Chapter 12 Hot water sluices down my suds-covered body, washing away every hint of Fiona on me. Her scent disappears, replaced by the mint and sandalwood of the soap. Foam swirls down the drain-like what happened to our college relationship, when I was more innocent and naïve. When I believed she might be the one. I thought if I sated my sexual frustration and erased every trace of her from my skin, I'd feel liberated. No more thinking of her. No more getting erect at inopportune times. Instead, all I can do is remember how amazing it felt to be back inside her. Damn it. I shove my wet hair out of my face in frustration and cut off the shower. Sex with Fiona hasn't done a thing to quell the annoying restlessness that's been plaguing me. No, that's not quite right. The satisfaction was there when she came around my cock twice, and I lost my mind with pleasure. I hate to admit it, but I've never felt as good with any other woman. But then she had to ruin it by acting like kissing on the mouth was equivalent to rape, then looking at me like I'd smashed her heart. Brazen. Shameless...! She's the one who betrayed me and trampled all over my dignity, pride and feelings. Did she honestly believe I ruined her wedding with Jude just to be able to return to playing her lap dog? My biggest mistake back then was letting her soften me into being the kind of boyfriend the world considers "good." Well, the time of my being that kind of idiot is over. Forever. The problem is my dick. It's incredible how a penis can have its own logic and stubbornness that have nothing to do with my brain's decree. I shake my head. I honestly thought I was beyond such nonsense. Still. It was bitterly satisfying to watch her struggle to maintain her superior attitude. She tried to pin me to a number, then spread her legs and touched herself to provoke me. Did she expect tenderness or something else more meaningful out of sex? Before, we had sweetness, laughter, joy and trust-at least, I did. Now, I won't spare her any. She said I didn't deserve to kiss her. It's she who doesn't deserve anything. I put on a shirt and shorts then walk out of the bedroom and head downstairs. I pause when I see Fiona standing in front of the coffee table. She's covered herself with the wedding dress. Guess she wasn't brazen enough to stay in just the garter belt and stockings. Or maybe she's realized they won't get her what she wants. When she took off the dress and showed what was underneath, my blood shot to the boiling point instantly. A toxic combination of bitterness and victory sizzled in my veins as I took her in. Her softly rounded breasts rose and fell, their tips rosy and pointed, begging to be sucked. Her waist was still nicely taut, her hips flared just enough to fill my palms if I wanted to grip them as I screwed her brains out. The sight of her hairless pussy was more erotic than any porn. I'd never seen her waxed there before, and I loved it that nothing was hidden from my view. The silken stockings encased her long, shapely legs, their snowy color giving her an air of innocence despite her state of wanton undress. She wore those for Jude-for their wedding night. But it was me who got to enjoy the view, not him. The realization is still gratifying. Bet he's still fuming-maybe in his wedding bed, alone. She's staring at the floor as though studying the pattern in the marble. But I was in the bathroom for half an hour or so. There's no way she just stood there all this time, doing nothing. "You can go," I say, my tone more curt than I intend. But it's best I don't give her any sort of opening. She starts. "I don't have a ride." "I'll call you an Uber-" "Actually, I don't have anywhere to go." I fold my arms and squint at her. "What happened to your place?" She licks her lips, shifting a bit. "I didn't get a rental. I've been staying at the family estate, but it's...not a good idea for me to go there right now." "Like I care?" If the mansion's about to be foreclosed, that's her problem, not mine. "Jude and Aaron are likely to be there." That shuts me up. Those two don't deserve to give her a hard time. If anybody's going to make her suffer, it's gonna be me. And although she didn't mention it, her mother is probably going to be at the Obermans' mansion. After all, where can a widow without any job skills go? She might blame Fiona for not marrying Jude and jeopardizing the two million dollars. But I don't want Fiona in my house. It's my sanctuary. As a matter of fact, I regret bringing her here. I never bring women here, preferring to go to their place or to a hotel nearby. I should've done the same with her, but I wasn't thinking clearly as I drove away from the wedding. I was riding too high on triumph and elation. "How about a friend?" I say. She looks