CHAPTER EIGHTEEN DUFFY

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DUFFY

I managed to avoid my newly wedded husband for two full days after our wedding.

The first night, I’d phoned a friend from Cambridge who was now working at a law firm in Manhattan and suggested we grab a drink. Laura (pronounced Lou-ra) had been trying to catch up with me for a couple of years now, ever since she’d moved to the States. I always dodged her attempts. BJ had detested her ever since she was caught doing cocaine on Cambridge’s campus halfway through her law degree. After that, she quietly transferred to Durham, but she frequently visited to catch up with mates.

After five vodka and sodas, and a gossip session in which Laura brought me up to speed about all the scandals our year’s alumni were up to across the pond, I confessed that I’d married an American man for a visa, that he’d kissed me, and that I was now too mortified to return to our shared flat from fear I might hump his leg.

Laura was quite understanding, and, once she realized I couldn’t be persuaded to sleep with him (“But BJ is all the way in Nepal! And, may I add, a total knobhead who isn’t worth your loyalty”), she let me crash at her place.

Two nights I slept on her couch before Laura decided to put her (heeled) foot down.

“Listen here, missy, I love you to bits, but I also want my personal space back. It’s time you leave.” She parked a hand on her waist, standing in the middle of her living room, the Manhattan skyline her backdrop through her floor-to-ceiling window.

“Oi!” I bemoaned, burying myself deeper under the throws on her settee. “You’re supposed to be my support system.”

“You dumped me and our friendship for a bloke named BJ,” she reminded me, thrusting a finger my way. “You deserve no support and no system. Not to mention, I’m doing you a favor. I’m making you face the music.”

“Oh, but the music is rubbish.” I flung the throw off me and shot up. “The music is .?.?. is .?.?. Olivia Rodrigo–bad.”

“You did not just diss Olivia Rodrigo under my roof.” Laura held up her index. “The woman penned my favorite breakup song. I listen to it every time I dump a guy. Which means several times a week.” She trekked toward her kitchen, which was stark white and .?.?. well, in existence. It wasn’t my measly counter with a microwave and one burner. “Anyway, marriage is not disposable. You’re not Kim Kardashian, darling.”

“He hasn’t even texted me since he ran away from our wedding,” I complained, following her to the kitchen island.

“You’re both emotionally twelve.” She threw her fridge open.

“Maybe, but at least I’m chronologically closer to that age,” I said, sulking.

Laura rolled her eyes, producing two fat-free yogurts, one for her and one for me. “Old or not, you’d love to dance the horizontal tango with him.”

“What if I do sleep with my husband?” I nibbled on my lip.

“Then I would literally cheer you on. Pom-poms and all.”

“Laura.”I grabbed the yogurt from her hand and shoved a spoonful of it into my mouth. “Even if he was my type, he is not looking for a relationship.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, you will exercise perfect self-restraint. You always do.”

“You think?” I perked.

“After he left you in that courtroom?” She scrunched her nose. “I bet as soon as you see him, you’ll pick a fight. Now, please get out of my flat. I would like to dance around naked to Olivia Rodrigo on full blast.”

It was in my Uber ride home when the final nail in my BJ coffin was driven into the wood.

The minute I slid inside, my phone flashed with an incoming video call. For a second, my heart played Twister in my chest. Was Riggs finally checking in on me?

My shoulders sagged when I saw Kieran’s name on the screen. I swiped reluctantly, like it was my brother’s fault he wasn’t my husband.

“Yes, big brother?” I rolled my eyes, humoring him. But Kieran’s face was as white as Mum’s signature boiled chicken, and it looked like he was home, even though he was supposed to be at the chippy this time of the day.

“Hey, are you alone?” He peered at me nervously, as if he could see my surroundings.

“Why? Oh, God. Shelby is not suing you for sexual harassment, is she? I told you it was a bad idea to flash h—”

“What?” His eyes flared. “No, no. This has nothing to do with Shelby. She and I are grand.”

“What’s happening?” I scowled. “Last time you looked unsure and nervous, you shat your trousers, Kier.”

“First of all, it was a shart. Somewhere in between. And it was a Portuguese buffet, Duffy. I needed to make sure I had a taste of everything.” He scrubbed his stubble. “Ah, fuck. I do have bad news, though.”

“What happened?” I demanded.

His eyes—purple like mine—were swimming with trepidation.

“So . . . it’s about BJ.”

I pressed my lips together, waiting for more. Kieran blinked rapidly. He was trying to find the right words, and I knew then and there that there weren’t any.

“Duffy, he’s an eejit.”

