Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Her hands work at my buttons, and I let her. The room is dark except for the city’s pulse through the glass. We undress each other, slow and deliberate, and I take the time to memorize every inch: the curve of her waist, the old scar on her thigh, the faint tattoo at her hip. Those big breasts, swaying gently, with their peaked pink nipples, and I can’t resist. I lean down and lick a taut tip, making Marnie gasp as she throws her head back.
“Ahhh!” she whines. “Mmm James!”
But Marnie doesn’t want gentle tonight. She bites my neck, digs her nails in, hisses my name in my ear. I like it. I like her wild, even if she doesn’t want to be.
When I slide my fat cock into her tight pussy, she grabs the back of my neck and says, “Harder,” and I give it to her, the way she needs. I hold her waist still, and fuck up into that wet twat, drilling her like an automaton going at full speed. But she loves it, and we fuck like animals—like the only way to survive the night is to outlast it. Marnie comes twice before I finish, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream as her pussy shakes on my hard dick.
“Unnnh!” she shrieks, eyes closed with her tits bouncing. “Ooooh!”
“Fuck baby,” I rasp as my own climax hits. “Shit shit shit!”
Afterwards, we lie tangled on the couch, sweat cooling. I brush her hair out of her face and see the tear tracks, but she’s not crying anymore. She’s already drifting, breathing slow.
I lift her up, carry her to the bed—why not, it’s there—and tuck her under the duvet. She’s out before her head hits the pillow, one arm thrown across my broad chest.
For the first time in years, I don’t want to move. I just want to keep Marnie here, safe in my arms.
I lie awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the envelope still on the counter, unopened.
Tomorrow, Marnie may read it, and maybe she’ll hate me, or maybe not.
But for tonight, she’s here.
And that’s enough.
17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN — CONFESSING MY SINS
MARNIE
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m a mess of split ends, dry, reddened eyes, and the salt-sting of tears that start and stop without warning. I meet Eliza at Café Vitesse because it’s quiet, and because the chance of running into anyone from the office is low enough that I don’t have to scan every face in the room. I’ve barely slept. The barista has to repeat my order three times before I process what she’s saying.
When I sit, Eliza nods wisely, sipping black coffee with her phone face-down, as if she’s made a vow not to look at it until I arrive. The pretty blonde’s clad in athleisure, hair twisted up, zero makeup. She looks so composed I want to scream.
“You look like hell,” she says, but it’s not a dig. “Are you okay, girlfriend? Seriously, I was kind of worried when I got that text from you.”
I nod, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I reach for my latte and almost spill it. “Long week,” I say, which is the understatement of the year.
Eliza leans in. “You want to tell me what’s really going on, or should I just guess?”
I try to dodge. “It’s nothing. Just office stuff. You know how it is.”
Eliza gives me that therapist look, the one that says, Don’t bullshit me, I know you. “You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, and you look like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin. It’s not just work, is it?”
I stare at my cup, swirling the foam with the tip of my finger. “It’s complicated.”
Eliza sips, then says, “Is it about James and Brent? Because I’d bet money it is.”
A hot flush blooms up my neck. I can’t lie, but I can’t say it, either. So I just breathe.
Eliza’s voice softens. “It’s okay. I know. Everybody does, honestly. You guys haven’t been subtle, Marnie, and I swear, sometimes I’ll walk by the conference room and it sounds like a porn film going on inside. Seriously, everyone knows.”
I laugh, but it comes out as a sob. “Oh shit. Shit shit shit.”
Eliza shrugs, but then reaches across the table, taking my hand in both of hers. Her skin is warm and dry, the nails short, practical.
“James and Brent are senior partners, so it’s not like you’re going to get fired. Hell, even the firm is named after them.”
I shake my head. “But I don’t know, Eliza. I mean, things feel so off. And things are so mixed up too because … well, I’m seeing them both, and also apart.”
My friend looks confused.
“What do you mean?”
I drop my chin, my head whirling.
“I thought this was a menage type thing, where we’d always be together, the three of us. But then I went on individual dates with Brent and James, and oh my god, I don’t know if that’s kosher. Is it against the rules?”