away with an awkward shrug. "Don't have any." I raise an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you never made any friends all these years?" "Not anyone close enough for me to crash with in L.A." Again, hard to believe. Don't girls have sleepovers with friends all the time? Even I had one or two with some boys, although my dad and stepmom were paranoid about my and my brothers' safety. As far as I know, Fiona doesn't have a sociopathic mom trying to kidnap her and leave her to die in a fire. "Are you proposing that you stay here? You're that eager to pay off your debt to me?" She flushes. "I don't break my word." I snort. "That remains to be seen." Cheaters cheat because they fundamentally don't value their word or the trust people place in them. That sort of attitude doesn't change just because they're dealing with somebody who isn't a significant other. I pour myself whiskey. This time I don't offer her any. In my peripheral vision, I sense her shift again. "What's wrong? Need to use the bathroom?" She shakes her head. "No. I... My legs are stiff." "Then sit. There aren't any land mines in the cushions." "I didn't think there were, but back in your office you were upset when I tried to sit without an invitation." She sinks into the smallest of the couches and arranges herself. The poufed skirt makes her look like an innocent fairy in my living room, her hair tumbling over a slender shoulder and her cheeks slightly rosy. Her mouth is soft, her lips full and vulnerable, the kind that beg for a kiss that starts out gently but morphs into something hard and intense. Heat starts in my belly and spreads through me, all the way to my fingertips and toes. I hate it that I notice how pretty and kissable she is. Back at the office, huh? If she's fishing for an apology, forget it. I pull out my phone with a nonchalance I don't feel, my body propped against the bar. "I gave your information to my banker. He'll reach out tomorrow and arrange for a wire for two million." "Um. I don't know if they're the kind of people you can just wire money to." I tilt my head. "What does that mean?" "They're loan sharks. I don't know if they bank like normal people." She clears her throat. What in the world...? "Are you crazy?" My hand tightens around my phone. It's that or shake her until she develops some common sense. "You borrowed money from loan sharks?" "Not me. Aaron," she says defensively. My jaw drops. "What the hell? You're paying off Aaron's debt?" She nods. I stare, trying to understand. The entire conversation has taken on a surreal tone. "Why? He's a big boy. Let him handle it." Somewhere in my head, a voice says, If she doesn't have to take care of the two million, you won't have any leverage over her. But I don't care. It's stupid of her to take on that kind of debt when she doesn't need to. Didn't anybody advise her? "I wanted to, but they came after me and Sherry. I couldn't let them hurt us." "But loan sharks?" I shake my head. Fiona lets out a hollow laugh. "I had the same reaction. But what can I do? They can have Aaron and do whatever they want to him, but I owe Sherry everything. I can't let her suffer." I've seen Zachary's wife a few times at social functions. Pretty, but a bit fragile. Pleasant enough, and well mannered. But I can't picture her doing anything that'd inspire such devotion from Fiona. Sherry's always lost in some Buddhist scripture or mantra. Won't touch meat or alcohol, saying taking a life is bad. Apparently, plants don't qualify as "lives." Fiona continues, "I don't know exactly how to make the payment, but I'm sure they'll be in touch soon. They text every day. "Anyway, I can arrange for the money to be paid however you want, although I don't encourage cash. Too dangerous." "I know. I'm not going to be that reckless." "Really? Because you've been reckless ever since you reentered my life." Fiona was reckless when she barged into my office...when she decided to marry Jude...when she sent me those photos. And now she's trying to pay off money her brother owes to some loan sharks. Concern clouds my better judgment, and I sit next to her-then immediately realize it was a mistake. This close, I can smell the scent of us on her. It's like she belongs to me in every way, and if I push her back and spread her, she'll welcome me into her wet, tight pussy with a soft moan, then beg me to use her for my pleasure. A prickling sensation spreads. My dick hardens like it didn't just explode inside her less than an hour ago. My fingertips twitch, and I curl my hands, refusing to touch her. I don't want her to think she's in charge. She will never be in charge. I'm never giving her that much control and power again. "I was desperate," she says. "But now I'm not. I have the money, and once I pay