Chapter 15
Meirna
My whole body tenses and releases the moment Bronte’s cock stretches and bottoms out inside me.
All the fight I just had, where I wanted Bronte to just leave me alone, turned on me like Judas and fled.
No warning.
Completely off-guard.
And confusing.
Bronte wedges himself closer, spreading my thighs wider with his body and bestowing more leverage for him to plunge deeper and faster inside me.
This isn’t soft and sweet.
It’s not even the times we’ve shared previously, even though they were deliciously hard and possessive.
No, this time, I pissed Bronte off.
And I did it purposely in hopes he’d give up his plight on me and go bother someone else while I tried to piece together everything to make sense in my brain.
Everything Bronte has said to me lines up with the documents and text messages he freely gave me.
But I need to hear Bobby admit it.
I want to hear him verbally say that he’s in with a mob, that Harding Holdings is financially in trouble.
And that he’s been having sex with a woman named Jolene.
You’re never going to get that.
However, that’s for another time because, currently, I’m getting ruthlessly plowed into by Bronte as he rips his shirt over his head and pins my arm—that I didn’t realize was free—back to the hardwood floors.
Bronte’s muscular body looms over me as he takes everything he wants.
I watch his biceps and triceps flex as he thrusts. The way he studies and is entranced when he looks between us when he enters me.
I know lying back and allowing him to fuck me isn’t the way to get away from him. But I can’t deny that I like how he does it.
Especially when it’s so fresh in my mind.
When the last few days before finding out his true identity, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed being sore in all the right places and feeling completely sated and satisfied.
But he’s not Bobby.
He’s not the man I agreed to marry.
“Let me go,” I croak out, my voice barely audible to my own ears when I need it to be stern and foreboding.
“Give me the right word,” he counters immediately. “Until then, enjoy our moment, Daydream. I’m always in a giving mood around this time with you.”
My pussy clenches involuntarily because I recall last Christmas.
Bobby—Bronte ate me out three times, brought me a box full of Christmas cookies to snack on in between, before he finally and dreamily fucked me to sleep.
I woke up the next morning with him there, but I couldn’t tell you from lack of memory who it was.
Bobby or Bronte.
And I don’t think I want to know.
“Mhm, she likes dirty fucks,” he muses above me. “Bobby ever fuck you like this, Daydream? Has he ever gotten you on the floor, shoved his cock into you, and treated you like a piece of property?”
No.
But that word isn’t going to leave my lips, and I sure as hell am not going to give him the satisfaction to know that.
I’m also not going to tell him that I like it when he uses me because it’s wrong.
“Not with you,” I muster and force from my lips with a sneer. “I’m too busy imagining that you’re Bobby right now.”
His nostrils flare a bit before he locks his jaw.
I fully expect him to come back with something or a clapback to my bait, but instead, he locks an arm underneath my lower back and positions me so that my upper half is suddenly underneath the Christmas tree.
Colorful lights and glass ornaments hang off the spruce’s branches in my current view, but Bronte is still fucking me like he’s trying to expel Bobby from my head.
“Here you go, Daydream,” he drones. “It’ll help you with your imagination, so you don’t have to look at the man you married and loved to fuck.”
My eyes roll into my head, not from his comment, but when he spreads my ass cheeks and takes me even deeper.
I told him to stop, but if he did right now, I might die.
Shamefully.
I was just engaged to Bobby and pledged my life to him, but now I’m getting pounded away by his twin brother, whom I secretly married, and now I see why.
It was supposed to be a secret, so I couldn’t back out. It’s craftiness at its finest.
How are you going to explain this to Bobby, Meirna?
Shooting upward, I knock into branches and feel a few scratch at my face. A few ornaments fall and bounce off the hardwood floors as I’m ready to give Bronte another go for his money.
But when I see his light green eyes honed in on me, packed with hunger and a vulnerability I haven’t seen yet, I pause.
I stupidly fucking pause.
“Miss me already?”
Moment of temporary relapse broken.
Cocking my hand back, Bronte doesn’t stop me when I slap him across the face again. “I said stop.”
“Wrong word,” he mutters, cupping the back of my calves so it doesn’t hinder his cock leaving my body.
“Please.”
I can’t believe I’m saying please to this jerk who put me in this position in the first place.
Bronte doesn’t say anything, too busy looking between our bodies as he enters me harder, hypnotized by what he’s doing to me.
“Bronte.” His focus immediately flicks up to me. “Stop.”
