I gasp as someone’s hard chest presses against my back, but as soon as I inhale, my body relaxes. I know exactly who it is. Sloane. My belly heats and flutters at the exact same time, just as it always does when he’s around. Something I haven’t’ felt for the past three years.
One of his arms wraps around my stomach. I shiver when his hand slides up the center of my chest and beneath my dress, to curl his fingers around my breast. His mouth goes to my ear, his hot breath and rough fingers gently brush against my skin.
“Imogen, baby,” he whispers.
My entire flesh breaks out in goosebumps, and I shiver. Then I close my eyes. Damn him. I love it when he whispers to me, his body so close.
“Sloane,” I respond shakily.
“Missed you,” he rumbles as his hand squeezes my breast roughly.
My body betrays my mind, and I moan as I let my head fall back against his shoulder. I feel his other hand on my thigh, at the slit of my dress. Then, in a single breath, it’s beneath my panties and he’s cupping me.
“Sloane,” I whimper. “This is wrong.”
“You’re my wife,” he informs me as he fills me with two fingers. I’m wet, but I haven’t had sex in three years—not since him—so it’s a little painful.
“Fuck, baby. So tight and warm, just like I always remembered,” he murmurs against my neck. His tongue snakes out and he tastes me while his fingers gently pump in and out of my pussy.
I push my ass slightly against his slacks and moan when I feel his hard cock against my crack. Sloane’s thumb presses against my clit, and I gasp, turning my head to press my lips just on the underside of his clean-shaven jaw.
“Still so sweet when I touch you,” he rasps. “Come all over me, Imogen,” he groans as he curls his fingers inside of me, grinding his palm against my clit, just like he knows I love.
“Oh, god,” I say through trembling lips. My body shakes, and I come.
I feel him gather my dress in his hands, turning me around to face the mirror, and then his tuxedo rustles behind me. Without a word, he yanks my panties down before he fills me from behind. He grabs my face and turns it toward the mirror, his green eyes connecting with my brown ones; his jaw set hard and looking like the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
“You’re my wife, Imogen, mine,” he grunts as he fucks me.
I can’t do anything but gasp as his hips thrust and slap against my ass. He continues to hold my face so that I’m forced to look into his gorgeous eyes.
“No man touches you,” he growls as his hips pump harder. “Not ever.”
I want to push him away and then pull him closer. No matter how pissed I am at him, he feels so damn good. I reach up behind me and thread my fingers into his hair, tugging hard on the strands, which causes him to suck in a breath. It only urges him to fuck me harder and faster.
“Keep looking at me,” he demands.
His hand slips between my legs again, and he starts to rub firm circles against my clit. My second climax rushes through me, and as soon as I cry out, he moans with his own release. I feel his seed fill my body, and instantly I regret it. This should have never happened.
“This can’t happen again,” I whisper, still looking at him in the mirror.
“You let that piece of shit touch you, and I’ll kill him,” he growls.
“Yeah, well, if we were playing the same game I’d have to kill hundreds of women,” I announce.
Sloane’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow on me, but he doesn’t respond. He pulls out of me, and I feel his cum slide down my legs. I turn to face him, tired of looking at him through the mirror, and then I reach back and slap him across the face. It stings my palm as his head flies to the side.
“You get one pass, Genny, but only because I deserve a hell of a lot more. You hit me again, and we’ll have words,” he growls. I’m too fired up to care.
“How dare you come here, to a party, and try to piss on me like this, and then tell me who can and cannot touch me,” I grind out as I pull my panties up, trying to ignore the fact that Sloane fucked me with no condom just a few minutes ago.
“You have my last name. You’re legally my wife; and if I lift your dress, my brand is assuredly still on your hip. I can tell you whatever the fuck I want,” he growls.
“Fuck you, Sloane Huntington,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes. He takes a few steps toward me and my back presses against the door.
With his nose practically touching mine, Sloane wraps his hand loosely around the front of my throat. His lips are just a hair’s breadth from touching my own.
“You are mine, Imogen. That fuck touches you, and I’ll kill him. You are not marrying him. You are not having his kids. I won’t allow it,” he whispers harshly.
My eyes widen in surprise, “Allow it?”
“Yeah. You have any kids, they’ll be mine,” he murmurs.
“You have got to be kidding me right now. Is this some kind of joke?” I laugh out humorlessly.
“Fuck no, it’s not a joke,” he says, straightening but keeping his hand around my throat.
