Relationship. That was rich.
I went to Desire because I felt I owed Preston a chance—a chance to see if we could work out our differences and find our way to a peaceful coexistence.
I was such an idiot.
Preston knew the whole fucking time.
He knew when he came out wearing nothing but a towel. Mulling that over now, he probably would have called my bluff and shown me the goods.
He knew when he told the press pack that our wedding date would be October 7th, the same night as our first encounter. God, how had I missed that clue?
He knew when we had that moment in my workspace, where I turned to putty in his hands as his words painted a picture so vivid that I found myself craving every intimate act he described.
Worst of all, he knew that I ran to him for comfort unknowingly, when he was the one pushing me past my limits. That pissed me off the most. He must have gotten a real kick out of that.
I hated him. I hated myself for letting him fool me. And yet, Preston still expected us to be able to work this out and get married. He was out of his damn mind. There was no coming back from this. If it meant giving up my dream, so be it. He’d already stolen what little dignity I had left. He might as well strip me all the way down until I had nothing.
I’d lost an entire week of work on the dresses for the bridal party in Amy and Liam’s wedding, but the rest of my fashion empire couldn’t be put off. My self-imposed solitary confinement was spent orchestrating both my fashion labels from my bed. I could still sketch and scan designs with my tablet, sending them to my respective teams, keeping momentum heading into the spring fashion shows. It was bittersweet knowing that after I ended this sham of an engagement, I could lose it all in an instant.
Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought, and that’s when I heard a soft knock at my door. Amy tried several times to get me to open up this past week, not knowing why I locked myself in. I had turned off my phone as well. I was so ashamed, and even though I trusted Amy with my life—including my Arabella Reign secret—I would take what happened underground this New Year’s Eve to my grave.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I sighed. “Amy, I don’t want to talk about it. I just need some space. Please.” I was practically begging, my voice weary.
The knock sounded again, but the voice on the other side wasn’t Amy’s. Preston’s rich timbre filtered through the oak of my bedroom door. “Lucy, we need to talk about this.”
Narrowing my eyes, willing myself the superpower of shooting laser beams through them so I could burn a hole right through the heavy wood and into his brain, I forced out through gritted teeth, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
There was a heavy thump on the door once, then twice. Was that his head beating against it? “You can’t hide in there forever. Adults talk through their problems. Please.”
Wanting nothing more than to push him over the edge as he had done to me, I looked around the room, searching for something, anything I could use to my advantage. My eyes landed on my bedside table, and inspiration struck. I had an idea to show Preston he no longer held control over me, and then he could stew on that.
The table’s top drawer held many tools and implements I used to pleasure myself when the need arose. Scanning the contents, I decided to go with a classic. There was nothing more reliable in the realm of female self-care than the standard wand with a vibrating head. I lovingly called mine Wanda—do you get it? Wanda never let me down, and tonight, she’d help me get a little payback on the man who blew up my life.
Snuggling under the covers of my bed, I was conveniently already dressed for bed in a silk nightgown—one benefit of becoming a hermit for a week was that I was always in my pajamas. And thanks to dear old Preston on the other side of the door, I was completely bare underneath. Perfect for what I had planned.
Hitting the power button, I brought the bulbous vibrating head between my thighs, a soft moan escaping my lips as the vibrations teased my clit, reminding me just how much I missed this. But keeping quiet wasn’t going to accomplish my goal. I needed to put on a vocal performance worthy of an award to push Preston past the breaking point.
My hips began to rock as the sensations teased my sensitive flesh. The next moan I let out was lewd and loud.
That seemingly did the trick as I heard Preston’s voice through the door in response. “Lucy . . .” There was an edge of warning in his tone that I decided to ignore.
Committing fully, I turned the vibrations up a notch and started making sounds like a porn star. There would be no doubt about what I was doing in here.
“Oh God.” I moaned. “Yes!” I screamed as my orgasm crested, proving more to myself than to him that he no longer held power over me.
Panting, starting to come down from the intensity of my manufactured release, I had barely opened my eyes when what sounded like an explosion startled me enough to sit up and search frantically for the source.
Light flooded the room, and as blood rushed back to my brain, I was able to focus enough to recognize Preston’s form, his chest heaving, standing in my now open doorway.
He'd broken down the damn door!
Chapter 20
Preston
I let Lucy stewfor a few days. I knew what I did was wrong, and she needed time to sort it out and calm down. That was fine. What wasn’t fine was that after almost an entire week, she still hadn’t left her room once. This had crossed the line into juvenile behavior. Lucy was hiding from her problems instead of facing them head-on.
She was pissed, that much I understood, but how long did she really expect to camp out in her bedroom? I knew for a fact she canceled all her public engagements indefinitely. Amy came to me asking what was wrong, and when she told me that Lucy had shut her out as well, I didn’t know what to say to her. It wasn’t my place to tell her the truth, not that I wanted to—it was too personal. Liam would have my ass if he knew what I’d done.
