“No,” she growls. Her hand suddenly covers mine. The one on her neck. “Harder. Here.”
I smile into her cheek and put more pressure into my grip while withdrawing almost all the way out. And then push back in. And out. Until she starts shaking with a silent cry. Her mouth falls open, her head drops on my shoulder. Her fingers dig into my forearm.
I follow her right after. There is no fucking way I could last longer when her nails are drawing blood.
When we are both spent, she falls forward on the table. I want to join her. I want to cover her body with mine and keep her warm and tranquil.
But I remember how we ended up here in the first place. So I step away.
“We have a gala tonight. Our first official outing. Be ready in an hour.”
With that, I walk away to my room. To the shower. To try to get rid of her deliciously deceiving scent.
We’ve had sex in different places for the past few weeks. We’ve done it fast. We’ve done it slow. But never have I done it while hating her. This was the first. And I don’t like the aftertaste.
47
Maeve
Well, that was?—
What was that exactly?
Ezra walks out of the kitchen with a straight back and hands balled into fists. He looks even more pissed than before.
I thought he didn’t want to play games. I don’t know what that is if not a game. For the past month, I thought we’d come to an understanding and found common ground we can coexist on. Even more so, I’ve started falling for my husband. Hard.
I also thought we became a couple. A real one who shares laughs and dinners. And saliva. We sure have shared a lot of saliva over the past four weeks. What could have happened between then and now? We didn’t have a fight. Not once. All our bickering was part of flirting, and every single time weended up in bed. Or on the table. Or on the couch. By the window too.
Is that the problem? Has his interest died now that we’ve gone through all possible surfaces?
I pick up my leggings and shamefully rush to my room. Even though there was nothing shameful in the way he was hammering my body. Nothing. It felt natural and needed. Different too. We’ve had some wild sex marathons, but this time it felt… odd. I should have sensed it earlier, but I was in a horny frenzy. Typical. Every time he uses that commanding voice of his, I turn into a puddle. So I let myself be vulnerable.
To think of it, all my vulnerable moments of the past year have been reduced to my time around Ezra. He has a tendency to break my well-built walls with just his big presence. With the promise that he can solve all my problems. That he can shoulder me from the world.
Too much of a promise. He can’t even shoulder me from himself. And after what just happened, I’m starting to think that he’s the one I need protecting from the most.
I run myself a hot shower and lather my body, trying to wash away the smell of sex which feels shameful now. Like I’ve done something wrong. Like it was wrong to enjoy it so much. I know he loved it too. I felt the moment his self-control bid farewell, and he turned into my Ezra from our late nights around the apartment. The unhinged one. The wild one.
I want to stay under the hot stream forever, but he said we have a gala to attend. So I cut it short. After all my moisturizers and oils, I feel much better. I like fruity smells. I like coconuts. Everywhere.
It shouldn’t be a problem to choose something to wear—my closet is full of anything one might ever need. It takes me only acouple of minutes to find a long, black dress. Its sleeveless form hugs my upper body like a glove. A deep V-cut goes down almost to my belly button. Meaning I’ll have to go braless, showing a lot of skin. The skirt is tight and goes all the way down to my shins. I’m not sure how I’ll move, but I’ll manage.
I pull my hair up in a messy bun and let a few strands loose around my head. Black pumps with red soles finish the look.
As I’m watching myself in the mirror, I understand that something is missing. The dress is gorgeous, but it’s not me. I don’t feel comfortable in this. This is something my mother would have forced me to wear to impress suitors.
I dig into the drawers and find scissors. Big ass scissors. This is what I need. I take the dress off and make a long, deep cut for my right thigh. The expensive material makes it seamless, giving in to the sharp blade. Like it was meant to be like that. The cut is deep, but it’s visible only when I move and adds a nice touch to my outfit.
I keep looking at myself in the mirror and find that something’s still missing. I raid my closet and soon find exactly what I’m looking for. A pink, lacey bodysuit with long sleeves. It’s sheer. One hundred percent see through, which will make my colorful tattoo visible. I quickly put it under the dress and step in front of the mirror.
Well, hello there, Maeve.
I push my titties up and together and admire my work. It would have been too obvious without the lace and too vulgar. With the lace, it’s more discreet, leaving something to the imagination. Not much, just something. The bodysuit is pretty tight, so my girls stay in place if I don’t make jerky movements. Which I don’t plan on doing—today is an evening of elegance.
I quickly fix my makeup to match my look. My eyes are alittle smokey, my lips are nude. My hair looks like I didn’t put much thought into it, yet it was crafted with precision.
No matter what anyone says, unfortunately, looks mean a lot in this world. And the right clothing can make or break one’s game. Since I left my parents, I prefer to make my looks work for me as a human repellant. Hence my pink hair. I’ve been forced to be serious all my life, so I chose a fun path for myself when I broke free.