“I don’t see you for three years, and for the decade before that you stick your dick into any wet hole you can find, and I’m supposed to, what, just accept that and start a family with you? I don’t think so,” I snort.
“There she is,” he growls stepping back from me.
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Who?”
“That bitch you like to bring out. That bitch inside of you that you save just for my pleasure,” he shrugs.
His words cut deep, and for the first time in years, I don’t throw up a shield. I let him see just how deeply he’s cut me with them. I know he notices when his brow furrows and he runs a hand through his perfectly, albeit a little too long, hair.
“I’m a bitch because I won’t fall at your feet? I’m a bitch because I don’t accept you fucking around with a smile on my face? I’m sorry, Sloane, I’m sorry you don’t think I’m good enough to be faithful to. Most of all I’m sorry that we’ve both spent years wasting each other’s time.”
“Genny,” he whispers, his head tipped down but his eyes open and focused on mine.
“We don’t work, Sloane,” I choke. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old, but you don’t love me the same way,” I murmur.
“Imogen,” he growls as he crowds me against the door again, his hands slapping down on either side of my head.
“It’s been twenty years. We haven’t been happy for a long time. I don’t think it could ever be possible at this point.”
“And Graham will make you happy?” he says, sounding disgusted.
“He wants to have a family—children,” I shrug.
“Offered to give you those more than once, baby,” he says, sounding cocky and pissed off all at once.
“Yeah, while you were out getting blitzed and fucking every whore who would spread for you. Sorry, that doesn’t really put me in the mood to have your baby.”
“Fucking shit, Genny. What do you want from me?” he asks. To his credit, he looks serious.
I lift my hand to cup the smooth skin of his cheek as a tear falls from my eye. I haven’t cried in front of him in at least ten years. I refused to show him how much he hurt me, or any emotion at all. His eyes track the tear as it falls before they clash with mine again, and I can see the obvious concern on his face.
God, if he’d only looked at me like this ten years ago.
“There was a time where I wanted you to grow up and leave the club, but that’s not you. I get that now, and I’m sorry I tried to change that part of you, Sloane. But in the end, the cheating killed us, killed our chances,” I whisper as more tears streak down my face.
“You’re still legally my wife. We aren’t dead yet,” he growls.
“We’ve been dead for a long time.” Even I don’t believe the finality of my words. They’re weak as hell.
“Nope,” he says, popping the p before he presses his lips to mine in a hard kiss.
Moving me over to the side, he then walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone. I take a moment to clean up and then look at myself in the mirror. I can’t hide the fact that I look freshly fucked, but there’s more that I can’t hide—and that’s the hope I stupidly feel.
Why I’m allowing myself to feel hope toward Sloane? Why do I have a small smile curved on my lips just thinking about him, I don’t know—but I do.
It’s probably foolish, and he’ll probably break my heart again; but the truth is, Graham won’t make me happy. He was never going to make me happy. Only one person can truly do that, and that’s Sloane McKinley Huntington, III.
My husband.
Fuck.
I hate him right now, but most of all, I hate my fucking self.
Making my way out of the bathroom and slowly back into the party, I take a deep breath. My eyes glance around the room, and I don’t see Sloane anywhere.
I let out a heavy sigh as I walk toward Graham, who is glaring at me. Once I reach his side, he wraps his hand around mine tightly before he mutters something to the man he’s talking to and he tugs me hard behind him.
“Imogen,” a woman’s voice calls out. I turn to see Kalli Huntington wobbling toward me.
“Graham, stop,” I plead, pulling hard on his arm.
He stops, but his lips are in a straight, angry line, and his eyes are focused on mine.
“Kalli,” I say softly as I smile. Unless she’s drinking at a party, she’s usually locked up in her room, drowning in a bottle or five of wine.
“My daughter,” she slurs as she wraps her arms around me. “Don’t let that son of mine treat you badly, now, you hear me,” she mutters as she always does.
“Kalli, Sloane and I have been separated for three years,” I gently remind her.
She sways, her eyes widening slightly before she waves her hand at me in a dismissal.
“You’re good for my boy. He’ll get you back. He always does,” she murmurs, causing Graham to growl behind me.
“How about I come by tomorrow afternoon and I bring brunch?” I offer, knowing the woman probably won’t even eat tomorrow and simultaneously trying to shut her up. In all honesty, she’ll probably still be drunk.
“Oh, I would adore that, simply adore that. You know you’re one of the only good girls to come out of all these society sluts,” she cackles.
