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Have you ever wanted something with such a burning desire that it consumes your every waking moment? It’s the type of affection that grips your soul, refusing to let go no matter how much time passes. This need doesn't diminish with time; it only intensifies. Growing stronger until the ache is unbearable.
I can’t stop myself from wanting her.
Zoe belongs to me.
She has always been mine.
PART ONE: NOW
NEW BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER 1
ZOE JACKSON
Ishouldn’t have answered Greg’s phone call tonight. Should have stuck to my original plan of wine and bingeing a new Netflix series. But no, my desperate, horny ass decided to accept his booty call and drive over to his house.
All for a terrible lay I’m not forcing myself to fake-moan through.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to save the self-hate talk for later when I’m alone and crying in the shower. That’s normally when my anxiety likes to remind me what a disappointment I am. It’s better to let the self-loathing marinate for now.
Glancing down, I cringe as Greg continues to aggressively press three fingers onto my clit as if he’s a DJ playing his first live performance at Tomorrowland. He’s not even hitting the right spot; it’s actually starting to hurt at this point, and the urge to kick him is festering.
I try to shift away from him, but he nudges closer to me, his sweaty chest hair pressing against my skin. Greg adds a finger inside me while continuing his off-aim vibration rub, and I finally look up to see his eyes on me.
“You like that, baby?”
I close my eyes. “Mm.”
Mother Nature, now would be a great time to step in and do something.
Maybe if I fake an orgasm.
“Why aren’t you wet yet? I know how much you love it when I touch you like this.”
I would be if you weren’t so terrible at it, I inwardly groan. With the amount of tail this man gets, I assumed he would at least be good in bed. But no, he’s mediocre at best, and sometimes, he’s so rushed to get off, he misses the point of this entire thing altogether. My pleasure has never been about just me, no matter what Greg says.
When Greg and I first started sleeping together nearly two months ago, I told myself it would be just a small, casual fling. After scratching the itch, I would get out like I always do. Seems like our time is up. Too bad I’m the biggest idiot and decided to sleep with my boss this time around. I never actually thought about this moment—past me didn’t consider future me, and the crap I’d need to do to get out of this awkward situation and still keep my job.
Fuck. I’m out here just collecting regrets and grudges like trophies.
Can I blame this shitty behavior on my mommy/daddy issues too, or have I used that excuse way too many times now? As I lie here rethinking my life decisions, drier than the Sahara Desert, I realize I desperately need a distraction.
And quickly.
The faster I get off, the sooner I can leave to go wash the stale smell of Greg off my skin and lie in my own bed…alone.
Closing my eyes and tapping into the fantasy bank, I picture Henry Cavill on top of me. Maybe Jensen Ackles. Ian Somerhalder…damn, that’s a good one. Chris Hemsworth. Sebastian Stan. Jamie Dornan, God, that Irish accent always does it for me.
Maybe all of the above. Maybe we’re in a cabin in the woods.
It’s working…a little. Maybe? I don’t know. This method usually works when I’m alone but not right now with a man who smells like stale potato chips and rotten apples hovering above me. Where is that smell even coming from?
Focus.
Okay, where was I? Ian Somerhalder. Thor. Charlie Hunnam. Oh, that man is fine.
Young Brad Pitt.