“What did he do?” For an unexplained reason, I was feeling much better knowing this wasn’t about Kieran running into trouble.

“—literally the dumbest bloke I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Kieran.”My voice was tinged with edge.

“—almost think it’s a crime to mix our prime DNA with his if you ever get married.”

“Kieran!” I snapped.

“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in the air. “So, last night before I logged off for the day, I checked my laptop to see if maybe Shelby answered.” He was studying me very carefully, as if I was about to burst into flames. “She didn’t, by the way, which is a whole other story. Did I tell you I spoke to Riggs about her? He rang the day after you and I had the conversation. Thought I should ask her out next time I see her at the newsagents’. But how would I know when she—”

“Holy ADHD, Kieran, just finish your story.”

“Right, right, right. Where were we?”

“You operating a laptop,” I groaned.

“Yes! So, there were eight emails from BJ.”

“Eight?”My jaw dropped. BJ was a one-syllable texter.

“Weird, innit?” He nodded. “They were all on the same thread.”

“Well .?.?. what did they say?”

“I’ll just forward them to you.”

My mobile pinged with an incoming email. I opened it.

—————Forwarded message————-

From: Brendan Abbott <[email protected]>

Date: Wed, September 28

Subject: WHERE ART THOU

To: Kieran Markham <[email protected]>

Kane, my dude, where u @? I’m so drnk.

Kane, u still here? did u catch a cab bck?

Fuckkkkkkkk. I fucked up. lol. I totally screwed blondie. The girl from Finland? Hahahahaha. U were right. tits nt real.

Duffy can nvr find out.

Im legit gonna pass out im so drunk. Not sre how I even managed to get it up. call me

Bile gathered in my throat, and my heartbeat escalated to a perilous speed. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Couldn’t believe this was the person I’d spent so many years of my life with. Planned to live the rest of my years with.

The next email had a different time stamp, six hours later.

Hey, Kieran, it’s BJ. I’m really sorry for the chain of emails from yesterday. That was .?.?. less than a good representation of me. A friend of mine, Kane, hacked my email and started pranking people. Please don’t take this seriously. Obviously, I would never do any of those things in the email (drink excessively, cheat on Daphne, etcetera).

I’ll try to call you in a bit.

BJ

Hey, Kieran, it’s BJ again. Upon reflection, I’d like to come clean about something. I don’t want to make this even worse by lying to you, and I know I messed up really bad. I’ve been vomiting all morning and I can’t stop thinking about what I did. I’m hoping we could keep this between us. I know it’s a big ask, but please hear me out.

I’m currently in Thailand, not Nepal, with a friend. That’s why I asked you about opening a restaurant the other day. My friend, Kane, is wanting to open one in Koh Samui.

As you probably figured out, I got you and Kane mixed up because your name starts with a K and you were the last person I emailed.

We were at a party on the beach last night. Things got a little out of hand. I got really drunk. This was the FIRST and ONLY time I’ve been unfaithful to Duffy. And technically not even unfaithful because she kinda dumped me before we said goodbye in New York. I know this means little right now, considering all the lies I told her about this trip. The destination, who I was going with, and why. But please don’t let this mishap taint your view of me. I’ve been with your sister for almost a decade and I love her. This is supposed to be my last hurrah before I ask her to marry me. It’s ALWAYS been just about that. Getting some fun out of my system before we both settle down.

Look, I’m sure if we hop on the phone and talk, I can explain myself better. Can you please pick up?

BJ.

Kieran? You there? I tried calling a few times .?.?.

My eyes slammed shut, and I focused on my breathing. Somehow, in a span of a few weeks, my life had completely fallen apart. I lost my job. I lost my boyfriend. I managed to somehow marry a manwhore with commitment issues, and BJ cheated and lied to me.

“Duff,” Kieran groaned, looking pained. “Please say something.”

My insides singed. Not with hurt as much as with anger. At myself, mostly. I had no one else to blame. I’d placed my bet on a spoiled rich man I’d had little in common with, and paid a hefty price. Perhaps Riggs was right and it was time to think about what I wanted to do instead of how I wanted to live.

“I’ve got to go,” I heard myself say.

“Duffy . . .”

I hung up, turning to the Uber driver in a daze. “Can you make an unplanned stop?”

“Hmm .?.?.” His gaze swung to mine in the rearview mirror. “You’ll have to get into the app and—”

“My boyfriend of seven years just told my brother that he slept with someone else at a beach party, even though he told me he was away helping monks in Kathmandu. How about now?”