I can’t help but smile. I bite the inside of my cheek, so that I don’t burst out in laughter like her. In a different world, if Kalli weren’t such a complete disaster, I have always thought that we would truly get along wonderfully.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kalli,” I say gently as I take a step back from her.
“Not too early now,” she warns.
“Of course not,” I agree.
Graham doesn’t let me say another word. He tugs me along and doesn’t stop until he’s throwing me in his car. I cry out as I fall into the back seat, twisting my ankle slightly. “Go to my place,” he growls to the driver.
“No, please, take me home,” I call out.
The driver nods as his eyes flash to mine in the rearview mirror.
“You fuck him?” Graham asks.
I turn to him in surprise. “Excuse me?” I say, trying to stall. “Graham, this isn’t going to work.”
“You needed that closure, that’s fine. You’re mine now, Imogen,” he announces. I scrunch my nose up.
“Graham, did you not hear me? This isn’t going to work,” I announce.
“Because of Sloane?” he asks on a growl. “Because he’s a worthless fucking piece of shit. You’ve done nothing but waste your life with him. He’s trash, Imogen.” I flinch at his hard words.
“No, it has nothing to do with Sloane. It isn’t going to work because I can’t force my feelings, and I’m not attracted to you,” I blurt out.
“I don’t care. We’re getting married, and you’re having my children,” he announces, acting completely unruffled.
“Graham, no. I’m telling you no,” I say standing firm.
Then his hand flashes out and slaps me across the face, sending me across the back of the car. All of a sudden, the car stops. I’m frozen in place, my eyes focused on Graham’s aloof ones.
His hand reaches out to wrap tightly around the front of my throat. “I’ll let this slide this one and only time, Imogen. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come to heel, and do it like fucking lightning,” he grinds out.
Before I can respond, the driver opens my door and hauls me out by my bicep. His grip is firm, yet gentle, and I teeter on my heels before he places his body in front of mine, between Graham and me.
His voice is deep, but I hear him clearly, “Go inside, ma’am.” I turn around and see that I’m home.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter, holding my face.
“I’ll make sure you’re safely inside and he won’t follow you,” he says, pressing his back to me.
I turn and run, ignoring Graham’s angry voice, listening to him struggle against the driver and threatening to have him fired as he calls me a whore.
Once I’m inside, I set my alarm, lock my doors, and sink to my ass, my tears flowing down my cheeks. I press my shaky palm to my heated cheek as my body trembles uncontrollably. I have completely fucked this whole thing up.
I don’t drive back to the clubhouse after the party. Instead, I climb inside of my ‘67 Shelby GT500e Super Snake and speed back to my house. I haven’t stayed here since I’ve been back from prison. I came here long enough to grab my tuxedo and my car before tonight’s party. For whatever reason, I feel the need to be here tonight.
Walking inside after I’ve parked my car in the garage, I look around. It doesn’t feel like my home. I didn’t stay here often. I stayed at the clubhouse more, and that makes me feel like a fucking dick.
Genny left everything here; kitchen appliances, dishes, decorations, fucking everything. It’s like she wanted zero reminder of our life when she walked out the door.
Making my way to the bedroom, I notice that everything has a thick layer of dust over it, every single surface. I walk toward her closet, needing to see her space for whatever fucked up reason.
All of her clothes are hanging up perfectly, by color order. Fuck, she’s so goddamn anal. I laugh to myself as I open a drawer in her closet, it’s full of sexy little nighties and silk stockings.
My fingertips run over them and catches on something, a tag. In fact, almost everything in the drawer still has the tags on it. I don’t want to know what she was thinking when she bought all of this shit, but she never wore it. Knowing what was going through her mind would probably just make me feel like an even bigger asshole.
Furrowing my brow, I decide I’m going to get my wife back. No way in fuck am I going to let a prick like Graham take her from me. She’s not his, she’s mine, my property. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that I’m the victor, just as I always am when it comes to him.
I can’t deny the pull that I have toward Genny. She’s much more than just some conquest for me. Spending three years to think about all I did wrong with her, made me truly appreciative of the woman I had at my side, all those years.
When I got out, I decided I was going to let her go and find her happiness; but I’ll be damned if it’s with Graham fucking Bayard. She’s mine, being inside of her tonight proved just how much that is still true. I’m bringing my baby home, where she fucking belongs, as my wife and my Old Lady.
No man touches Imogen but me.