them, they'll leave me and Sherry alone." I sigh. "You realize the loan sharks are probably just going to jack up the interest, right?" She blinks in bewilderment. "Why would they?" "Because they can. Because they're assholes. If Aaron went into debt while gambling, they probably have mob connections." "Well..." She shakes her head. "I'll deal with that when it happens." "How? Are you planning to borrow more from me?" Her cheeks redden. "I'll think of something." I detect a slight tremor underneath her firm tone. "Are you paying off the extra with your body too?" "I don't like to think about hypotheticals." Suddenly she clears her throat and stands up. "Actually, I need to go." Flustered? "Where to?" "To..." She hesitates. "To get my things." "I said where, not why." Not meeting my eyes, she shrugs. "Jude's place." "Why? Now that you got fucked by me, you want to hop back into his bed?" The nasty question is out before I realize what I'm saying. The words are full of old wounds and pain, and I want to smack myself for inadvertently revealing a glimpse of the hurt I've been harboring. "Don't be crude," she says sharply. I inwardly sigh with relief that she didn't notice anything. I put up an even higher and more unbreakable wall. She continues, "He had all my things moved there last night. All my shoes and clothes and stuff." "So? You aren't crawling back to him, regardless of the excuse." "It's not an excuse-" "If you go anywhere near him, the deal's off. You won't need to wear clothes for what you're here to do." Her expression starts to crumble before she blinks away all signs of vulnerability. "You are such an asshole now." "No. I was always an asshole. It's just that I wasn't an asshole with you." Something halfway between anguish and disbelief flashes across her face. Her hands clench into fists. "You know what? I'm not wasting my breath talking to you." "Good. You aren't paying off the loan by talking. Now go take a shower, unless you want to smell like you just got fucked," I say, selecting words for maximal pain. Her complexion turns red, white, then back to red before she spins around and walks upstairs. "Third door to your right," I call out. That's the only guestroom with an en suite bathroom that's fully stocked. The slamming of the door is the only answer. I cock an eyebrow. Temper, temper. Now... Will she come out in the same dress with nothing underneath once she's showered? I can strip her of the damned outfit, have her grip the back of the couch and take her from behind, this time shooting my cum all over her bare back, reapplying my scent to her. If I take her until her pussy is raw, perhaps this endless hunger can be satisfied. But part of me says that's the worst kind of strategy. She's expecting that-and likely has counterplans for it. I don't want to see her in the wedding dress she picked out to marry Jude Morven ever again. I head to my closet and pick out the oldest T-shirt I own. The pale gray cotton is faded, but clean. It even has a couple of small rips around the neck, thanks to Josh. The least attractive. Perfect. Then a pair of brand-new boxers, still in the plastic packaging. I leave them on the bed for Fiona and grab some documents I need to review before tomorrow, then settle into an armchair with a glass of Yamazaki 18. But my focus isn't wholly on the paper. Part of me is hyperaware of Fiona upstairs-in the shower, naked and wet and covered with slippery suds. When she washes her private parts, does she glide her fingers through her folds, then rub, making herself feel good at the same time? Her clit and pussy are probably still sensitive. I remember how long they remain like that after she comes. Is she rubbing herself for another quick orgasm in the shower? Or is she trying to ignore the awareness between her thighs? I sip the whiskey, letting the liquid fire burn down my throat all the way to my stomach. But the heat in my gut has nothing to do with the fine liquor. It's all about the woman upstairs. If she had her phone, she might stay hidden upstairs, but her purse is still in my Rolls-Royce. Well, when I see her in my old T-shirt, I'm not going to feel this uncomfortable or worked up. I picked it specifically because it's going to look ridiculous on her. But she doesn't come out of the room for the rest of the day. Even though her purse and phone are still in the Rolls. I have to read the documents three times, constantly distracted by images of her in the damn shower. In "CEO Wife's Secret" by CrushReel, a gripping tale of romance, billionaire lifestyles, and hidden truths unfolds. As a devoted mother working part-time to support her children, she vanished into obscurity until the CEO locates her after five long years. 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