Page 81 of Lucas
Ilay on the bed in my room, Cartman standing on his perch. “What do you say, Cartman? Did I make a mistake?”
“Make a mistake.” his raspy voice echoes my words. “Mistake.”
I sigh. Yes. I can’t stop thinking about that moment on the roof, the moment he gazed at me as I climaxed, his eyes locked on mine and his cock gripped in his fist. I’ve been avoiding him since, but I can’t avoid him forever.
I shouldn’t have given in to him. Good thing he forgot the condom, and we stopped before...
I regret it.
No, I don’t.
I want to regret surrendering to his skilled hands and wicked tongue, but all I want is to do it again,to feel every hard inch of him stretching me, filling me, brewing an inferno inside me. How does it make sense that I can’t stand his arrogant smirks and bossy orders and yet crave his touch like a drug at the same time?
I shouldn’t get involved with him. It’s hard enough seeing him every day, at work, at home. And the more my body reacts to him, the bitchier I become. I say things to him I’ve never dared say to anyone. Awful things.
Still, the more time we spend together, the less I hate him. And that scares me.
I have to remember that in the end, when our sham of a marriage contract expires, he’ll cast me aside like yesterday’s newspaper and forget I ever existed. Just like everyone else in my life. Just like Father.
I can’t wallow here all weekend, though, locked in my gilded cage of a room. I need to get out, to do something reckless and fun. Get away from his intoxicating scent and burning looks. Erase the memory of how his skin feels sliding against mine, how he looks in the throes of passion.
I reach for my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Michelle, tell me there’s a party.
Michelle
Of course there is. But you never want to come. Decided to leave the love nest? Have some fun?
Something like that.
Michelle
Sending you the details. You coming with your hot hubby?
No. I’m flying solo tonight.
Michelle
Trouble in paradise?
No. I’m still an independent person who makes my own decisions, and I can come alone.
Michelle
Okay, okay, Grumpy Ava. No need to bite my head off. See you there.
Why does everyone assume I’m attached at the hip to him now? I may have married the bastard, but he doesn’t own me.
I get up and walk to my massive closet. This estate has one thing going for it—the closet is every woman’s fantasy. I flip through my dresses, trying to decide what to wear.
I lick my lips, remembering the nasty comments I got at her last party. Maybe for Michelle’s parties, I shouldn’t wear my tailored dresses. Maybe they’re right, and I look like a snob? Is that why people don’t talk to me and laugh at me behind my back?
I glance at the other side of the closet, to the bustling racks of clothes Lucas’s fashion-snob stylist bought to fill my new wealthy wife image. I haven’t even bothered to look at them until now.
I run my fingers over the fabrics. Everything here ismodern, edgy, shimmery and revealing. I’m not sure these clothes will look any less eye-catching than my own.
I pause on a tiny silver dress.
