Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
ATOMIC
Fucking. Fucking. Bitch.
She lied.
With my office door closed, I stare at the blank computer screen, unsure of what to do next. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never imagined that when I walked into that hospital room a few weeks ago, this was how shit would turn out.
Fucking Ryan lied to me, and I gave her chance after chance to tell the truth. I killed people for her, but she couldn’t even tell me that she signed that shit. I don’t know what I would have done if I had known.
But then I remember that Adam is mine, my kid. And no matter what, I would not let his mother do that shit. Plus, it is not Ryan’s place to pay for Ellen’s debt. The whole thing is wacked as fuck. Ellen manipulated her, and that fucking pimp took advantage.
All in all, it ended up the way it was supposed to. Adam and Ryan are where they are meant to be now. Safe and protected by me. Even if I can’t stand to look at the bitch right now, I’m pleased as fuck that she’s safe. Because, at the end of the day, Ryan is a good woman. Lies and all.
Reaching down, I wrap my fingers around the handle of my desk drawer and open it slowly. There is a bottle of expensive whiskey sitting in the drawer, and I lift it out, setting it on the scarred wooden desktop in front of me.
I’ve kept this for years. A bottle I bought myself when I was voted in as president of the Dark Horse. I have only taken a shot here or there when celebrating something, but right now, I need to drown myself, and I don’t want to go to the bar and be around anyone else.
Unscrewing the lid, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a swig. It burns on the way down, but it’s so goddamn smooth that I close my eyes with a heavy sigh. Fucking hell, this shit is amazing. I’d forgotten how damn good it really was.
One drink turns into two, and before I realize it, I’m almost finished with the whole fucking thing, and I don’t even try to stand because I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to at this point. I’m feeling good, though still pissed with Ryan when the door to my office opens.
I don’t know who I expect to be making their way into the room. Maybe a brother, possibly a whore who notices that I’m not in the bar, but who I don’t expect to see is Ryan walking around my desk and standing in front of me.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t need to.
Slowly, she peels off her shirt, unhooking her bra to expose her perfect fucking tits for me. Then she shimmies down her shorts and, with them, her panties before she climbs onto the chair, straddling my lap as she sinks her knees into the leather at each of my thighs.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I grip her tightly there, my fingertips sinking into her flesh. I tip my head back slightly and watch as she dips her chin at the same time. Our gazes connect, and she gives me a sad smile.
A sad smile that I do not return. Clenching my jaw, I gnash my teeth together as I look into her face. I don’t know what the fuck to say, to think. I don’t know a fucking thing. All I do know is that I’m angry and hurt, and this is beyond reparable at this point to me.
I don’t speak.
I said all I needed to say.
She cups my cheeks with her palms. I don’t react, my face stony as I wait for her to say her fucking piece, so she can get the fuck out and go back to her room. Then tomorrow, she can be locked the fuck away in that house, and I won’t have to see her anymore.
Although, my cock doesn’t get the message that I’m pissed because it’s twitching at the thought of being inside her wet heat. My balls ache at the idea of emptying inside her body, of claiming her in that way and keeping her always.
“I messed up, Grover,” she whispers. “I know I did. Please, don’t end us like this. Not when we’re just getting started again.”
I don’t respond to her.
I can’t.
I would sound like a little bitch if I did, telling her just how badly her lies hurt me, so I don’t say a goddamn word. Not just because I don’t want to sound like a little bitch, but also because it’s not her fucking business, and it doesn’t matter.
Ryan lowers her head, her lips gently brushing mine. She smells like liquid courage and sex. I fucking love the way she smells, the way she tastes, everything about her, even when I never want to see her again. Even when I’m pissed the fuck off at her.
Ryan Turner is my everything.
Always has been.
But she can’t stay mine if I can’t trust her. And I can’t.
“You did,” I agree with her.
I feel her hands slide down my chest, then my belly.
She reaches my belt with her fingers, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her gaze holding mine for a long, still moment.
Then she reaches into my pants, her fingers curling around my cock as she strokes me.
I’m already half hard, so it doesn’t take much to get me there.
Lifting my hips, I let her other hand tug my jeans down, and then, wordlessly, she aligns herself with the head of my dick and slowly sinks down along my length. Sliding my hands down to her hips, I grip her there, holding her down.
“This doesn’t mean we’re together,” I point out.
She slides her thumb across my bottom lip, her palms still against my cheeks. She leans forward and lets out a heavy sigh.
“Grover,” she breathes, “I love you.”
I don’t respond to her.
I fucking can’t.
Hearing those words causes my entire body to jerk.
Fuck this shit, just fuck it.
Instead of letting her control this, to move on top of me, to make this sweet in any way whatsoever, I stand up with her still on my dick and turn us around slightly so I can lay her down on the desk.
