Chapter 33
“End Game” - Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran, Future
Pierce
It’s been a long, shitty day. In fact, it’s been an even longer and shittier week. There was a major glitch in one of our main software databases, and we only resolved the issue this afternoon, after the team worked around the clock on it for two days.
Now I collect my mail and head to the lift, eager for a workout. Tension emanates from every muscle in my body. I’m entering the code for the tenth floor when the click of heels on tile sounds from the lobby. Instinctively, I glance up.
While seeing Maeve stalk toward me in a short black dress that I’m already envisioning on the floor of this elevator is the last thing I expect, it’s certainly the most welcome.
Some of the tension in my body immediately starts draining away.
Don’t ask me why or how. She just has that effect on me, especially tonight.
I haven’t seen her for several days thanks to the crazy shit going on at Luminara, which has required me to pull some late nights, and I’ve missed her more than I thought it possible to miss anyone.
Her expression, however, does not show any signs of her having missed me.
Holding out a hand to keep the doors from closing, I give her a slow grin. “Hello, sunshine.”
Her face grows more stormy, if that’s even possible, as she joins me in the lift. “Where is it?”
“My cock? It’s right here, baby.” I reach for the front of my trousers. “But maybe we should wait until we’re upstairs—”
“Don’t be an imbecile.” She swats my hand away, and a thrill shoots through me at the brush of her skin against mine, even if her hackles are sharp enough to scratch. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.” I cross my ankles and lean against the wall. I’d much rather be putting my hands and mouth on her, but she’s as lovable as a porcupine at the moment.
“My perfume, you asshole.” Folding her arms over her chest, Maeve glares at me with a ferocity that only increases my desire to kiss her.
“What perfume?” Obviously I know exactly what she’s referring to, but it’s more fun to watch her grow devastatingly furious. Besides, if fighting turns her on, I’ll be getting lucky soon.
“I had that scent custom made,” she says. “So give it back.”
“What makes you think I have it?” I snuck into her house yesterday after playing her own key trick on her and swiped the bottle from her bathroom. I expected this confrontation last night or this morning, but she must not have discovered it was missing until tonight.
The lift dings, and we both step off. I keep my strides long as I walk to my flat, but she manages to stay right behind me.
“Because I’m not an idiot. Who else would take it?”
Unlocking the door, I shrug. “A stalker, maybe.”
She snorts. “You would have been more subtle spray-painting the side of my house with the words ‘Pierce was here.’”
I give her a quizzical look as I swing the door open. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she says, barging inside like she lives here, and I can’t help wondering what it’d be like if she did. “You didn’t even try this time. You had to know I’d miss it right away.”
“Actually,” I say, holding up my index finger, “you didn’t miss it for twenty-four hours.”
“Only because—” She stops and shakes her head. “Never mind. You obviously don’t care about the challenge, so you won’t mind if I sweep the table with you this time.”
“I can think of a few other things you can do with me on a table.”
Rolling her eyes, she holds out her open palm. “Just give me the bottle.”
“Why do you need it this second?” I give her outfit another look as I move closer. She’s too dressed up for a night in. “Are you going out?”
“That’s none of your business. Now, admit defeat and hand it over.”
Narrowing my eyes, I run through the possibilities and land on the only logical one. “Are you seeing that fucker tonight?” My head is starting to pound, and the vein in my temple twitches.
Maeve blinks rapidly, taking a tiny step backward. “Of course not,” she says, but the truth is written all over her face. She can’t lie to save her life.
“The fuck you’re not. You’re staying with me.” I grab her wrist and yank her toward me.
She gasps as she bumps into my chest. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
I laugh loudly and abruptly. “Like hell I don’t.” Lowering my nose to her neck, I inhale deeply. Even without her perfume, she smells a million fucking times better than anything else on the planet.
“Just give it back, Pierce,” she whispers, all of the fight draining out of her the second my lips are on her throat.
“Not if you’re going to wear it for him.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
I pull back and glare down at her. “He’s married, Maeve.”
“You know what I mean,” she grumbles. “We hardly get any time together, and—”
“So then he can wait another night.”
