There are only two people in the world that I truly hate. One of them is unpacking his toothbrush in my bathroom, and the other one is texting me to find out what color my panties are.
Pathetic, I know. I’m a romance novelist caught between the man I used to love, and the one who wants to destroy my career. Well - maybe “destroy” is too strong of a word. But there’s still no excuse for why I started a secret cyber-affair with a snarky reviewer who likes to rip my books apart. Yes, he’s mysterious, and yes, he has a silver tongue, but I can’t keep doing this.
I have to focus on my fake relationship, with my *real* ex, all in the name of fooling my family. They think I’ve found the love of my life, and I’m determined not to let them find out the truth.
That I lied. That my “dream guy” is really a selfish dirtbag who broke my heart. That the closest thing I have to a soulmate is a stranger on the internet, who’s happy to sext me while believing I’m in a committed relationship.
It all started with five little words.
Based on a true story...
I pull away from her, finally, trying to catch my breath. I know I won’t be able to. Not until I’ve satisfied the needs writhing and twisting inside me.
“Get up,” I tell her roughly.
This is the moment when she might stop, might back away. Might run. But somehow I know she won’t.
She stands, unsteadily, swallowing hard. Her eyes are closed.
“Turn around,” I whisper.
She does. She’s now standing in front of me, body quivering, waiting.
“Take off your skirt.”
She unfastens it, and it falls easily to the side. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of the black lace panties, stark on her skin, showing much more than they conceal. I run my finger along the intricate design, watching goose bumps rise along her skin as she feels the warmth of my touch through the flimsy fabric.
Finally, my finger hooks on the waistband, pulls it slightly, and lets it snap back. She gasps.
“Who are these for?” I murmur.
I hear her swallow again, and then she answers. “None of your business.”
I stand up, and she spins around to stare at me with wide, dark eyes.
“Bend over the sofa,” I tell her.
Her pulse pounds visibly in her throat. “Why?”
I let a humorless smile twist my mouth. “You know why.”