She lets out a gasp as I wrap my fingers around the front of her throat and gently guide her back down against the warm wood of my desk.
Her head hangs over the edge, which is fucking perfect for me.
I grip her throat, and I fuck her—hard, keeping my eyes closed the entire time because if I look at her, at us, our connection, then I’m going to say those words back to her.
Because they’re true.
I fucking love her.
RYAN
Grover doesn’t even look at me. He fucks me like he hates me, his fingers gripping the front of my throat as he moves inside of me. It’s worse than the first time he was inside of me after I walked away. And I should not like it. But I do. Too much.
I’m not sure what exactly I expect, but when his hand slips between us and I feel his thumb against my clit, I suck in a breath, holding it before I let out a whimper.
It doesn’t take him long, a few firm circles, and I’m there.
Right there. I come. It’s hard and fast, and I kind of hate myself for it.
Grover takes a step back from me before he comes, then I feel warm spurts of his cum land on my stomach. I can’t lift my body up. I can’t move because he’s still got his fingers wrapped around the front of my throat.
When he’s finished, he releases my throat, and then I hear his pants, belt, and zipper before I hear the door open and slam closed. My entire body jumps, and only then do I push myself up to a seated position.
I’m naked with cum on my stomach, my body feeling used and abused… but I am also feeling great, and I shouldn’t. So, why do I like it when this man uses me like this? I’ve never enjoyed rough sex, not like this.
I just like him being inside of me. I don’t care how. It doesn’t matter. It’s just him. Just Grover, and he hates me. He’s so angry. I didn’t think he could hate me more than he did when I came back here and asked for help.
But he does.
Using the paper towel that’s on the side of his desk, I wipe the cum from my stomach before I get dressed back in my clothes. I don’t want to walk out of the room and into the bar, but there is no other way to get to the bedroom.
I walk toward the door, tug it open, and step into the hallway. One step, then another, until I’m just in the hallway. I can’t go any farther. I don’t want to. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.
“You good, babe?” a voice calls out.
Opening one eye, then another, I smile at Clink. He’s leaning against the wall across from me, his eyes finding mine and a smirk playing on his lips. He doesn’t say anything else right away. He just waits for me to respond.
“No,” I whisper, “I’m not.”
He hums. “Didn’t think so. But you will be.”
“Will I?” I ask. “Because I don’t feel like anything is going to be okay. Sure, I’m safe now, but am I okay?”
Clink pushes off the wall and takes a few steps toward me. He stops when he’s just a few inches away. His eyes find mine as he lifts his hand, touching my chin with his fingertip. Then he leans down and smirks at me.
“Maybe not right now, but that man fucking loves you. No way is this going to be for long. He’s just got to get over whatever pissed him off. He’s a hothead.”
Clink is right on at least one of his statements. Grover is a hothead. There’s no denying that. It’s a trait he’s always had, although he’s much more patient and thinks about his reactions more now than he ever did… which is what has me the most worried.
Because if he’s so much more patient than he used to be. If he’s thinking things through. If he’s so damn wonderful, then I know he thought about this, and he is done with me. And I’m scared I’ll never have him again.
“He doesn’t love me. I love him, but he doesn’t love me. That’s okay,” I whisper the lie.
Clink snorts. “Okay, babe. Get back up to your room.”
I hear the music. The party happening in the bar, and for the first time since coming back here, I want to be part of it. All of it. I want to drink at the bar, I want to dance, and I want Grover to be jealous of me the way I always have been of him, of the women who throw themselves at him.
Maybe I want him to know how he made me feel in the past. Then maybe he won’t be so damn hard on me. On my decisions. On the choices I made in a time when I felt like I had no other choices. On my lies and my secrets.
“I don’t think I will,” I say softly, stepping to the side and then turning toward the bar.
“Ryan,” Clink calls out. Stopping, I look over my shoulder at him, my eyes finding his. He shakes his head once, his lips curved up into a smirk. “You’re going to cause a scene, aren’t you?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I give him my own smile. “Probably,” I say. “Life wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t.”
“He’s gonna get even more pissed.”
“Probably,” I repeat, this time with a grin.
He shakes his head. “It’s your head, babe.”
Instead of answering him, I turn and make my way toward the music. And instead of turning and running away toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, I walk straight toward the bar.
“What can I get you?” the man wearing the prospect patch on the other side of the bar asks.
“A vodka and Sprite,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs before he turns his back to me and begins to make my drink. I don’t look behind me, but I can feel his eyes on my back, knowing he’s watching me. I do not care. He can watch away.
I’m nothing to him. At least, that’s the way he’s making it seem. But I don’t think he truly believes that at all. Grover says things in the heat of passion. He does things out of it as well, but deep down, that man is a good man. I know he is, and so does he.