This was the part in the movie where the driver would say something like, “Girl, I’ve got you, let’s kick some ass!” But this wasn’t a movie. This was my life. So the man just suppressed an eye roll and muttered, “Yeah .?.?. that sucks .?.?. but I’ll still need you to reroute your trip on the app.”

“Just pull over right here, please.”

I stumbled out of the Uber, feeling raw and disoriented. I was quite a few blocks away from my flat, but if I had to sit in a confined place one more minute, I’d probably hurl myself out the window.

I walked into a bodega, bought myself a bottle of vodka, wrapped it in a paper bag, and started making my way home.

If I drew disapproving glares from people on the street, I didn’t notice. I was fully and completely dedicated to the part of the sloshed, cheated-on girlfriend.

My mobile rang in my purse. I dug through it while sipping my vodka, letting the hot, burning sensation coat my throat. When I tugged my phone out and saw BJ’s name on the screen—of course he’d kept his phone working this whole time—my heart didn’t even miss a beat.

How sad that I had spent weeks hoping and praying for him to call me while I thought he was in Nepal, and now all I could feel was reluctance to have an official breakup call. I declined the call. He called again.

Bloody Kieran.He must’ve told BJ that I knew. I hit the decline button again. The third time, I put my phone on silent and shoved it back into my purse. Let BJ get a taste of what it felt like to be ignored.

I didn’t know how long it took before I was in front of my building. I felt sufficiently plastered and dissolute when I tripped up the stairs. Passing by Charlie’s door, I made a mental note to check on my neighbor. I’d been so busy avoiding my new husband that I’d neglected my responsibilities. One of which was to give the lonely man some much-needed companionship.

I jabbed my key four times into its hole before I managed to unlock the door. The lights were off. The dim, bluish light of the TV danced in the darkness. I dragged my feet across the floor, hiccuping and kicking Riggs’s worn-out leather boots from my path.

So he was here. Wonderful. Splendid. Better nip that conversation in the bud.

“Duffy.” He stood up from the couch, like a pupil who’d been waiting outside the principal’s office. He looked particularly dashing, after not seeing him for a few consecutive hours straight. “Hey. I didn’t want to bother you, b—”

“Oh, bollocks!” I moaned, loudly and rather aggressively. “You just have to be gorgeous. With your bedhead and dimples and muscles and .?.?. and .?.?. lack of shoulder hair. It’s like nature didn’t get the memo you’re middle aged.”

Riggs stared at me with confusion. “Uh .?.?. thanks?”

“You’re fit.” I took a swig of my vodka. “And I fancy you.”

“Why are you yelling?” He frowned. I couldn’t tell for sure, but he looked a bit upset. And by a bit, I mean a lot. And by a lot, I mean IMMENSELY. His cheekbones were flushed, and his eyes were so dark they looked like an endless abyss.

“Because I’m wasted.” I laughed, feeling incredibly empty on the inside, the echo of my laughter bouncing in my lungs.

“No shit.” He gave me a slow once-over. His jaw locked. “Where’ve you been?”

“My mate’s place.”

“A boy-friend or a girl-friend?”

“A none-of-your-business friend,” I declared cheerfully. “Let’s not pretend you’re not visiting your lady friends whenever you fancy.”

“And you couldn’t send a text? Spare a phone call? ‘Hey, Riggs, by the way, I’m staying over with a friend, not dead. So don’t send a search party.’ You know, like a normal person?”

“Why didn’t you text?” I stumbled toward him, poking my finger in his chest.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes tapered. “I wasn’t the one who—”

“Yes, you were,” I said, cutting him off. “In the courthouse. You left me.”

Incredibly, I didn’t think I was taking my BJ rage out on Riggs. I genuinely felt more hurt about my fake husband not spending time with me after our sham wedding than my real boyfriend for the last decade running off with some plastic-tit Finnish girl. Or was she Swedish?

Riggs looked ready to toss me out of the Empire State Building. “You can’t just run off like that.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. “Why? You’ve made a career out of it. Running off is literally your entire personality.”

“We’re not talking about me,” he said tightly.

“I second that statement.” I took another generous gulp of vodka. “We never talk about you. I don’t know the first thing about you. Why all the mystery, Riggs Bates? What do you have to hide?”

Even though I desperately wanted to know more about him, what I really wanted right now was to unbutton his jeans, drop to my knees, and suck him off until he couldn’t stop himself anymore and enjoy a round or two of his wife. Revenge sex was the best kind of sex, or so I’d been told.

