39. Penelope

39

PENELOPE

M y eyes snap to the doorway as Linc moves toward me and whoever this dipshit is who’s grinding against my ass. I don’t know him.

His hand grabs the guy’s collar and pulls him off me before turning toward me.

“Fucking really?”

“It’s my house too, right?”

“No. It’s not.” He shakes his head, the fury multiplied, and I don’t care. Colt has a baby. With someone I don’t know. Someone who is not me.

I wanted to drown in pills and maybe the bathtub, but the asshole flushed them. So, I posted on my social media that I was having a party and to bring booze.

And for whatever reason, people showed and brought various types of alcohol.

I haven’t had much to drink though. Not yet.

“Look, man, we were just having a good time.” I hear the dumbass he just pulled off me say it as he stands behind me still.

“You’re not anymore.” He addresses the room loudly, “Everyone get the fuck out or I’ll call the cops,” Linc turns to the guy, “and handle some of you myself.”

People start to file out, and I roll my eyes, annoyed with Linc, but barely feeling it.

Things were going so great.

They really were.

Everyone leaves, and Linc slams the door behind them before stalking to me. “You want to be fucked? You come to me.”

He’s not asking, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck as his lips crash against mine, and I whimper, needing him so fucking bad.

He should hate me after I called him a liar and slapped him, but he doesn’t. It’s just more punishment for both of us.

His hands lift my tank-top up and off, his mouth on me instantly while my hands work on his jeans.

No part of me wanted any other guy to touch me. Only Linc can give me the pleasure-wrapped-in-pain fix my body and soul craves.

My forehead presses against his as my hand rests against his jaw, my thumb smoothing over his bottom lip as I fight the tears. “I’m sorry, Linc.”

“Don’t be. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I nod as he kisses me again, lifting me up in his arms and taking me to his bed. We quickly discard our clothes as he sits his back against the headboard. I climb onto his lap, kissing him and fighting every single insecurity creeping up.

As he slides inside of me and my hand flattens against the wall, bracing myself and getting lost in him, I wonder how long we can really continue this.

Colt has a son. He cheated on me when I thought we were in love. Nothing makes sense.

Linc’s lips ravage mine as our bodies communicate far better than words ever could. His hands slide over my back, gently, but he’s fucking me, giving me exactly what I need.

He pushes my body back so I’m lying flat on my back, and with each thrust, he tells me so many things—how angry he is, how frustrated he is, how lost he is.

And he accepts all my faults.

He always has.