His brows furrow, appearing unimpressed that I’m not listening or catching on to what he wants me to do.
Until it finally snaps in my head.
“No.”
That gets him to a full halt.
He glowers down at me because I finally discovered the missing puzzle piece to the mystery, and to him, it’s the worst thing I could do.
Or call him Bobby.
Bronte’s arm wraps around my back, yanking me closer to him and deeper onto his cock. He’s on his knees now, and I’m straddling him again, but at his mercy because if he lets me go, I’m falling onto my ass.
“What are you saying no to, Daydream? I just want to be perfectly clear.”
He knows what I’m saying no to, and he’s forcing me to say it.
To fully reject him as Bronte, the wrong man, the one who claims he had me first.
My brain kicks into the first time we met—I don’t understand why.
He was charming, mysterious, and a bit flirty.
He didn’t gawk at me or make me feel like he just wanted to sleep with me, then leave.
He truly seemed interested; apparently, he took that several different levels because he married me… to save me?
“You know what,” I force from my thoughts and throat. “You can’t just…”
One of Bronte’s brows rises before he slowly cocks his head to the side a bit. “I can’t just, what?”
He takes that moment to lift me a little off his dick just to drop me back on it.
I involuntarily groan, and I hate myself for it.
“Fuck my wife?” Bronte theorizes, if you want to call it that, just as he repeats his actions and makes me fall on his length again. “What if she fucks me, instead?”
A fractured exhale escapes my lips, and I shiver while a thousand goosebumps line my skin.
My rationality, the right side of me, fails to step up and throw out at him that this is wrong. That he’s not Bobby. That everything he did, he didn’t do it the right way, because he could have come to me with all the so-called evidence.
But he didn’t.
And it’s not winning because the left side of me, she’s playing a very dangerous game of twin. That Bronte’s way of fucking me…it’s unmatched by how I think of the previous times it could’ve been Bobby.
I don’t know.
I don’t have an Excel sheet to compare and contrast the two.
I’m in limbo, in more ways than one, because I’m going to hell if I keep allowing this man free rein with me.
“I need words, Meirna,” Bronte prompts, and I feel his dick throb needily inside me as if it can’t wait. “Yes or no.”
No.
You have to say no, Meirna.
“I thought you might like this,” he continues, softer this time. “It’s like we’ve finally come full circle where you know everything and who you shared Christmas with.”
No.
I shared them with Bobby.
Or, at least, most of the day?
“Why?” I blurt through half-processed thoughts. “Why didn’t you come to me and tell me—”
“So my brother could talk you out of it? To tell you I’m unhinged and—”
“You are unhinged.”
He lifts his shoulders to that. “My methods had to adapt based on the situation. Since I know what the Hardings will do.”
I frown. “What would…”
Bronte impatiently rocks his hips, prompting me to hurry up with this conversation. “Rushed wedding. Drain your bank account. Ask you to take out a loan—several of them to save Bobby. He’s five million in debt, Daydream. You think I was going to sit back and permit that to happen?”
I didn’t add up Bobby’s debt. It was there, but the more terrifying aspect of what I was given was Bobby’s mob ties. The text messages about more money and meeting places in Chicago. One even asked if I had any collateral to tie Bobby’s loan to.
He was already about to drag me down.
What more do you need, Meirna?
“I can’t…be married to you.”
Bronte’s response to that is rocking his hips into me and directing my body to do the same. “You already are. And I fucking love that, Meirna. That’s not going to change.”
That sounded like a threat.
Like a means of nowhere out.
“You’re trapping me,” I lightly accuse, clutching onto his shoulders to remain grounded to this conversation. “Just like he was.”
“You feel like that now?” I immediately bob my head, but it doesn’t deter Bronte. “Then give me until New Year’s. A full shot. And, if you still feel trapped, I’ll let you go.”
I gape at him because that’s a full one-eighty from what he just said. “You’d…divorce me?”
“No, you’d divorce me. I’m dedicated to making this work. On making you happy. To give you everything you’ve ever wanted. On loving you until the day I die.”
My heart tightens in my chest because of the level of what he’s already thought of giving me…I’ve never gotten that from Bobby.
But I never needed to be free of him.
Until possibly now.
“I’m not yours,” I whisper. “You can’t—”
“You’re mine now.” He rocks faster. “New Year’s, Daydream. You open yourself up to me until New Year’s, and I’ll show you everything we could’ve been if life didn’t get in the way. Can you do that for me?”
What other alternative do I have?
If I say no, he might just make my life a living hell. He might make things worse.