Page 42 of Mistletoe Missus
Replaced by my husband’s face and the promise we had made, which was full of lies. His deceitful ways forced me to be here, ready to confront him and make him give me what I wanted.
I glanced around, stepping toward Beau and questioning him. “What do you want, Beau?”
“You,” Beau replied simply.
Nothing fluttered. No lovesick longing made me want to jump into his arms. There was no craving or yearning for Beauto touch me. Only stone-cold hate for everything he had done to me.
“You had me. I was ready for more, and you knew that, but you threw it all away to get your dick wet with someone else.” I glared as I crossed my arms in front of me and stood my ground.
Beau stood up from the bench and held a to-go cup. I already knew what was inside. My favorite iced cappuccino with whip cream and caramel topping. The same drink he always had for me when we used to meet, at the spot where we first met.
“I fucked up. I’m sorry, but I miss you,” Beau explained with a lame-ass apology.
“I think sorry is far from enough after what you did to me,” I admitted.
“Give me a second chance, and I’ll prove to you how sorry I am,” Beau breathed and handed me the cup. “Please take my peace offering.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, to take the damn cup and toss the cold beverage in his face. Beau Kingston deserved it after all, but I had a much bigger scheme up my sleeve. I hoped Mitt was close by and was watching me with my ex. So, I took the stupid cup, but we were far from kissing and making up. I wanted to throw up in my mouth.
“And why should I do that?” I asked, trying to appear interested in his proposal.
Beau answered, “Because you don’t belong with Mitt Morgan.”
“Too damn late, Beau. You missed your chance, and I’m a married woman now,” I informed him and made sure he could see the sparkle of my extremely expensive ring.
“I know. I’ve seen the news,” Beau said, his face inches from mine. “Divorce him. He’s no good for you.”
Got Beau right where I wanted him.
“And you aren’t any better,” I snapped bitterly, and Beau reached out to touch me.
TWENTY-TWO
Cold Envy
Mitt
Icould still taste her fucking gratifying pussy on my tastebuds and hear her scream ring through me. The sound vibrated through every inch of me as she corrupted my soul and made me into a man I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t stop thinking about the cry she gave for her husband as she came all over my mouth and made a mess, but I didn’t care. I’d bury my face in her sweet slit all over again, even though that wasn’t part of the plan.
I shouldn’t want to touch her, to kiss her, and have her ride my face until she was gasping for more. I should hate her, loathe having her in the room, and not invite her to dinner because I knew this had nothing to do with the press. This had to do with what happened between us when it damn well shouldn’t.
I wanted more. Needed her. I was starved for her presence.
My wife had peeled back layers no other woman had. The little angel who wasn’t so fucking innocent after coming in my mouth and tempting me when she shouldn’t. Every inch of her beautiful body replayed in my mind as the glow of her skin illuminated in the dim light. From her perky tits jerking when she bucked her hips to the way her lips parted, and I wanted to grace them with a life-changing kiss. I had a fierce need tohave her and take her, making her mine even more than our signatures on a dotted line.
But I held my savage need back.
Last night was all about my wife, my angel, and overcoming her fear. Her terror she couldn’t forget until there was me. I was confident in my ability because she was mine, and I won’t have anything or anyone ruin that. Not even a cold chuck of ice.
“Motherfucker,” I grumbled as I peered down at my Rolex wristwatch, and my mouth twitched.
The time moved past six. My fingers tapped on the table, and I rubbed a hand down my face. Irritation stirred through my stiff bones, and I shuffled in my seat. I took a swig of some whiskey to loosen myself up, but the drink couldn’t take off the edge.
My wife was late, not on time as I had ordered her to be, and I wouldn’t sit here waiting one more minute.
Tinsley was mine, and she knew what was at stake for being tardy. She wouldn’t risk it. I knew her inside and out. Better than I even knew myself at this point since I shouldn’t give two shits about her, but her existence was my top priority. I had to know where she was.
I sent her a text.