But Riggs didn’t look sultry and turned on. He looked like he was ready to pump my stomach and send me off to a wellness center. “Look, I owe you an apology, and an explanation for what happened the day we got marri—”

“BJ cheated on me,” I said, bursting into his speech again.

“What?”

“Aren’t you happy?” I giggled, leaning against his body shamelessly, fingering the long column of his neck. “You were right about Cocksucker all along.”

“No, I’m not happy.” He captured my shoulders and guided me gently to the settee, where I flopped down bonelessly. “What happened?”

I waved him off with a snort. “Please stop pretending you care about anything or anyone. I happen to know you, Riggs Bates.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” He took my shoes off, which was when I first found out I had blisters the size of my nose from wandering aimlessly through the streets of Manhattan for the past few hours. “Now spill it, Poppins.”

I squinted at him, tossing my head back to bring him into focus.

“Do you fancy me?” I asked all of a sudden.

“What?”He blinked.

“Do. You. Fancy. Me? I mean, would you sleep with me, given the chance?”

He stared at me like I’d left my faculties at Laura’s. To be fair, I might have.

“Why does it matter?” he sneered, finally.

I climbed over his lap, resting my bum directly on his crotch. I laced my arms over his shoulders and puckered my lips, taking a stab at this whole seduction thing. “It matters because I’d very much like to be shagged by you tonight.”

He went rigid, pinning his hands to his sides like the settee had been superglued. His breathing was labored, and he didn’t move a muscle. Other than one, which kept growing rapidly and thickly under my arse.

“You’re drunk.” His voice came back gruff and sultry.

“You’re hard.”

“I’m always hard,” he grunted, looking torn and miserable and, for once, not so cocky and self-assured.

“Well, I’m not always drunk, so we better go about this quickly before I come to my senses,” I bantered, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

He caught me by the wrist, then lifted me up and planted me back on the couch with frightening ease.

“You’re not yourself tonight.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been this authentic in years.” I skimmed my fingers along his broad shoulders. I couldn’t stop touching him. “Go on, Riggs. You’ve shagged half this world’s population. What’s another notch on your belt?” I leaned closer to nibble his ear, but missed the mark and instead grazed his jaw with my teeth.

Riggs let out a low grumble that made his rock-hard chest flex.

“Duffy.”

“It’s our Christian duty to consummate our marriage,” I urged, licking a path from his ear to his neck. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t touch me either. “Don’t you want to secure a place in heaven?”

“That ship has sailed. I won’t be surprised if they’ll greet me with confetti in hell,” Riggs drawled.

“It’s never too late. Jesus forgi—”

“I’m an atheist,” he said, cutting through my speech.

“Course you are. My sinful husband.”

“You’re not making too much sense today, Poppins.” He inched backward, away from me. But still, he had that pining look, of a child reluctantly turning their back on a colorful birthday cake.

“But what if God does exist?” I reasoned, internally recognizing that I was probably breaking some Guinness record at being the least attractive seductress on earth. “What if He’s watching us right now? What if it’s a test and we’re failing it?” My mouth fused to his collarbone, where I sucked hard.

“All right.” Riggs jumped up to his feet. “That’s enough molestation for one day. I’m not going to fuck you while you’re skunk drunk. I’m not a fucked-up consolation prize for Cocksucker.”

“But Riggs!” I threw my hands up in the air, whining.

He jammed his feet into his boots, looking extremely pissed off. “I’m gonna let you sleep this one off and never mention it again, because apparently, on top of everything else, you’ve turned me into a gentleman now.”

Oh, no. I wasn’t going to let him go anywhere. He was just going to sleep with someone else. A fantastic idea sprang into my mind.

“Wait!” I jumped to my feet, immediately regretting it. My head swam.

Riggs turned back to me. “What?”

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

“What offer?”

“To watch porn together.”

He scowled. “When did I offer that?”

“On the subway.” I smiled sunnily. “That night when we dined and dashed, remember?”

The night he’d stood up for me. The memory made my spine tingle.

Riggs swiped his tongue along his bottom lip. His throat bobbed. I could tell he was struggling to make a decision.

“I’m not going to regret it,” I lamented. “I’m even willing to sign a declaration. And laminate it.”

Finally, a reluctant smirk tugged at his perfect lips. “You need help.”

“Help me, then!” I opened my arms. “Help me discover my sexuality. BJ was terrible in bed, Riggs. Terrible. He humped me like a dog, then flopped over before I was even done. And I swear he couldn’t find my clit with a map, a search party, and if there was a huge neon sign attached to it.”

It felt lovely saying this aloud. It might have been uncharitable and petty, but it was also something else: the truth.

