Page 10 of Suck

Iforce myself not to react when he unwraps his huge arm from around my waist and his lips brush my cheek before he climbs out of bed. A surprisingly tender kiss from such a powerful man. Sweet but unnecessary because he thinks I’m asleep. Because he knows this means nothing. Because he’s done with me.

Which is for the best. I let my emotions get the best of me last night but I’m fine. Really. I had a wonderful night with a generous guy who treated me like the queen he claimed me to be. Way better than if I’d actually gotten married.

Pretending to snooze while he showers and quietly pulls on clothes, I force myself not to sneak a peek. Well aware how incredible his body is and how lucky I am to have been able to have him all to myself for so long. I don’t sit up until the handle clicks behind him when he shuts the door.

Tingles ripple through my body when I examine the remnants of our love making. Slight bruises in the shape of his fingerprints mark my biceps and my hips. I shouldn’t feel that rush again from remembering his possessive touch, but I can’t fight my reaction from the proof our passion stirs. Although I have zero experience, I know he was amazing. We were amazing together. All three times.

My elation evaporates as my gaze travels lower. Dried blood streaks my stomach and thighs, embarrassing how much scarlet coats the sheets. Nothing I can do but cover the humiliation with the blankets and hope the housekeeper doesn’t say anything to him about it. About me. About the us that never was.

There isn’t anything I want more than to get out of here without him seeing me. But I’m not sure how likely that is so I have to at least try not to look like I’m a nightmare after the fantasy of last night. I tiptoe to the bathroom that’s still steamy and smells like him. That scent of leather and smoke and man almost overwhelms me. Stupid to hurt and feel like I’ve lost something I never had to begin with.

I stand on the warm tile under the heavy cascade in his luxurious shower and scrub myself as fast as I can. Disappointed I have to wash his essence off my skin yet smiling like an idiot that I’ll still have a reminder of him for another week or so. Until the marks heal and only my memories remain.

Finger-combing my hair is almost useless without any conditioner but at least I’m clean and clear-faced. The expensive towels feel like blankets they’re so thick and soft as I sweep over my torso and down my legs. My hands shake even though I’m not cold. I want to hurry and not have to face him but I doubt I’ll be that lucky.

I use my finger to brush my teeth and tongue as best I can with his minty toothpaste so at least I don’t have morning breath. The other issue of what I don’t have are clothes. The gown was too absurd I shouldn’t have been wearing it yesterday let alone this morning. He has to have something I could put on. I randomly yank open the middle drawer of a tall chest, assuming socks and boxer briefs fill the top rows. Two stacks of neatly folded tees fill the deep space, and I lift out a green one, attempting not to wrinkle or disturb the others. So big, the shirt fits like a dress, hanging past my knees. I look dumb but at least I’m covered.

Blowing out a deep breath, I swipe my ripped thong and shredded thigh highs off the floor and race back to the bathroom, shoving them into the trashcan under the sink. Too bad the dress won’t fit in the bin too, but I can’t leave the gown behind either. That would be too tacky. I slowly twist the knob, peeking out into the hallway. Unsure if I’m relieved or disappointed the corridor is empty, I shake my head. Trying and failing to mute the emotions swirling in my brain as I tiptoe across the black hardwood. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to be quiet but silence seems appropriate. I grab the monstrosity and my heels off the living room carpet and sweep toward the door. Only about twenty feet and I’ll be outside. Maybe one of the guards I saw last night will loan me his phone to call an Uber and I can go somewhere that’s not here.

“Good morning angel.”

Reece leans against the counter with a coffee mug in one hand, watching me with considerable amusement. He’s panty-wetting gorgeous, if I was wearing any, with the wicked grin lighting up his handsome face. He looks like a model posing for a photo shoot, and every single woman I know would buy whatever it is he’s selling no matter how much it costs. I avert my eyes to keep from staring at his broad chest or the six pack resting so sleek and defined above his gray sweat pants.

“Good morning.” I tug against my improvised dress. “I hope it’s okay I’m borrowing your shirt. I promise to return it. I’ll wash–”

“Where are you going?”

I grin too. Casual and carefree. Saving my meltdown for later. When I’m home alone. Although I’m not sure right at this exact moment where home actually is. “Walk of shame. Isn’t that what you do after a one-night stand?”

Something shifts in his stance and his expression. A hardness that makes me shiver. The satin fabric rustles from my shaking arms, and I resist the urge to step back when all I want to do is step closer. Yet in another instance the irritation is gone and he smirks. “Because you know so much how one night stands work?”

He’s teasing. But my cheeks flame hot anyway. Yes, I’m a stupid, inexperienced virgin who let booze and humiliation and desire cloud her judgment. But I boss up and accept my mistakes. Move on without regret or request anything more from him. “Thanks for everything. Really. You were great when I needed a friend and I–”

“What are you going to do with that?”

Ignoring my awkward attempt to convey gratitude, he nods toward the gown draped over my arm.

“Burn it.”

Damn. I shouldn’t have blurted out something so childish and immature. Yet, all he does is nod. Seeming to wholeheartedly approve of my idea.

“My thoughts exactly.”

The clink of his cup against the granite counter top sounds as harsh as my breath when he holds out his hand. Uncertain what he wants—what to do—so I just stare. He just frowns. Mad at me but I’m not sure why.

“This way.”

Meek and mute I follow him across the tile and through the white French doors he holds open for me. A silver metal can of gasoline and small red box of matches sit on the ledge of the fire pit built into his incredible stone lanai. Proof that he planned this, whether I made the suggestion or not.

“Throw it in there.”

Stupid to hesitate. I hate the dress. I hate Antonio. I hate myself. But having Reece witness more of my shame paralyzes me.

I would have to guess he’s an impatient man. Busy and important and used to people instantly responding to his demands. With me, he simply waits. Giving me time to process this and him and us. If there even is an us. I shake my head. Definitely not an us.

Not a me and Antonio either. I suddenly need to be free of the symbol, the memories, the guilt, and toss the gown into the circle. Floating down into the ashes left behind from previous blazes that probably didn’t start from a half-crazy, completely doomed wedding.

Just like last night, I don’t know what to do with my hands or my mouth so I cross my arms and keep my lips clamped shut. He seems to know exactly what to do though as I’m guessing he’s always very decisive. Especially when he never asks for my opinion or approval when he douses the tulle with a heavy pour of fuel and tosses the match onto the damp fabric.

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