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When she laughs again, I stand over her. My hands trace up her body, skimming her tits to her shoulders and then slipping to her nape.
“You think I’m pissing around?”
My hands twine in her hair, pulling until her head is tipped back, neck arched so far that her skin pulls almost translucent.
“You think you scare me?”
“I should.”
“You don’t.”
Her breaths are loud, raspy with need. The insolence in her tone makes my dick hard at the prospect of spanking and fucking it out of her.
The gleam in her eyes brightens as I step flush to her, thighs widening to let me closer. Georgina watches me intently as one of my hands loosens from her hair and trails back down her front before I slip it beneath her flimsy top.
“Fuck…” A gasp pushes from her when I squeeze one of her tits, hard enough that the gasp becomes an almost pained mewl. Fuck, I’m ready to bust my load on the spot. I haven’t fucked since our argument in Spain.
Lowering myself to her, I suck her plump lip into my mouth. My blood pounds through me harder and faster at the salty tang of her skin. Before she has a chance to pull away, I bite down deep enough that her hands claw at my chest with a heated cry.
With her stare wide on mine, I lick into her mouth, allowing her to slip her hands beneath my shirt. Fingers tracing the dips and grooves of my stomach, she moans and I drink it up.
I missed this. I missed her. My swan.
I taste, savour, and devour all at once, greedily. Breathless, we come up for air, watching each other as I straddle the bike, facing her, and help her do the same. We’re both quiet, our breathing settling again when she says, “I told you I love you.”
She did. That’s a big fucking problem. We were only meant to be fucking.
“You told me I’m stupid.”
I did. The idiot that I am couldn’t nod and shrug it off.
“Come home with me.”
“So what? You can fuck me until your girlfriend comes back?”
Of course, it all comes back to that. To her. Lucy.
The anger that had been lulled to background noise growls.
“Then what, Freddie?”
“Why does it fucking matter?” I bite back at her, unable to contain the rage building inside me.
Georgina stands from my bike, taking her handbag.
“I’m not a rich guy’s whore,” she tells me before she turns and starts to walk away.
GEORGINA
“I never said you were,” Freddie calls after me, starting his bike. The sound of the engine vibrates through me, making my insides clench tighter.
Fuck, he’s my kryptonite. But weakness or not, I can’t give him what he wants knowing that he’s pining over another woman. A ghost.
Stroking my pulsing lips, raw from his kiss, I force my feet to keep carrying me away from him.
Keep walking. Don’t look back.
I’m right here, alive, and he’s stuck on a dead girl. Sure, I feel terrible for thinking it, but she’s probably long expired. Freddie is so intelligent that you would think his logical brain would tell him that. But no.
