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“See, he helped.”
“He also gave me a drive-thru meal, handed me one-hundred dollars for the next two weeks, and checked me into a mid-range hotel. He told me to be happy it has a breakfast buffet included with the room.”
“But you’re not in danger.”
I shrieked my frustration and hung up on him. He’s no fucking help. Falling back on the bed. I stare at the ceiling and weigh my options. Run with no car or access to money. That’s insane. Kill myself. Hell no. Or marry Hell and hope with all my might that I have an excellent escape clause. I cover my face with my pillow I bought with me because I have no idea where their pillows have been, and scream until I need to suck in air to breathe. This is so unfair.
* * *
Oran
I study myself in my floor-length mirror, trying to remember the last time I wore a tux. With our families being the founding families, we have plenty tux-appropriate events, I’m just never in attendance. I’m either too busy or all around not fucking interested. If I weren’t the best man in my best friend’s shotgun wedding, I wouldn’t be going. Adjusting my bow tie, I take one more look and decide I’m good to go. It’s been a week since I’ve seen or heard from my so-called fiance and I prefer it.
I still haven’t found a way to get out of it, but I’ve also been avoiding my dad and his bullshit. My main goal is to figure out his angle to find a way around it. I’ve pored over my affairs and haven’t found the vice grip on my balls.
My phone rings, the vibrations cause it to dance on my nightstand. Who the fuck is calling?
I don’t recognize the number, but in my line of business, I cannot ignore unknown numbers.
“Oran Hale,” I answer as I triple check that I have the rings although I know Jagger would love it if I’d lost them.
“Hi. I need a ride to the wedding.” Her silky tone seeps into my ear, warms my body, and shoots straight to my dick.
How would it sound if she moaned my name?
“How is that my problem?” I ask, my irritation with my reaction to her voice is laced in my tone.
“Because our dads made you my fiance, asshole.” I’m supposed to be offended, but my brain conjures up all the dirty things I’d want to make her say.
“I don’t walk around calling you a bitch, don’t call me an asshole.”
“Well, I’ve also haven’t given you a reason to call me a bitch, but you’re racking up those asshole points at lightning speed.”
“Why don’t you get an Uber? Oh yeah, you don’t have a fucking credit card! Watch how you talk to me.”
“Ugh!” Her groan has my mind back in gutter creating rough sex senarios that’ll make her scream.
“Stop all of that huffing and puffing unless you’re playing with your pussy. And if you are, I’ll talk you through fucking your fingers until you’re gushing and cuming harder than you’ve ever achieved.”
Karessa’s sharp intake of breath has me rubbing my hardening dick through my trousers. If she were here, I’d have her on her knees testing out how well those pouty lips suck.
I’m about to ask her that when she finds her voice.
“I’ll get a ride from someone else.”
“Guess again, Trophy. I own you. I’m the only thing you’re allowed to ride. Have your ass outside. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Be prepared to move fast. I’m slowing down, not stopping.”
Hanging up on her, I grab my keys and whistle on my way out of the door. I may not want to get married, but I can have fun with her and her body.
Chapter 4
Karessa
I’d expected him to only slow down as he promised because he’s a special kind of asshole. I made sure I was at least standing outside. Even with killing my crush on him right before high school, a crazy part of me kept tabs on him.
It was an unconscious effort, and I didn’t realize I’d do it, but I’d paid attention to social pages in case an announcement of his engagement ever surfaced. I watched him take over as CEO for his dad’s real estate corporation seamlessly until he surpassed his old man’s legacy, and I watched the little light he had inside of him dim when his mother passed just after he finished college. Over the past twelve years since her death, I’d seen him retreat more and more, and never mingle willingly at any of the society functions. Had he taken part like the rest of the children of the founding families, he would have known me.
I used to feel frustrated with our almost five-year age gap, often wondering if I were a little older or he younger if he would have really seen me. I would’ve been there for him when the last person who showed him love departed from earth. I could have shown him love. Now it’s too late. He’s bitter and set in his ways. This is a prime example of being careful what you wish for. My fourteen-year-old self used to write Mrs. Karessa Hale on everything. I wanted to be his missus, and in a sick twist of faith, it looks like I will be, except he adored me in my version.
