Page 603 of Hell Hath No Fury
Each step is like walking through cement, but I make it to the open doorway. When I step inside, I’m met with raised brows and twisted lips. Tally notices me and starts to come forward, but I shake my head and move to an empty seat in the cornerthat will keep me relatively concealed from the group—and Stella in particular.
At Tally’s motion, the other regular members of The Sanctum who attend the munches to welcome newcomers also leave me alone. Presumably under the guise of respect for my wife—which only serves to make the guilt burn alongside the whiskey in my stomach.
A man, one I don’t recognize, approaches Stella and she stiffens slightly, her eyes going to the floor for the barest of moments, but it’s enough for me to stiffen in the confines of my slacks. For the first time in over a year, I want to take a woman. Want to own her.
But not just any woman. This one.
Her dark hair flutters over her shoulders and her smooth creamy skin teases underneath the hem of her dress. I image all those curls spread over her body and nothing else. I imagine holding it in my fists as she kneels before me, those bright red lips glistening for me.
Begging.
She raises her eyes, glancing around the crowd, almost looking to see if anyone is watching and I know, with a certainty that’s always served me well in my profession, that she’s as addicted to the audience as I am to subservience.
Without giving myself a chance to think about the consequences for the first time in a long time, I send another text to her phone. This time not to drive her away, but to see her again. Without the pulse-pounding addition of The Sanctum members around us.
To see if the needs stirring inside of me are real.
Thankfully, the dinner ends and she bids goodbye to the man sitting next to her. His eyes follow her as she leaves, just as mine do. Her cheeks are red, either from excitement or the growingheat in the crowded room, and her eyes are bright. She draws the eyes of everyone in the room and I wonder if she knows.
She speaks with Tally, who hands her a card. The warmth in my stomach contracts and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from striding across the room and taking her. I force myself to finish off my tumbler of whiskey, force myself to think of my wife, the woman I loved all during medical school, my residency, my childhood.
I never thought I’d find another woman I’d want to be mine. To shape and mold under my hands and command. When she died, I thought that part of me died with her. God knows the good parts of me did.
Now all that’s left are the darkest parts.
I get out my phone again and dial her number. As she leaves the room, I follow a safe distance behind. She brings the phone up to her cheek while pushing the door open to go outside. The line connects, linking us.
“Hello,” I say.