“What’s your plan?” He arched an eyebrow. He had nice, thick eyebrows. I wanted to run my fingers over them.

“To screw BJ out of my system,” I announced, then added, “but I get that you don’t want to take advantage of me. So that’s why I’m willing to watch porn with you, which is technically not touching each other, and therefore not exploiting.”

“No touching,” he warned.

“None whatsoever.” I lifted two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever in the Scouts?” He eyed me skeptically.

“No,” I confessed. “I was too busy studying, honing my fake accent, and filling lottery tickets.”

We both laughed.

Even though I was plastered, I did recognize the truth for what it was—I’d been attracted to Riggs from the get-go, and I wasn’t going to regret the decision to sleep with him, if he was willing to go there.

I waited with bated breath for his verdict.

Finally, he picked up his phone from the coffee table between us. “Grab your laptop. I’m going to rock your world, Poppins.”

Half an hour later, we were sitting on the settee with my laptop on Riggs’s lap, balanced on his mammoth erection, watching Throbbing Hood.

As far as the plot went, Throbbing Hood did not have one. But Throbbing, the hero, was a very prolific thief, in a sense that he’d already stolen four women from their husbands and given them all orgasms.

At the same time, naturally. Which meant he had to get creative with his toes.

Personally, I couldn’t really get the fascination. Sure, Throbbing’s willy looked like a pool noodle, but everything was so manufactured. All the moans and the groans, the perfect silicone tits, and the orchestrated orgasms. No rare acting talent had been wasted on this body of work. I could tell every single participant only did this for the paycheck.

Which was how I found myself yawning halfway through the thirty-minute movie, checking the time and wondering how many viruses were currently leeching into my laptop from the porno website.

Riggs, who didn’t seem too into it, either, and in fact didn’t seem to have breathed for the last half hour, turned to look at me.

“Not your thing?”

I shrugged. “You really hyped it up. I thought there would be .?.?. more.”

“More?” He seemed on edge. “What more could you want? There is enough jizz to fill an Olympic pool, and we haven’t even made it to the anal-beads part.”

“Thanks for the spoiler.” I made a face. “Next thing I know, you’ll tell me which one of them he ends up marrying.”

“Marrying .?.?.??” His face fell. “Poppins, he’s not going to marry any—”

Realizing I was joking, he let out a gravelly, sexy laugh, shutting down the laptop. Oh, no. Now there really wasn’t any chance of us doing the deed. And he was extra gorgeous, now that I was mostly sober and able to fully appreciate him.

“How’s your head?” he murmured.

“Full of depressing thoughts, but otherwise fine. How’s yours?”

His features softened, probably as he remembered the appointment I’d booked him. My cheeks pinked. Did he think I was in love with him or something? Because I truly wasn’t. It was just a silly doctor’s appointment. Anyone would have done it. It was the right thing to do.

“Mine’s good,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

“You’re still going to that appointment, though.”

He grinned. “I see you’ve started bossing me around again. You’ve clearly sobered up.”

“I’ve only had about half a glass, actually.” Both our gazes drifted to the vodka bottle on the coffee table. Riggs nodded.

“Good to have the real you back.”

“The real me still wants to have sex with you.”

His jaw constricted. “To get back at Cocksucker?”

I shrugged. Honestly, I wanted to have sex with Riggs simply because he was the most attractive, fascinating, thrilling man I’d ever come across. But admitting so to him was a terrible idea. He was allergic to monogamy.

“Tell me, Daphne, do you think I’m some kind of a party trick?” His voice was so unbearably cool that I couldn’t believe it had come out of him. Icy.

“What? No!” I said breathlessly. “Obviously not.”

“You sure about that? I did sleep with half the fucking universe.” His voice was mocking, but his eyes were two frosty lakes of pain.

“Did I offend you?” My eyebrows creased. “Riggs, even your mates—”

“You’re not one of my mates. You don’t have the flight time and context to form an opinion about me,” he said flatly.

Horrified, I sat upright. “Look, I didn’t mean that at all. I just .?.?.” Wanted to convince you to sleep with me for my own pathetic, selfish reasons. “I thought I was paying you a compliment. Most men would love to be known as womanizers. This is a no-strings-attached offer.”

“We’re married.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his. They were so stormy, and for the first time, I realized Riggs did have feelings. Loads of them, quite frankly. And nobody had really paid them any attention thus far.

“Fake married,” I said weakly.

“Real living together.”

