart, want to know why?” I lean over her and grip the hair at the back of her head, pulling hard enough that it forces her chest to arch. I lean in and latch onto the flesh of one of her breasts, biting hard. It’ll probably leave a mark but I’m a little unhinged, so I don’t give a fuck. “Because he can’t do to you what I can.”

“He can’t,” she moans as I sink my teeth in again.

“But just in case…” I lick all the way up her chest, her neck, her face. “Let me remind you.”

I thrust inside her in one brutal move. It knocks the air from her chest, and I breathe the life of it in. But I don’t stop or slow down, instead, I slam into her so hard I’m sure it’s hurting both of us in the best possible way.

I sink back to my knees and grab her ankles, wrapping one hand around them and bringing them to one side of my head so she’s extra tight. And I fuck her with every bit of rage I’m feeling inside. For her making me like her, for her getting in my head. For her sliding under my skin and making a home for herself in the ink.

I fuck her like I hate her, and need her, and can’t get enough of her. I fuck her like it’s the last thing I’m going to do before I walk through the gates of hell.

Maybe I’ll fuck her until we both disintegrate and then no one else can have either of us. Because as she looks into my eyes and her climax hits, she pulls my own out of me—along with everything else.

21

Lili

Ihatethisdress.It’s sheer and skintight. And even if it reaches the floor, it dips low in the back and shows off every inch of my spine. Mom knew what she was doing when she picked it out. I’m on display like the trophy she sees me as.

I hate this place. The food is overpriced and underwhelming. It’s not worth the calories I’m going to have to work off later.

Worst of all, I hate this man sitting across from me. Ordering my food for me like I’m a child incapable of doing it myself. Basking in the fact that the waitress is batting her eyelashes at him.

It’s not her fault she doesn’t know what hides beneath his polished exterior. To her, he’s all emerald eyes, strong features, dark hair, and chiseled perfection. If only his sharp smile was the extent of the pain he’s capable of causing.

The waitress walks away, but not before glancing back at Vaughn over her shoulder. I remember when that used to offend me, now I wish he would find interest in her and leave me alone.

“I’ve missed Denver,” Vaughn says, circling his red wine in his glass before taking a pretentious sip.

It makes me miss the way Rome drinks booze, like he’s trying to drown his demons with it because at least that feels real. While everything about Vaughn is measured and perfect—a mask he wears well.

“It’s nice,” I agree, taking a sip of my own wine.

I don’t need the calories, but something has to take the edge off this dinner.

Vaughn sets his glass down and fixes his gaze on me. “You’ve certainly been enjoying yourself.”

The playfulness he had with the waitress has been replaced by a cold stare and condescending tone. Both of which I wish I wasn’t so familiar with.

Holding my wine glass in my hand as a barrier, I shrug, trying to avoid his gaze. “The city has a lot to offer.”

I know he’s not talking about the city. There’s a wrecking ball in his gaze waiting to decimate me with whatever his reason is for dragging me out on this dinner. I brace one hand over my stomach and wait. Hearing the haunting sounds of a proverbial chain clinking a cement ball into place.

“I know you’ve been spending time with a certain guitarist.” Vaughn’s statement is calm and to the point, but it knocks through me. And I see this meal for what it is.

Jealousy. Control. Humiliation.

Somehow he caught wind of the fact that I’ve been spotted with Rome, and he isn’t happy.

Since ending things a year ago, I haven’t dated, and because of it, Vaughn has left me alone. But all it took was one whisper of me possibly moving on for him to show up and upend any progress I’ve made since things with him ended.

It doesn’t matter to Vaughn if Rome isn’t my boyfriend. It’s that something is happening at all. Because apparently, he’s the only one allowed to throw his body around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take another sip of my wine and feel my endorphins already swimming in it.

What I wouldn’t give to escape this table and fall into Rome’s bed right now, so he could help me work out whatever’s stirring inside me. It might be wrong, and he might not fit into my world, but escaping with him—playing this game of chicken and seeing how far we can handle it—makes me feelalive.

“Word gets around, Lili.” His expression falls in disappointment, and it reminds me of my mother.

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