Page 162 of I’m The Worst

David shakes his head with a fake-ass smile. “Apparently, she had better things to do.”

My fingers flex against the table. I know exactly what she was doing. Pushing my cum out of her perfect cunt. The image makes my cock twitch, and I shift in my seat, trying to breathe through the unfamiliar irritation clawing at the back of my skull.

Graves glances over at me slowly and leans in close. “Did you seriously fuck a Commander’s fiancée right before this meeting? Ballsy as hell, K9. Hope her cunt was worth the shitstorm when her daddy finds out you’re still fucking his princess.”

I pour more whiskey.

David gestures toward the dessert tray as the catering staff sets slices onto small plates around the table.

“Try the cake before we scare the staff away,” he says dryly. “The lemon blueberry compote is a strong contender for the wedding.”

“AJ hates blueberries.”

The entire table goes silent as David turns slowly toward me, one eyebrow lifting slightly. Graves lets out a fucking laugh.

I drain the rest of the whiskey.

“You must be Wolff Maddox.” David smirks.

I don’t answer.

“I appreciate you bringing my fiancée home safely.”

My fiancée.

The words settle low in my chest like poison. Something violent twisting beneath my ribs. I shove back from the table hard enough for the chair legs to scrape across the floor.

I need air. Distance. Anything to drown out the fact that I still smell AJ on my fucking skin.

My ringtone slices through my skull, dragging me out of a heavy chemical fog. I blink awake on a sticky leather couch, the room spinning, my mouth tasting like ash, cum, and cheap vodka.

It takes me a moment to realize where I am.

The VIP lounge at Blackout, a Sovereign nightclub. Lights still pulse faintly. The air is thick with the smell of sex, sweat, weed, and spilled alcohol. Naked Sovereigns and Sluts are sprawled everywhere—on couches, on the floor, tangled together in a mess of limbs and dried fluids. Someone is still lazily fucking a girl in the corner.

My body aches in that deep, used-up way I’ve become too familiar with. Throat raw. Jaw sore. Ass throbbing.

“Turn your fucking phone off,” a Sovereign grumbles beside me.

He’s sprawled naked on the same couch, one arm thrown over his eyes. His cock is still half-hard against his thigh.

My phone rings again.

I snatch it off the floor. Dad.

Fuck.

I answer with a scratchy voice. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Autumn Jane.” His tone is ice cold. “Where the hell are you?”

I sit up slowly, grimacing at the soreness between my legs and the thick, unmistakable pressure lodged in my ass.

Oh god.

I’m talking to my father with a fucking butt plug in my ass—one I don’t even remember someone shoving in there.

“I’m…I’m on my way. Sorry, I overslept.”