“I’m a big girl,” I said, surprised by the avalanche of emotions rippling in my own chest. “And I’ve been good for a very long time, doing the right thing, playing by the rules.” I paused. “I’m done playing the sensible go-getter role. I want to do something because I want to, not because I think it’s a means to an end.”

“And that something is me,” he finished, a sardonic smile tainting his Cupid’s lips. “I’m touched, but it’s a pass.”

There was something so final about the way he said it that I knew better than to ask again. My pride wouldn’t let me. Suddenly, I was full to the brim with remorse for putting him in this position. What was I thinking? I treated him like some sort of sex machine.

I nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. No hard feelings, yeah?”

I forced myself to look up and smile at him. “No hard feelings.”

Then, to break the tension that had built up in the room to a point there was barely any oxygen left to breathe, I announced, “Now excuse me while I go iron my blouses. It always puts me in a grand mood.”

This time, he didn’t award me with his usual chuckle. I drifted to my room in silence, wondering at what point Riggs Bates’s laughter had become my favorite soundtrack.

Since I didn’t have room for cutlery, let alone an ironing board, whenever I steamed my clothes, I’d do it on my bed, using a piece of tile as a buffer so as not to burn my duvet. It made ironing quite the operation, seeing as I had to bend over in an R shape to ensure my clothes were crisp and wrinkle-free. Strangely enough, I did not derive my usual pleasure from doing something that would make me appear upper class.

I kept running the hot iron over the same crease on my cherry-red blouse distractedly. I managed not to think about what had happened with Riggs out there, instead refocusing on my newly found hatred toward BJ.

I wondered if he’d always been a rubbish person, or if he’d sprouted privilege and brattiness in recent years, when he realized I’d stick around for the perks? My guess was he’d always been a twat, and I simply looked the other way. Well, it was safe to say my nose was now deeply shoved in BJ’s bad behavior. And that no amount of wealth in the world was worth sticking to a terrible partner.

I was running the iron over the crinkle in the sleeve again when I felt something hard and hot pressing between my thighs from behind. Oh, no. Did I wee myself? I could swear I wasn’t drunk anymore.

Wait, no. It was a palm. A human palm. Riggs’s palm?

Ohmigod.

I clenched involuntarily around his hand, ribbons of warm tension uncurling beneath my navel. He cupped me from behind, and I wasn’t sure if I was more confused or more hot and bothered by this surprising turn of events.

I wanted to ride his hand to a climax but stayed perfectly still, afraid it was some sort of a game or payback for my utterly selfish behavior.

“We’ll be breaking the house rules.” His voice was so deep and thick it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of the ocean.

I licked my lips, remembering the silly contract on our stupid fridge. “We don’t even live in a house, do we? It’s a flat, and really, rules are born so we could break them like an artist. Or so Picasso—”

“This doesn’t mean we’re a couple,” he continued, his voice rough. His middle finger traveled up, skimming my slit through my underwear and trousers teasingly.

“I know,” I said, my voice breaking.

His finger pressed into me, bunching the fabric of my knickers between my folds. I let out a growl, dumping the iron and straightening my back. He pressed his free hand to the base of my spine, keeping me bent.

“I like the view better from here,” he whispered into the shell of my ear.

“Riggs! How dare you?” I huffed prudishly, trying to preserve the minuscule pieces of my pride.

“Easily. You’re objectifying me and using me as a revenge fuck to dangle in front of your little boyfriend for when he comes back. I’ve seen that movie a hundred times, Poppins. I’ll be your leverage. Your eye for an eye. And he’ll have to swallow the fact I dicked you down, because he’s been unfaithful too. But eventually, you’ll forgive each other and live miserably ever after in a big house in the burbs, complete with an au pair who looks just old enough not to be a temptation for Cocksucker.”

He used the rest of his fingers to pry my thighs open crudely. I widened my stance without protest, even though everything he just said sounded outrageous.

“Maybe I won’t take him back,” I said.

Riggs chuckled darkly. “Don’t write checks you aren’t willing to cash. You’re too enamored with the idea of being Mrs. White Bread, with the silver-spooned spawns and country club membership.”

I gulped, feeling both humiliated and aroused. I really wasn’t going to take BJ back, but I also didn’t want to discuss him at present.

“The thing about being bad .?.?.” Riggs leaned over, pressing his hot erection against me, his lips skating over the side of my neck. “Is that it’s no fun unless you own up to it. So own up to it. You’re about to fuck the husband you think is a broke-ass, no-good loser, and you’re doing it just so you can throw it in Cocksucker’s face.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. When I didn’t say anything, he snickered. “Good girl. Now we’ll do it my way, because you want it not to suck, and I want to test my theory.”

