Chapter One
Sadie
Moaning. It’s the first thing assaulting my ears as I approach my boyfriend’s office. My knuckles whiten, fingers tightly gripping the wicker basket I’m carrying. It’s late, and this visit is supposed to be a surprise.
Maybe I’m the one in for a surprise.
I stall outside his door, and there’s no doubt at what I’m hearing. Releasing a soundless breath, I feel my shoulders sag, same as my spirit. God, I feel like a fucking cliché right now—the clueless girlfriend catching her man cheating at the office late at night. It doesn’t help that I have that wholesome girl-next-door appearance bullshit to go along with the overdone trope.
At five feet and three inches tall, with thick red hair that doesn’t know the first thing about behaving, I’m not the poster girl for a man’s wet dream. And don’t get me started on the freckles smattering my nose and cheeks. I’ve been told my freckles are adorable, sexy even, but I’m sure the people who said it are full of shit. Especially now, considering the groans and grunts coming through the door of Jake’s office. I bet whoever she is, she doesn’t have freckles.
Adorable doesn’t get a girl anywhere with someone like Jake Jennings. He’s the epitome of mature and successful. Classic good looks, blond hair never out of place, strong jaw and broad shoulders. The man favors expensive suits, and he wears them well.
Being that I’m several years younger than Jake, dating him made me feel mature. My father approved—how could he not, since Jake is on the fast track to becoming a junior partner at his law firm.
Sounds like he’s on the fast track to getting laid as well.
Betrayal rises in my chest, coils around my heart, threatens to slice and dice. I should be used to betrayal and rejection by now. Guys have proven they can’t be trusted, and as for rejection…
I get enough of that from my father.
But he looks at me differently since Jake and I began dating. I hate the thought of losing that, of disappointing him yet again, but if the sounds on the other side of the door are any indication, I won’t have a choice.
Clutching the bodice of my little black dress, as if I can keep my heart from bleeding hurt, I tell myself to close the remaining steps to the door of his office. But I hesitate, grieving the could’ve been of another relationship down the drain.
Another lost opportunity to work past my fear of sex and intimacy, because tonight was supposed to be the night.
It’s the slimeball’s birthday, and he begged off from celebrating, claiming he had to pull an all-nighter on the case my dad’s had him working on. So I decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner I prepared for the occasion, hoping I could coax him into taking a break.
I’d hoped to take our relationship to the next level by giving him what he’s wanted for weeks.
A blow job.
A real blow job—the kind that involves messy thrusting and sucking, and zero inhibition as his ecstasy spurts down my throat. I’d even convinced myself I had enough courage to give him my fucking V-card.
God, I’m so stupid.
My best friend warned me about him from the get-go.
He’s got the douchebag vibe going on.
How can you tell?
It’s in the eyes, Sadie. The smug bastard thinks he’s better than everyone else.
Guess she was right, but I refused to hear it. A single glance in his direction shattered my brain cells, and I followed his come-hither smile like a cat on the scent of dinner scraps.
“Yes! Oh God, fuck yes, Jake. Your tongue…right there.”
A warm tingle travels down my spine, which is interesting since I’m angry as hell.
Turn away. You don’t want to see this.
I take three steps forward, and my hand stalls halfway to the knob. He left the door ajar—no point in worrying about privacy when everyone in the office has already gone home for the day. One soundless push of that door, and I’ll see for myself that Jake Jennings is scum.
No, he’s the grime that lines the tiles in my shower, the mud caking the soles of my sneakers from our hike last weekend. Thinking about the time we spent together sucker punches me. I draw in even breaths through my nose, trying to remain silent as tears burn my eyes.
The weather’s been mild for fall, even by Pacific Northwest standards, so we took advantage by getting outside for a few hours. Things got heavy up on that deserted hillside, where we’d spread out a blanket to stop for a picnic. His hands explored every inch of me, yet the day ended with a preamble of what was to come.
I should have known.
He’d wanted more, but when it came time to reciprocate, I ended up freezing with uncertainty. And that’s how it always goes with me.
Guys want what I’m not ready to give. What I’m not confident enough to give.
But Jake said he was different. He said he’d wait until I was ready. He even claimed he wasn’t angry last weekend, but the deafening disquiet between us on the long trek back to his car was the first sign that something was wrong. Our weeks of dates, flirty texts, and smoldering looks at the office were about to get complicated. I’d known it, felt it, because that wasn’t the first time I’d put the brakes on when he was ready to go full throttle.
For days I chewed over my insecurities before coming to the conclusion that I needed to step up my game. He’s a man with needs, and knowing it’s beyond time to move past my fear of taking the next step, I wanted to give him the most special birthday gift I could.
Guess he decided to get it from someone else.
“Get on your knees,” he groans.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. Careful not to give away my presence, I set the picnic basket of baked chicken and rice pilaf on the floor then wedge the door open a crack. My heart pounds in my throat as I peer into his office, despite the roaring voice in my head shouting to just walk the fuck away.
Now, Sadie. Walk. The. Fuck. Away.
But I can’t. My gaze fastens on the blonde sinking to her knees in front of him. She’s his assistant—someone I’ve never liked—which makes this even worse in the cliché department. Wearing nothing but a pair of heels and a wide grin, she curls her fingers around his jutting hard-on. His slacks puddle around his ankles, and…Jesus, he’s huge and ready and already dripping onto her double D’s.
I wipe the moisture from my eyes with quick, angry movements. I’m angry at him, and angry at myself for being incapable of looking away as she parts her lips and sucks his length into her mouth. He’s fisting her tousled hair as his hips move so fast that I can’t help but wonder if he’s choking her.
I kind of hope he is.
She purrs around his shaft, making him throw his head back, and a guttural moan escapes his mouth. “You take it like a whore every time.” He yanks her head back and seats the tip between her damp lips. “You want to swallow every drop, don’t you?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, sliding her lips down his shaft again.
As I watch them, I question the very basis of my being, wading through the conflicting emotions roiling through me. Anger, betrayal, and admittedly, fascination because I want to be the one on my knees.
What would it be like to have a man at my mercy like that, to have the confidence to give head like a whore and enjoy every moment of it? Would our eyes lock on each other the whole time? Would the lustful glint is his stare give me a sense of empowerment?
I should be raging mad at finding my boyfriend with his dick in someone else’s mouth. Not to say that I’m not wounded by his betrayal.
But what I really am, at the core of my soul, is curious.
Confused.
Ashamed.
Hurt.
Yeah, definitely hurt. If he’d given me a little more time, not to mention some damn respect, it could have been me on my knees. I would have given him what he wanted. Could have given him what I wanted. Eventually, after the red haze of shock and hurt wanes, I know I’ll be glad I didn’t get on my knees for him.
He doesn’t deserve it.
And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve my V-card. This asshole doesn’t deserve shit from me, least of all another breath wasted on him.
Leaving the picnic basket on the floor outside his office, I whirl with silent footsteps and creep out the way I came. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t hold on to the anger long enough to drown out the hurt. Hot drops of humiliation drip down my cheeks as I jab the button for the elevator.
Determined to get my shit together before I arrive on the first floor, I dry my eyes. Holding the tears back isn’t easy, but I’m dressed up on a Friday night, and no way am I going to waste it by crying over a loser like Jake.