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What the fuck did I just do?
I fucked the man I said I wouldn’t ever fuck again.
Getting up from his bed, I look around his room, moving things around to make sure he isn’t lying to me.
“Searching for a camera?” he asks with two bottles of water in his hands.
I pause. “And I’m meant to just trust you?”
“I guess not. You sure you don’t want to check in my closet, too? Just make sure you don’t have any scissors in your hands,” he says, stepping closer and handing me a bottle of water. I take it from him as he steps even closer.
“Do I need to check in the closet?” I ask him.
He licks his lips and then lifts his bottle of water to them. I watch as he drinks, each mouthful as seductive as the last.
How the hell is drinking water sexy?
How does he make this sexy?
This is totally unfair.
Whiskey pulls the bottle from his lips, a bit of water still on them, and I want to lean forward and lick it off.
“There’s nothing in my closet for you, Bunny, but I could get in the closet, and you could find me, we could try fucking in the dark, let’s see who comes first.” He puts the bottle on his nightstand behind me and takes mine from my hands, I shake my head no at his words. Twisting it open, he lifts the bottle to my lips and tips. I take a sip, and as he pulls the bottle away, he’s on me again. Hands roaming me and water spilling all over the floor as the bottle drops and bounces, the contents emptying on the floor. I have to remember to breathe and remember that just because our chemistry is off the charts doesn’t mean we are.
We are two people who should never work.
He’s my husband.
I don’t like him.
I love it when he fucks me, though. That I would do again.
Whiskey pulls us apart as he lifts me. “Tell me, Bunny… you want my cock buried deep in your pussy?” He carries me back to the bed, the same bed that’s now a complete mess. He slides me down him just a touch, so I can feel him at my entrance.
“Bunny.”
He hates it when I don’t answer.
I look up to those amber-colored eyes and wish it wasn’t him, I wish he didn’t do what he did. I now see him differently, and my trust for him is non-existent.
“Fuck me already, Whiskey.”
Staying at my entrance, he kisses my breast, teasing my nipple. When he lifts up, he blows on it, making it peak even harder than it was before.
“Why are you so perfect?”
The question instantly knocks the breath out of me.
I didn’t expect that from him.
I’m anything but perfect.
My father and mother have told me this my whole life. My tattoos, my style, and the way I choose to live my life has never reached their standards. I’m a complete failure in their eyes. And yet, this man who has lied and blackmailed me tells me I’m perfect. Should I believe him?
If only I could believe him.
“Shut up and fuck me, Whiskey.”
