Blasphemous (Torn #3)(79)
When she spoke of Carter touching her, something violent exploded in me. I wasn’t daft enough to think that nothing had happened with them, but for her to freely throw it out there was something else entirely. It wasn’t just a thought now, she made it a fact.
I was done with my first bottle of wine when my phone distracted me from my highway to hell. “What?” I barked at the damning device.
“Calm down. I’m just calling to check on you. Are you well? When you left the theatre, I thought something happened.” Dimitris sounded concerned, but I was too f*uked up to care.
Yeah, something’s happened. “I’m paying for my stupidity. That’s what it is. A man gets too caught up in being in love, but at the end of the day, you know what happens? It leaves you less of a man than you already are.”
“Well, if you want to drown your sorrows somewhere, call me, because I will be doing the same thing. Thank your stars, my friend, that you don’t have a marriage to annul or a divorce for that matter.”
“Yeah, good luck with that, man.”
“Life is a bitch, ne?” Dimitris laughed before bidding me a goodnight.
Marriage. How the heck does a man like Dimitris Kosta f*uking marry someone so quickly? Let alone propose to a woman like Lindsey Mason? She was gorgeous, but hell, that mouth of hers would send a saint back to church praying a novena.
I was halfway through my third bottle when I heard a knock on my door. I strode over to it, ticked off that I was being disturbed by Dimitris again. “WHAT!” I barked as I opened the door.
Emma stood, looking unsure at me.
“Do you need something?” I leveled my voice, controlling my temper.
She came to see me with the gown she had on earlier. Her beauty was poisoning me slowly. “I wanted to speak to you. Inside, if that’s okay with you?”
Caving in, I opened the door wider, gesturing her to come in.
She slowly strode towards the window, gazing towards the River Thames, deep in thought. “Bass, I don’t think this is going to work.”
f*uk. Don’t do this to me, Emma. Not tonight…not tonight, please. I silently begged. “Dammit, Emma. We still have a few more days.”
“I know, but this is not what I want. You’re not what I want anymore.” Her eyes told me how serious she was, and then everything went cold inside my body.
Something kicked inside me when she emphasized that I’m the one she didn’t want any longer. I bolted to where she was standing, livid. “What the hell was that in the elevator then, Emma?”
“I told you, it was sex, Bass.”
“Sex. You’ve been saying that a lot.” I circled her like a predator. Each breath, each pulse, each beat she produced, I caught. When I stopped before her, she didn’t look too sure anymore. Perfect.
“Are you going back to him?” I asked, my eyes dangerous. Carter Mason; the cocky, magnificent f*uker was taunting me. Mocking me that he was always going to be the one who she chose.
“No,” she whispered.
“Liar!”
“I’m not going back to Carter—”
I launched myself at her, pushing her against the cold glass before my lips punished her—thoroughly, scathingly and devastatingly. Savagely breaking our kiss, I hissed at her. “Did I not warn you not to speak his name when I’m around?”
“Bass, you can’t!” She yelped when my hand went inside the slit of her dress and directly to her mound.
“Oh, yes, Emma. You’re as wet as I expected.” I groaned when I stuck my finger inside her and her muscles quickly contracted, holding me in. “Why are you always so wet for me, Emma?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered with her eyes closed, teeth biting against her bottom lip, while her hips ground against my finger.
Her treacherous body never lied to me. It never failed to submit to me, its master. “Well, let me remind you, my stubborn love.” I pulled my finger out of her slick wetness and captured the delicate strap of her dress and ripped it apart. She jumped at the sound of her designer dress being torn in two.
“Bass, my dress!”
“Is going straight to the garbage,” I carelessly said, as my eyes trained on her, taking in those high heels, the French lace, barely there thong and her bare luscious breasts. Mine. She let out a quick gasp when my hands reached out behind her head and released her golden hair. Beautiful. My agape mou. My love.
“Do you know how much you affect me, Emma?” I held her shaky hand and pressed it against my wild, stampeding heart. “Only you. It beats wildly in your presence.”
When she didn’t respond, I quickly spun her around, her face and palms pressed against the glass before I ripped her lace underwear off her glorious supple body. “Let’s talk this—” she stopped in mid-sentence when the head of my shaft first made contact against her silken heat.
My left hand snaked around to massage her breast, while the other held my cock, gliding it against her folds, tapping it once in awhile. “Sure, talk, go ahead, I’m listening.”
“I can’t think… when you do… that,” she stammered.
“Do what, Emma?” I asked as I slapped my shaft against her wetness, the sound so erotic, it got me beyond hungry. “Or is this what you meant?” I gritted out as I entered her wet opening, couldn’t hold back any longer from taking what was mine. In my heart, she was always going to be mine.