Page 106 of Tempt Her

I’m dirty with lust and grit to survive this storm, the one outside and in the one in my heart that rages for this to finally be over.

I prepared for battle. Wearing a pink and blue Lilly Pulitzer short dress with puffy sleeves and a V-neck; Gentry’s mom owns this dress too, and I know it’s the stupidest thing to wear while a hurricane barrels down on us, but I don’t give a damn about the winds blustering outside.

I need Gentry to keep trusting me as he does his mommy.

I have to win. My dumbass, blustering, in-grown hair of a husband festers under my skin. I’m irritated and hot. Angry and needing him out of my life. The white pus-of-a-man is acting like we’re a happily married couple, sharing goddamn cocktails before dinner while the rest of the island hunkers down.

Not Gentry.

He’s too entitled to think Mother Nature can take him down.

He’s got backup generators on our house and storm supplies that he thinks I’m too stupid to replenish, but I do. And his ego is so overinflated; he could cross the Atlantic in a storm surge and land his foul ass on new shores to pollute.

But not if I pop that raft.

Not if I watch him sink, drowning under the weight of every evil thing he’s done.

I just have to stay afloat. I can’t let him take me down with him.

I lift my nose, smelling the ribbon of musk that still clings to the air. The potent aroma of three men who will be fucking me for years fills my senses, along with the lasagna about to burn in the oven.

Ignoring his threat, I stand up, smoothing my dress. “Dinner’s ready.” I even smile at the son-of-a-bitch.

But he scans me and Ford’s right.

Even my shoulders lift higher now, so I try to drop them under a cloak of defeat, wearing the weight of abuse one more time. My will fights it, but my body bows to the performance. “Would you like to be served in here?” I make my voice as mousy as I can.

“Yeah,” he snarls, his eyes groping my form like he’s searching for hidden weapons. “You’re gonna serve me dinner, like my good little wife; then you’ll get on your knees like the dumb whore you are while I fuck your tits for dessert.”

I fight my eyes that want to flick, glancing up across the foyer to the dark stairwell and the landing above. The storm knocked out the power, but the generators kicked on.

Still, we only use the lights we need, so the appliances and the full refrigerator pull most of the limited energy.

All the lights are off upstairs. Somewhere in the black void, I know Ford is lurking; he’s watching. It’s supposed to comfort me, and in a way, it does. I love that he wants to protect me. But I worry about what Ford will do when he sees what I’m about to endure.

But for me?

Bitter humiliation for two more nights is worth the sweet pride I’ll earn for a lifetime.

Swishing away like I have no care in the world, the acid of Gentry’s glare singes my back.

In the remodeled kitchen, I’m alone, so I let the fucking glee I feel for Gentry’s destruction break free for a moment.

Plating our meals of eggplant lasagna, I smile like I’ve already won. Like they just put a sparkling satin sash around me—Miss Sweet Fucking Revenge.

I’m full of bliss, planning the day I’ll wave at Gentry like a true queen as I take my victory walk into the visitor’s room at the jail with my three men behind me.

I’ll ambush him. He won’t see it coming while I hold up my phone and make him watch. Even if he shuts his eyes, he’ll still be forced to hear how they make me come, fucking me like real men and taunting him because he can’t.

I’ll get Mateo to record Gentry’s reaction so that I can dine on it daily.

Speaking of… I make sure to serve Gentry the lasagna from the right side of the pan, where I put a basil leaf to mark the spot where I crushed up four laxatives for him to dine on too.

Trick #FuckYou:Use your power and potions for poop when preparing food for people who piss you off.

I strut back toward the parlor with a beautiful dinner tray laden with hot vengeance and veggies.

The wind howls outside. The night crawls down the stormy sky, but I can still see through the foyer windows how palm trees bend, not wanting to snap.

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