“What theory?” I finally found my voice. It sounded like there was gravel stuck in my throat.

Riggs pressed his open mouth to my jawline, sending goose bumps down my spine. He gathered my hair, letting it fall on my opposite shoulder.

“I want to see if corrupting the good girl really is more fun than taming a bad one.”

Anxiety and heat gathered in the pit of my stomach. It was a delicious mix, expecting the unexpected, wanting to cross my own red lines, to sprint past them, to the unknown. To a man I’d never consider under normal circumstances.

“You thought about having sex with me?” I squeaked.

His hard abs trembled with a chuckle against my lower back.

“All.”He pushed his index finger deeper into me.

“The fucking.”He sank his teeth into the flesh of my neck.

“Time.”His hand snaked to my trousers, unbuttoning them expertly.

He slid my slacks down, then my panties. I craved his kisses. The taste of him when he devoured me in the courthouse like I was his favorite dessert.

With my clothes still gathered around my ankles, I stayed bent, waiting for his next move. Riggs decided to neglect my southern region, using his finger to skim the shape of my areola through my shirt. A ripple of desire blasted through me, and I pressed my heavy breast into his palm, begging for more. I didn’t recognize myself in my actions. In my need for something so primal and basic.

“You like it?” he whispered in my ear, his scent drugging me.

“Yeah.”

He grabbed the edge of my shirt, jerking it down along with my bra. My breast sprang free from its confinements. He cupped it from the bottom and pushed it toward my face. “Lick.”

I swirled my tongue around my breast, no questions asked. He groaned behind me and desire flooded me, making my blood sizzle inside my veins. The thought that I could make this near-perfect creature react this way made me gratified.

He clutched my waist, grinding his erection along my bum, his forehead dropping to the back of my head with a sigh.

“Your body’s too delicious to be wasted on a prick like Cocksucker.”

“Thank you,” I managed. Barely.

“It’s not a compliment, it’s an observation.” His hand—coarse like sandpaper—slid down from my hip bone to between my legs. “Never have I wanted to kiss a mouth and shut it up so equally.”

“I—”

“Just ride my fingers and don’t ruin this moment for me, Poppins.”

He tugged me up by my hair, plastering my back against his chest. I let out a whimper. My head dropped against his shoulder. He was still grinding against me when his thumb found my clit, swirling teasingly around it, never quite touching it. I squirmed, chasing his touch, desperate for more.

“Please . . . ,” I moaned.

“Please what?” His lips moved against my throat.

“Please touch me there.”

He did. Oh, he did.

My eyelids drooped and I shuddered all over. I was close to climaxing, and I never had orgasms while having sex. It was why sex with BJ had become taxing. I considered it mandatory cardio. Like Pilates.

Riggs’s tongue ran along the side of my neck, toward my shoulder. He picked up the pace between my legs, thumbing my sensitive bud in circles, applying the perfect amount of pressure and withdrawing just when I was teetering on the edge. Of course he was better than a vibrator. I should have known. What a curse of a husband Riggs Bates was. Wrong in all the places he needed to be right—no prospects, no money, no emotions, no loyalty—and good where sin and abandon were concerned.

After a few minutes, I felt my knees buckle and I released a loud sob. The pleasure was insufferable, and a wave of heat washed through me. I writhed and twisted, the sensation too much, too good, too loud.

“Ahhhhhhh,” I moaned.

“No.” Riggs moved his hand from my sex—which was still throbbing—pushing my lips open with his thumb and forcing me to taste myself. “Say my name.”

“Riggs,” I panted loudly. “Riggs. Riggs. Riggs.”

Was I a screamer?

“Bugger,” I muttered. “I can’t believe I screa—”

Before I could finish the sentence, I was yanked backward and somehow found myself lying down on the floor.

“My turn.” Riggs’s face was close to mine, looming over me. My lips parted on their own accord, inviting him to kiss me. But he was already frowning at the space where our bodies would connect soon, freeing himself of his jeans.

I started kicking my underwear and trousers down my ankles, eager to speed up the process. He grabbed one of my thighs and pinned me down, holding me in place.

“Keep ’em on. More friction.”

He wanted to do it with my legs practically closed?

“Would it fit, though?” I asked. I looked up from his cock, which he held in his hand.

He gave me the brightest, most heartbreakingly dimpled smile. To think that this smile belonged to no one, that it had no home, no person to love it, to look forward to it at the end of the day, made me want to weep.

“It’ll squeeze through.” He raised two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Were you in the Scouts?”

“Fuck no.”