“That’s not fair. You and I are together much more often than—”
“As it should be.”
Her mouth drops open, and I resist the urge to kiss it. “Whatever fantasies you have in your head about the two of us will just have to wait for another night, okay?” she says. “Preston and I have plans.”
“Where is he going to take you? You can’t go anywhere with him, or someone might see you. You can’t even get dinner with the bloke, let alone be seen together in public. That doesn’t leave a lot of options, does it?”
A red flush stains Maeve’s neck and cheeks, but she doesn’t try to correct me. I expected her to at the very least say he’s flying her to London or renting a villa on the coast, maybe arranging a private dinner at a club in a nearby town. But she stays silent.
The truth hits me squarely between the eyes. “He’s not taking you anywhere, is he? You’re all dressed up just for him to come over and what? Make you fake an orgasm?”
She swipes a hand over her cheek, leaving behind a streak of moisture. Shit.
“Why the fuck did you say yes?” I ask, lowering my voice. “You can do so much better than that.” You deserve to be treated like a fucking queen.
“He makes me feel safe.” Tilting her chin upward, she looks tiny, frail, and so damn scared, despite her best efforts to the contrary.
This is so fucked up. Why would she feel safer with a married man than with me, especially after everything we’ve gone through? Especially after I practically confessed to having something closely resembling feelings for her a few weeks ago?
“He makes you feel safe,” I mutter. “Are you listening to yourself? He’s married to someone else. How does that make you feel anything other than repulsed and angry?”
Her glare turns vicious, all traces of tears and fragility gone. In its place is red-hot fire. “You’re the only thing making me repulsed and angry right now.”
I step back like she’s burned me, and then it hits me.
She feels safe, because with Ansley, she knows exactly what to expect.
The guy’s already proven himself to be a cheater, so she’ll never be blindsided by him.
She doesn’t need to fully trust him, which means she remains in control.
She’s convinced herself that she’s the one making all the calls, that the relationship is on her terms.
“You don’t actually believe he’ll leave his wife, do you?” I say the words slowly, the realization coming like the parting of clouds, the sun finally breaking through. “And you don’t even care.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay, then.” I reach for her again, but she steps backward and lifts a warning finger.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Maeve,” I say, a new level of pleading in my voice. It feels like a spike has been driven through my heart. She thinks she doesn’t deserve better than a cheating bastard, because her whole life she’s been told she’s not enough. This is her way of preventing her heart from getting broken.
She extends her hand, palm up. “Just give me the perfume, and I’ll go.”
I consider it for two seconds. If he really made her happy, I’d get out of the fucking way. But he doesn’t, even if she’s convinced herself otherwise. Then another possibility occurs to me.
Leaning forward, I grab her chin and drag her face up to mine. “Tell me you didn’t come here to fight with me so that you’d be ready for him.”
Her eyes widen. I can’t tell if that was actually her plan, or if she thought of it as a beneficial side effect. Either way, that’s not how this is ending.
“No fucking way,” I say, then press my shoulder into her stomach and toss her over my shoulder.
“Put me down!” she shrieks, pummeling her fists into my back. I barely feel a thing.
“Not happening, Panther.” I smack her ass, which is bare, thanks to her dress sliding up when I grabbed her. “What the fuck,” I hiss as my fingers make contact with skin where her thong should be.
She cries out, not in pain but in anger, so I do it again. Her hands come down even harder, but they might as well be cotton balls for all the damage they’re doing.
“Why are you not wearing underwear?” I say, heading to the bedroom. “I bought you an entire box.”
“It’s not like I was going to wear those, was I?” She punctuates each word with another blow.
I shove two fingers into her drenched pussy and groan.
No way in hell is she giving this to another man.
If I turn her on, I’m the one who gets to fuck her.
I drop her unceremoniously onto the bed, and she lands with a small thump.
She scrambles backward, keeping her eyes locked on me but making no move to escape.
As I’m shrugging out of my jacket, I see it. On my shoulder, right where she was a second ago, is a small wet patch. “This was a twenty-thousand-dollar suit.” I slip the coat off and inhale the scent of her moisture before tossing it aside. “You just made it priceless.”