Fake Empire(67)

I head upstairs. I’ve slept in Scarlett’s room for the two nights we’ve been back, so I go there first. My only detour is to the library to pour myself a drink.

There’s a loveseat in the corner of her bedroom. I drop my briefcase next to the closet, strip off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and take a seat. Most of the far wall is glass. The skyline of Manhattan twinkles in the distance, the outlines of buildings lit up like Christmas trees.

I sit and swirl whiskey and stew as minutes tick by.

Scarlett appears in the doorway at 8:47. When she sees me, she smiles. I savor the sight for a second.

“You’re late.”

She kicks her heels off and drops her phone on the dresser. Sighs. “I know.”

I watch the whiskey paint the inside of the glass before it drips down. “We agreed on eight, Scarlett.”

“I know,” she repeats. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been gone for a week and a lot has piled up. It had to get done tonight.”

I learn it’s possible to admire and despise someone all at once.

“Get on the bed.”

She studies me, starting to absorb something has shifted. “I don’t take orders.”

My control is dangerously close to snapping. I want to watch this glass shatter against the wall. I want to yell at her, to ask how she manages to keep doing this. Keep reeling me over and over again. I thought Italy was a turning point.

I down the glass, savoring the smoky burn as it sears a path down my throat. I stand. “Get on the bed, Scarlett.”

Holding my gaze, she reaches behind her dress. I can hear the slide of the zipper as the teeth separate. The fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in a matching set of black lingerie. My dick twitches.

My control snaps. I advance on her like a predator hunting prey. I attack her lips, kissing her with punishing pressure and plenty of nips. She moans as her nails press into the back of my neck, biting down on my lip and sucking it between her teeth. I haul her up against me, moving toward the bed and dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress.

I yank my tie over my head and undo my pants. “Hands and knees.”

Scarlett hesitates. She knows something is wrong. But she doesn’t ask, just moves into the position I requested. I yank her lacy underwear down and pull out my cock. I’m painfully hard, like I always seem to be around her.

I hate how much I want her. My jaw clenches as I roll a condom on. Protection was already a tense subject between us before I saw those photos this morning.

I slam into her without warning, bottoming out on the first thrust. I grip her hips as I pound into her over and over again, trying to pretend she’s someone else. Just a warm body I’m using to get off.

I don’t touch her anywhere else besides her waist. My thrusts are selfish and primal and desperate. Right now, I’m chasing the chance to forget. The irony of the fact I’m using Scarlett to try to forget Scarlett doesn’t escape me. I could have gone out to a bar or a club and found a random woman—or two—to distract me from my train wreck of a marriage for the night. Instead, I came home and waited for her.

Scarlett moans as her inner muscles tighten around me. She’s close to coming. And I can’t forget it’s her I’m fucking. Her scent is familiar. So are the greedy little whimpers she’s making.

Annoyance quickens my movements. I thought this would make me feel better, treating her like the property she’s set against becoming. But this—screwing like she’s a woman I met for the first time tonight—isn’t impersonal. The sound of my name falling out of her mouth as she clenches around me is what sends me over the edge right after her. She’s still spasming when I pull out of her and stalk into the bathroom to get rid of the condom.

Scarlett is sprawled out on the bed when I walk back into the bedroom. I ignore her as I buckle my pants and pick my tie up off the floor.

She sits up, naked aside from her bra. “What the fuck, Crew?”

“What the fuck what, Scarlett?” My response is caustic, and I watch her flinch at my tone. I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse right now, but that subtle movement managed to do so. I need to get out of here.

“If this was some role play shit, you can drop the act now.”

I chuckle darkly.

“You want me to pretend that was normal?”

“Do whatever you want,” I retort. “You always do anyway.”

She stands and walks over to me. Despite the fact I came minutes ago, my body reacts. My dick hasn’t gotten the memo she’s a liar and a cheater.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” I turn away.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Where?” she presses.

“None of your business.”

“Sure. I’m only your wife.” That’s probably the worst thing she could say right now.

I laugh, and the dead sound of it scares me a little. “It’s awfully fucking convenient, when you’re my wife and when you’re not. When we’re an arrangement and when this is a marriage.”

“I told you I would try, Crew. I’m trying.”

I shake my head and stalk toward the door.

“You said you’ll always want me,” she tells me. I still, hating how she’s bringing that up now. Marring that perfect memory with the anger and hurt swirling between us. “In Italy, everything you said—”