He reached down to the breast he had set free earlier, scraping his teeth over my puckered nipple. I trembled. I was going to come again, and he wasn’t even inside me yet. This man was going to ruin me for all others, and he bloody well knew it.

Riggs reached between my legs, pushing two fingers, curling them to hit the spot BJ had never even attempted to find. His lips ran over my forehead, and he groaned, his breath fanning the hairs bracketing my face. “You’re so wet, Duffy.”

I blushed, ducking my head. He grabbed the tip of my chin and angled me to look him in the eye. Still, he wouldn’t kiss me, and it drove me mad.

“Do you still want this?” he rasped. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”

“God, no.”

His expression hardened.

“I mean yes!” I amended hysterically. “I still want it. No, I haven’t changed my mind.”

The relief on his face made my pulse accelerate. I watched as he produced a condom from his pocket and rolled it on. Secretly, I was thankful I was on the pill. Condoms were only 98 percent effective, and I definitely didn’t want to become a part of the statistics.

Riggs reached between us, pushed my thighs open as much as he could with my trousers still at my ankles, and slid into me slowly, inch by inch. We both watched his penis disappear inside me with awe, our foreheads touching. It was the hottest thing I’d ever done with anyone in bed. Ironically, I wasn’t even technically in a bed.

“Oh, God.” I dropped my head back to the floor, closing my eyes. “It’s like watching a magician pulling ribbons from his mouth, but in reverse. Your cock is never ending.”

He tipped his head back, groaning and laughing at the same time. “You’re doing good, Poppins.”

I squeaked in response. I felt uncomfortably full. Like I’d been stuffed to the brim. It was odd but not unpleasant. After he was done pushing into me, he stayed still, giving me a chance to adapt.

“Told you.” His gaze trekked up my torso and landed on my eyes, a private smile on his face. “It fits.”

“Just barely.” I pouted. “Well, at least it feels good.”

Or so I thought. Because then he started moving.

And it wasn’t good. It was divine.

He thrust once .?.?. twice, before I realized there was absolutely no connection between what BJ and I had been doing in the sheets and what was happening here. This was so good I wanted to cry. I felt like Riggs had lit a match and incinerated the entire room. The dancing flames around us licked at my skin.

My second climax arrived after five minutes, but I stayed on the ride for fifteen more before Riggs’s nostrils tightened, his jawline ticked, and he finished inside me.

With his face angled up, blond curls framing his face like a halo, his strong Roman features sharp as a blade, it was hard not to see him as a brutal temptation.

This was the most deliriously satisfying sex I’d ever had, hands down.

And, sadly, it was also a one-off.

Riggs sagged on top of me after he finished, still inside me. My gaze etched to his face, fascinated. He was the first to speak.

“Well? Got it out of your system?” He sounded blasé, and I could already see him in my head in five minutes, lighting himself a joint and sitting at the window overlooking the street, shirtless.

“Eh . . . yes, thank you.”

He dropped a kiss on my exposed shoulder. “Anytime, wifey.”

I gulped at the word. It sounded so agonizingly perfect coming from his mouth, but I knew he’d never mean it.

Do you want him to mean it? You’re polar opposites. You started out hating each other, and that was only a month ago.

But maybe I did want it. Why should it matter that Riggs wasn’t making a load of money? I could be the breadwinner. We could be happy. Too bad he’d never consider it.

“Uh, Poppins?” He snapped his fingers in front of my eyes, and I realized he’d pulled out of me at some point during my brief visit at Fantasyland.

“Yes?” I cleared my throat.

“Why does it smell like your apartment’s on fire?”

I stared at him drowsily before remembering I’d forgotten the iron on my bed while it was still working.

“Oh, shit!” I pushed him off, bolting up to my feet. I forgot my trousers were still on and almost fell onto the bed. A bed that was likely on fire.

Riggs tugged me back, pulling me to safety. He stood up. We both watched my mattress with astonishment.

The iron had burned through my entire blouse’s sleeve. There was a black ashy hole that ate at most of the beautiful shirt. The heat had also passed through the board and created a dark stain on my duvet. Riggs picked up the iron, trekked over to the living room window, and flipped it over to cool down.

“Hope you’re not banking on it working again.”

Riggs grabbed a Sharpie from the pen box on the kitchenette counter, uncapped it with his teeth, and waltzed over to the fridge, narrowing his eyes at the list we’d laminated. He then crossed one item from it.

House Rules

No pets

No hookups

No fraternizing with your spouse

But rules were meant to be broken.

Too bad I couldn’t say the same about my heart.