AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He drove hard. Deep. He stuck another finger inside me, and in time with his thrusts, he stroked my ass.Oh my God.I was so full of him, I saw stars. The pressure built inside me. Bryce slammed into me, my hands bouncing against my back as I took him in, helpless to resist. My clit rubbed against the bed. All of the sensations overwhelmed me. Bryce was everywhere. Bryce was everything. I heard myself curse, scream, and laugh as I came.
“Oh fuck—I wasn’t going to let you do that yet. I lost control again. Why do you do that to me, babe?” He picked up the pace, punishing me, savagely penetrating me, although he was still gentle with his fingers. It didn’t matter. The pressure built inside me again, and I was flying, singing, the whole world going white. I made him lose control. He couldn’t keep his hands off of or outside of me.Me.Him.We were together; we were part of each other. He was inside me every which way, and I fucking loved it. I loved him. His thrusts became ragged, and he came in a torrent, cursing while palming my hip, his face against my back, his laughter against my skin.
We collapsed against each other, and Bryce eventually took off the cuffs. I didn’t care; I couldn’t move.
Bryce Windsor not only owned my ass, he owned all of me.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
TWENTY-EIGHT
closing in
Later—howmuch later, I wasn’t sure—Bryce nudged me awake. “We have to get going. We’re supposed to be at the Nguyen’s for cocktails and dinner. We need to get ready.”
“Huh? Hi.” I peered up at him, a dopey smile on my face. “You’re already dressed?”
“It’s almost six o’clock, Chloe. Of course I’m dressed.” His voice bordered on cold.
“Oh…okay.” Gone was the playful Bryce of a few hours ago, the one who’d made me see stars.
“You should go online and see what Olivia released this afternoon. You need to be aware of the direction this is going.” That was all he said, no further explanation, no emotion. Bryce tapped out a message on his phone, then read something. “I’ll see you on the boat, okay? I need to take a call.”
“Okay…?” My voice trailed off as he left the room, cellphone already glued to his ear. I quickly got dressed, wincing as I pulled my shorts up. Not only did I have to briefly go commando, courtesy of Bryce tearing off my underwear, but I was already sore. I shivered. What we’d done that afternoon had made my limbs loose; the soreness I felt was almost pleasant, a physical reminder of our encounter. I just wished that Bryce was still with me and that he wasn’t stressed to the point of distraction, stressed to the point of being distant.
I needed to check in and see what Olivia had sent out. I picked up my phone and scrolled through some of the gossip sites.
Putting the “Ex” into “Sex”
Felicia Strikes Back
From Humble Beginnings, Chloe Fends Off Heiress
Um…what thehell? She’d told me the angle, but I wasn’t really prepared to be jarred by the impact so soon. I knew it was “just the internet.” But… It was also my life.
And Bryce had been so removed about it like it was just business as usual. What was it Olivia had said?These people are willing to go to extreme measures to protect themselves. We might not agree with the methods, and some of what we have to do might make us uncomfortable, but at the end of the day, we all have roles to play.
My role as Bryce’s wife was one I desperately wanted. But this other function, this facade? I had a feeling it was going to break me.
I scrolled through the stories. The first was the worst, and the title said it all. There was picture after sexy picture of Felicia—in her bikini, lounging on her yacht, in a slinky dress at some sort of gala, walking on the beach with a guy loaded with tattoos. The caption said he was Finn Ryder, guitarist for a wildly popular band. The “article” was light on details, merely stating that Felicia Jones, American heiress, was in fabulous shape and had told a UK magazine four years ago that she worked out every day and greatly enjoyed the outdoors. It also said that she’d been linked to Finn a year ago but that they hadn’t been seen in public together recently.
The “Felicia Strikes Back” piece showed another picture of her in her bikini; a shot of her from the restaurant the other night, staring at Bryce’s retreating back; and a candid shot of Felicia smiling, talking away on her cellphone. The implication was, of course, that she was talking to Bryce. The article didn’t come out and say it. All itdidsay was that Felicia Jones was summering in MDI with her family and that she’d crossed paths with Bryce and Chloe Windsor several times. A “local source” was quoted: “Everyone knows she wants him back.” That was it. That was practically the whole story.
It still made me want to throw up.
The final article was centered around me. The first picture was of Constitution Beach in East Boston. Rather, it was of an overflowing trash can at Constitution Beach. The following image was of me, standing on the remote, pristine beach in front of Bryce’s mansion. I didn’t even know when it had been taken. The caption read:What a difference a year makes!The article went on to say that I’d grown up in a working-class area of Boston. It described my marriage to Bryce as a “Cinderella story” and then showed a picture of us embracing. Next, there was a picture of Felicia Jones scowling at who-knows-what. “Can Chloe compete?” asked the article.
Can Chloe compete, indeed? Maybe the better question was whether Chloe had the stomach for all of this. Or: was Chloe going to implode and run away, screaming?
Disgusted, I went to shut off my phone—or possibly go throw it in the ocean—when I saw I had several missed calls and a couple of voicemails. I scrolled through the call list. They were all from the same number, the 207 area code I’d seen earlier. I listened to the messages.
“It’s Lydia.” She sounded as though she was blowing out cigarette smoke. “You better call me back, or you’re gonna beverysorry.”
The next one was even worse. “Me again. I guess you’re blowing me off, huh? Your father and I saw Noah in those pictures. Shame on you for using your brother like that! We are going to file a claim to get him back. We never should’ve trusted you with him! You better call me back, Miss Thing. And use this number! My phone got shut off, thanks to you!”
With shaking hands, I googled the phone number. The search pulled up an image of a familiar-looking motel.Northeast Nights Inn & Cabins.It was a run-down establishment located in Northeast Harbor, near the dock.
No. No fucking way.
