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“You don’t get to call me that,” I whispered, my voice shaking. Tears I had no control over rolled down my cheeks. “You… you don’t get to come in and destroy me all over again. I was fine! I was fine until… you stay away from me, Killian. Just… stay away from me.”
I hurried away, my chest burning with the sobs I tried to hold back. I wouldn’t break down. Not in front of him.
Chapter 19
Killian
Fucking fuckity fuck. I kissed her.
Of all the fucking things I shouldn’t have done, kissing my wife was at the top of that goddamn list. Jesus fucking Christ I was a moron.
And her tongue was pierced? Genevieve liked pain—more than I could understand, but who was I to judge? We’d had a few years of self-discovery that had led to that realization, but I couldn’t always give her what she wanted. I didn’t have it in me, even if it did turn her on. So, the piercing made sense.
It did beg the question as to what else she had pierced.
No. No, no, no.
I shook my head to get rid of those fucking thoughts. I wouldn’t go down that dark alley. There were enough fantasies of Genevieve in my head. I didn’t need to fuel that fire.
My dick fucking disagreed. Traitorous bastard. Why the fuck couldn’t I be one of those guys to just sleep with any woman that crossed his path? Oh yeah, because I still loved my goddamn wife and couldn’t see myself with anyone other than her. In three fucking years I couldn’t move on, even after finding out Genevieve was dating fucking Gary in accounting.
Jesus fuck this was going to be a problem. How the hell was I supposed to function around the goddamn woman? I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and groaned. The addictive taste of her perfect fucking mouth clung to my lips. God fucking dammit.
This whole thing was a mess.
I was halfway around the clubhouse when it hit me.
She fucking kissed me back.
She kissed me back. Did she want to kiss me? Was it just on fucking instinct? Or the alcohol? She’d hit me as well so there was a fair chance it could’ve been any of the three.
Jesus fuck. What the hell was wrong with me? I stopped and scrubbed my hands over my face. I was a mess—a fucking disaster of uncontrolled emotions. Wave after wave of relentless confusion, excitement, and anxiety crashed together inside me.
What the hell did all of it mean?
“Fuck!” I yelled at the moon because the moon wouldn’t fucking yell back. Or hit me. Or fucking leave me with such a raging hard-on that made my dick fucking hurt.
The stupid fucking after-party wasn’t ending anytime soon, and my drunk-as-fuck brothers needed a chaperone. As the only sober one, that was me. But there wasn’t a damn functional thing I could do until I straightened my dick out.
Which was exactly how I ended up in the bathroom stall with my dick in hand when two idiots burst in. Apparently, I wasn’t the only horny bastard.
Someone hit a wall. There was moaning, groaning, skin slapping, and shit being said that I’d scrub from my brain later. Unfortunately, it did nothing to lessen the bold ache in my dick as I fisted myself. All it did was fuel the fantasy of pinning my wife against the wall of the clubhouse.
My head tipped back against the stall door, and I bit my lip, holding back a moan as I stroked my cock slowly. That build-up of sensations rolled through me, giving the high I wanted—a momentary reprieve from the anger I didn’t know how to rein in.
Fuck, that pierced tongue. My wife had always been damn good on her knees with her mouth on my dick. But that tongue. Goddamn. I wanted to see what she could do with that piercing.
Her tongue rolling over the head of my dick. That studded ball traveling the length of me. My hand on her head as I pushed my entire length into that hot little mouth of hers. Listening to her gag but knowing from the look on her gorgeous fucking face that she wanted everything I gave her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I funneled all my frustration and anger into stroking my cock harder and faster. I just wanted some kind of release from the godforsaken hell this fucking woman had me in. I sank my teeth into my fist to keep from making a sound as I pictured pinning Genevieve against a wall. Burying my cock inside that warm pussy of hers. Feeling her come as she whispered my name. I missed every goddamn thing about being with her.
My balls drew up tight, and I was right fucking there. I angled toward the toilet, biting down harder as I came. There wasn’t a single thing about it that felt fucking good other than the relief I needed from pent-up tension.
Things to never tell Cole Stone: I’d jerked off in his bar bathroom.
Well, I was done, but the two idiots on the other side of the stall sure as fuck weren’t. I could’ve been an asshole—went out there and interrupted whatever weird shit they were doing—but I didn’t have the heart to. I also didn’t want to admit I’d been listening like the sick fucker I was. So, I stayed there, leaning against the stall door with my eyes shut.
The physical relief faded and shifted into a violent wave of shame. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was I doing with my life? I’d jerked off in a bar bathroom to the fantasy of my own wife that I knew I should divorce. How the hell had I gotten here?
