Page 72 of Coercion

An ordinary man would worry about the guards missing something, about the poor lighting enabling some assassin to get close, but Nico Morelli is far too high up the food chain for that. Besides, everyone is searched at the door. I doubt you’d be able to even sneak in a tampon without them being aware of it.

Across one entire side is the drinks bar, with more bottles on the wall than I can count. The wood and brass are so well polished you can see your actual reflection in them. People are perched up against the edge, some are sat on the fancy stools, others are lounging against it as they chat away.

Figuring this is the best place to sit and just observe, I walk over and take a spare seat, not too close to anyone, and I look around, trying to spot where Preston might be.

When I do find him, I don’t know whether to be shocked or not.

He’s sat there, across the room beside Nico and a whole bunch of men I don’t recognise. Around them women seem to flit like butterflies. Nico and Preston have their heads bowed together, clearly having a private conversation but that doesn’t seem to stop any of the women from trying to get their attention anyway.

I gulp, watching as one leans in brushing her tits against my husband’s arm as she places a fresh beer on the table. He glances up, murmurs a thanks before he takes a swig and some sort of monster seems to unfurl inside me. She leans in further. Nico says something and she tenses before walking away but I can’thelp wondering what Preston would do if Nico hadn’t clearly told her to shove off.

Would he have smiled at her, would he have enjoyed her attention, would he have fucked her if she laid it on? And she was laying it on.

I narrow my eyes. I’d never have pegged myself as the jealous type and yet, apparently, I am.

I am incandescently full of rage right now.

My husband of barely more than a month, is here, in this bar, surrounded by women so glamourous I look like a street rat in comparison.

He said he was working late. Is this what he means by working? I bite the tip of my tongue, grind my teeth against it, taking in a low deep breath.

“Trust me babe, you’re not his type.”

I half jump at the barmaid who’s leaning over, her large tits on full display with the black push up bra she has on under the tight white tank top.

“Whose type?” I ask.

She smirks. “Like you haven’t been eyeballing Preston Civello from the moment you walked in.” She says, looking me up and down like I really am trash.

I glance back across the room to where he’s sat. Have I been that obvious about it? Maybe. But apparently my husband has still not noticed my presence.

“He’s not into girls like you.” She states.

“Girls like me?” I repeat.

“Shrinking violets.” She says, flicking her bleached hair back over her shoulder. “Preston likes a girl who can give as good as she gets.”

“And how would you know that?” I ask.

She tilts her head as her equally well-endowed friend leans in beside her to be part of this conversation. “Preston likes toshare.” She says. “And trust me, someone like you, you can’t handle a man like that.”

“Oh really?” I scoff, feeling a flash of jealousy that I know should be unfounded. What he did before me has no consequence. He could have fucked half the city and I have no logical cause for complaint.

“You know he’s got a pierced cock?” The first says, “You ever even had sex babe, ever fucked a man with a pierced cock before?”

I gulp because surely the only way they’d know that is if they have been with him. If they’ve fucked him. I look between them both as it sinks in.

They’ve both been with him, they’ve both seen him naked, touched him, been more intimate with my husband than I ever have.

The second girl leans over, patting my hand in a sarcastic manner. “Stick to your basic men.” She says. “Preston Civello is way out of your league.”

I can feel my eyes stinging.

I know it’s pathetic, that these two are goading me, and yet he’s obviously fucked at least one of them.

I glance at the other girls, all five of them laughing and flirting behind the bar. They all seem like carbon copies, massive tits, perfectly arched brows and hair bleached to the point it’s turned white.

Is that what Preston likes? Is that what he’d choose if he wasn’t forced to marry me?

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