18. Ginevra

CHAPTER 18

Ginevra

A fter the morning’s excitement, I fall into a restless sleep and have naughty dreams starring Blake. When I finally wake up, drenched in sweat, my pussy pulsing with need, he’s already left for work. So I decide to take care of myself in the shower. These handheld shower heads really are amazing.

Except once isn’t enough. I build myself up a second time, remembering how I touched his cock—briefly, but still. I had to end our charade after that because I was so close to begging him to take me for real. To hell with the show, at that moment I wanted his hands and mouth on me, his cock inside my body.

And I was sober. Dead sober.

Only now do I realize that I didn’t panic when he climbed on top of me this morning. Nervous, yes, but not riddled with anxiety. He could have touched me and I would have been fine—more than fine, I would have welcomed his attention.

My imagination wanders to the feel of his strong body on top of mine, taking me, claiming me, and I shatter with a low moan as steaming water runs down my body.

Why did we decide to wait until marriage? We could be having sex now. Sex has no bearing on our fake relationship, it’s just lust, physical pleasure. A release that we obviously both need.

For the first time in my life, I want a man to touch me. My intuition tells me that sex with Blake will be like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I want that.

Turning off the water, I step out of the shower and get ready for the day. I’m relaxed and energized at the same time. Today’s going to be a good day, I can feel it. Maybe Kyla and I will tackle a new recipe. One of these mornings, I want to wake up early enough to go with her to the markets where she buys her supplies. I know she goes early to get the best offerings.

I’m taming my blond curls into more manageable waves when my phone chimes. The sound reminds me that I still need to talk to my sisters. I’ve been avoiding them for far too long.

I swipe to see the text message and my stomach drops. Dread wraps around my insides like a snake around its prey. It’s from Oliver, my ex.

Oliver

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me, babe. I think of you all the time. I like to think of you just like this…

The next message is a short video clip that auto plays. Bile rises in my throat. For a couple of seconds my gaze is glued to the screen as I watch Oliver give the camera a thumbs-up. Then he moves out of the way, revealing what’s on the bed behind him—my bruised, naked body, tied and gagged as I scream for help.

My vision blurs with tears, and my phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering as it falls on the vanity top. Flashes of memory invade my mind until I cover my head with my arms and scream. Except no sound comes out. The images continue to bombard me no matter how determined I am to keep them at bay. Whatever Oliver gave me that night only heightened my senses so that I felt every nerve ending of pain, and worse, I remember it all. Every dreadful moment.

My stomach roils and I barely make it to the bathroom in time, vomiting in the sink.

No matter how safe I feel with Blake, my past will always be around to haunt me, it seems. Uncle Lorenzo’s dead, but Oliver took his place. Who will it be next? Someone, I’m sure, because I can’t seem to escape these types of men. They find me. They’ll always find me. As soon as Blake and I divorce, and I’m no longer under his protection, another abuser will lure me in.

Or maybe I’ve been blind. Maybe Blake is one of them and he hasn’t shown his true colors yet. But he will. They always do eventually. Oliver did.

When it comes to men, I’m the worst judge of character. I know I can’t trust myself.

What if Blake hurts me like they did?

He will. I know he will.

My temples throb with a splitting headache. I can’t let myself spiral like this. I need happy Gin today, and there’s only one way to get her to come out. Vodka.