The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(67)

His eyes go wide. “How’d you even know about that?”

I laugh. I sound completely unhinged—I am completely unhinged—but how goddamned typical of a man to cheat and then complain about my invasion of his privacy. “The notification came up on your phone last week, Ben. Don’t flatter yourself into thinking I was snooping. And sorry, but no, you’re not going to convince me dinner for two was a family event. Now get the fuck out of my apartment and leave the key.”

He shakes his head, his jaw grinding. “I did not eat at Ardor last night. I made a reservation for my brother, who was proposing to his girlfriend. And then there was a party at my mother’s house afterward to celebrate.”

I’ve been here before—the elaborate stories, the spinning of lies, the explanation for everything no matter how outlandish. “Key,” I repeat, holding out my hand.

He holds his phone in front of me instead, where someone named Mandy has texted him a photo of a big diamond ring.

Mandy: You knew!!!!! Thanks for setting this all up for us.

I swallow, my stomach in knots. I fucked up and I’ve probably ruined everything. But the lawyer in me argues, this isn’t all my fault. Yes, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but maybe if Ben hadn’t been keeping me at arm’s length, away from his family and friends and his home, I wouldn’t have. Why didn’t he tell me his brother was getting engaged? Why didn’t he want me at the party? Would it have been so goddamned hard just to include me a little?

“You can’t fault me for misunderstanding,” I whisper, and I’m suddenly so very, very tired. Tired of worrying, tired of hurting, tired of thinking I need to protect myself from everything.

“So you decided you’d fuck someone to get even?” he demands.

My head jerks upward. What? “For Christ’s sake. I met him for coffee and we walked down to the bookstore.” I’m angry that he’d even think I could do something like that, but then again, why wouldn’t he? I thought it of him, and he wasn’t the one refusing to admit we were in a relationship.

In his shoes, I’d have thought the same thing. I’d have thought worse.

He steps forward, still livid. His hand curves around my neck, tangling in my hair, tilting my face to his. “And did you like him? Did he kiss you?”

My heart thuds in my chest. I wonder what he’d do if I said, “yes.” I’m tempted to lie and say I did, because this is all fucked up and I don’t ever want to live through another forty-eight hours like the ones that just passed.

“You want the truth?” I demand. “He was a farmer, and sweet, and he should have been perfect for me. But I was bored out of my fucking mind. So you were right. Are you happy now?”

“Did. He. Kiss. You?” he demands.

“Of course not!” I shout. “Why are you so obsess—”

His mouth comes down on mine, hard and fast. Angry, demanding.

I don’t let myself think about what this means. I just give in.

His hands go to my jeans, and he flips the button and shoves them down. “Take them off. Take it all off,” he growls.

I kick off the jeans while he pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor. His hands grip my hips, and he walks me backward to the couch, where he pushes me flat, spreading my thighs as he climbs between them. He’s forcing me to give up control, and I both hate and love how turned on I am by this—I’m soaked and he hasn’t even touched me. He undoes his pants and shoves them down to mid-thigh before he leans over, grabbing each wrist and holding them above my head with one hand in a punishing grip.

I shiver in anticipation as he grasps himself, his eyes on my face as he pushes inside me…for once without a condom. I should resent it, but instead, desire unfurls in my core at the way he is taking without asking.

The sex is harder and faster than normal. For once, he is not concerned about me coming first. I get the feeling he might enjoy making me do without. It’s selfish and indulgent and so fucking hot—his recklessness, his quiet groans, the desperate way he moves inside me, his free hand sliding from my breasts and downward, as if he wants to be everywhere at once.

I try to arch, and he presses his weight down, immobilizing me as he pistons in and out. I should hate this. I should. But I’m already close.

“Holy shit, Ben,” I beg, breathlessly. “Slow down.”

“Jesus,” he says, nostrils flaring as he looks at me. “You fucking love this, don’t you? Admit you love being held down and fucked.”

I do, but I’m not about to give in that easily. “Not as much as you love doing it.”

“I’m so goddamn close,” he says. “Keep running that smart mouth. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and come, and let you wait until later.”

I can’t. I can’t let him do it. I’m so close. “I love it.”

His grip tightens around my wrists and a jolt of pleasure shoots through me. With his free hand he pulls up my knee, changes the angle, hitting the right spot.

“Oh, God,” I gasp, feeling my stomach tighten, and he grabs my hair tight in his fist.

“No more dates,” he growls in my ear, and I explode, crying out. “Fuck,” he hisses, thrusting faster and faster as he starts to come. “Fuck.”

I shift, and he presses harder, breathing heavy. “Stay like that. Just stay. I’m not done.”