The Perfect Wrong, page 28
“Take me, Chris. I want you. Every inch.” I run my hand across his face, my eyes narrowed slits, staring into his jade-green gaze.
He bares his teeth.
There’s thunder in his kiss as he drags his cock back to the tip before he thrusts, bottoming out inside me again.
“Baby girl, I’m going to come so fucking hard in you tonight,” he promises.
Oh, God.
He deepens his thrusts, his hips gathering speed, making that wild friction across my clit with his pubic bone.
I melt into the rhythm with a whimper, lost for words, wondering if it’ll always be this good.
It’s crazy hard to imagine bad sex with this man.
I don’t think it’s possible.
“You were built for my dick, and mine alone,” he rasps. “Can’t believe you’re still doubting this shit.” His hips slash down like he’s angry, frustrated, jealousy ringing in his voice. “You think we’re gonna get screwed over? Derailed? Torn apart?”
“N-no,” I whimper, but it’s not convincing.
I do have doubts—reasonable ones—and I hate them all.
“Say it like you mean it,” he demands, fisting my hair, laying into me harder.
His hips crash down like the ocean slapping the shore, rattling my body with his energy, his need to conquer, to control, to possess.
I don’t know whether to slap him or orgasm on impact.
“Never, Chris. We’re solid. We’re—”
“No, no, no.” It comes out like a mantra, perfectly timed to his thrusts, all the punishing, greedy strokes that leave my pussy tingling. “It’s fate, princess. Don’t give a shit how crazy it sounds. I’ve never met anyone like you. Never wanted to spend every waking minute outside my bed with a woman till you got your hooks in.”
Holy hell!
His cock sinks deep and he holds it there before pulling back, rutting me in faster, shallower strokes.
There’s no holding back now.
Chris pulls my hair tight, moving my lips to his, drinking the moans that burble out of me when my pussy clenches a second later.
Soon, I’m not the only one screaming.
Chris drives in to the hilt and explodes, pouring so much of his essence into me I wonder if the pill will even protect us.
In the heat of the moment, I actually like the thought of him knocking me up, taking full possession, owning me for life.
Crazy, I know.
Just like I know I might feel something else once the fever breaks, but maybe someday—maybe—we could have a family.
Maybe I could call him my husband.
Maybe the world won’t wag its ugly, judgmental finger for crossing lines we had no say in drawing.
We come together, fused, thrashing in the stray sand that’s blown up from the beach.
I’m grateful for his strong arms holding me down.
It’s not the widest space, but it’s the most amazing place we’ve ever done it.
Or maybe it’s just his body digging into mine, filling me completely.
I’ve never been into supernatural, cheesy poetry talk, but honestly, it’s almost mystical.
His kisses soften as our bodies relax.
His cock pumps a few more times, burying the last of his seed deeper.
I’m so smitten I’m shaking.
“I love you, Chris,” I whisper when he finally lets me breathe.
“You’d better. Whatever shit you’re gonna say about me when I’m starring in your college paper has to be flattering.”
I’m laughing. And then I can’t stop.
I’m flipping giddy.
And he hasn’t even pulled out of me yet.
Something about this night is just quintessentially Chris.
Everything I can’t imagine losing.
Everything that’s pulled me into his embrace, so happy and secure I never want him to let go.
We kiss a few more times before he pulls out and cleans up, helping me fix my clothes.
Then I stand up on the cliff, wiping the dirt off my butt.
I’m about to roll my panties back on when he grabs me, catching my hand by the wrist.
“Save yourself some time. Leave ’em off. You know I’m not a one-and-done dude. Let’s go get some dinner, and then we’ll pick up right where we left off.”
Smiling, I think I see red.
My face definitely glows.
But I don’t fight him as he shoves my panties into my purse.
I feel so vulnerable out here like this with nothing under my skirt.
But if there’s any man alive who makes me feel secure when I’m naked, it’s him.
And tonight, Mr. Anything gets what he wants.
* * *
Later that week, I’m eating with Evie and Dad for the first time in ages.
It’s a typically awkward dinner with superficial small talk floating back and forth—that is, whenever anyone bothers speaking at all.
Dad keeps the conversation light and focused on the airlines, some recent ups and downs in his stock prices making the shareholders nervous.
Basically the usual big-shot CEO worries I’ve heard a million times since I was a little girl.
Evie picks at her food, nodding along and muttering single syllable answers.
Freaking ouch.
I fill my wineglass for the third time. That sweet red blend is the only reason I don’t go off and yell at her until she acknowledges my poor dad exists.
He’s the only reason you’re eating dinner with us and you’re not stuffed away in a rehab place.
Can’t you see how hard he’s trying, how much he’s investing, you ungrateful—
Yeah.
The two-week stint she spent in that clinic wasn’t nearly long enough.
Honestly, the cold, detached shell of a person she’s become since returning home is just killing him in slow motion. It hurts to watch, and the worst is he doesn’t know what else to do.
Still, Dad soldiers on.
He’s just that kind of lovestruck, stubborn buffalo.
He can’t take another failure.
So I look on sadly, feeling like I’m reliving the final hospice days of our family life before Mom ran out with another man and left my father this desperate, broken man.
“Ladies, I’ll be at the North American division conference I told you about next week,” he says with a strained smile. “I trust you’ll both be able to make do without me? I’ve made the usual arrangements with the staff. Oh, and Cordelia, if you’d like to have any friends over, please respect Evie’s space. We certainly don’t want anyone barging in and bothering her.”
Evie slams her fork down, looking up with interest for the first time. Her cutting glance could strip the bark off a tree.
“God, do you ever shut up and stop worrying, Bruce?” she spits. “You really think she’ll drag one of her little friends upstairs and wake me up with some obnoxious fuck session? Are you that oblivious?”
Oh, no.
Time stalls as I stare at her, hating how her eyes flick over to me and never let go.
She sighs slowly before she says, “Cordelia’s too busy riding my son for any interest in other boys, and they’re already loud enough to wake the dead.”
Shit!
I almost drop my empty wineglass.
Dad gives me this glassy-eyed look of dumbstruck horror.
Yikes.
I think it’s the first time since Mom left that I’ve seen him look like he’s staring down a speeding freight train, coming to obliterate what’s left of his miserable world.
“Cordelia?” he whispers dryly. “Is this...is it true?”
“Dad, no! I have no idea what she’s talking about,” I rush out, clearing the nervous lump in my throat.
I hate lying. Especially about something this intensely important.
But I really hate being confronted by this crazy, selfish witch who will never even try to understand what Chris really means to me.
“Evie,” Dad whispers softly, shaking his head like he’s fighting off a nightmare embedded in his brain. “You must be mistaken, honey. Are you sure it isn’t the stress? Are your symptoms worse today? You should eat more salad. I had the chef pile it with blueberries and those candied pecans you love. You remember what your doctors said about the benefits, right?”
Oh, God.
He’s trying so hard, but he just sounds like he’s talking to a child, or maybe a badly trained dog.
And the razor-sharp glint in Evie’s pale-green eyes say exactly how she feels about it, too.
Before she can open her mouth and lay into him again, Dad stands up with a sheepish smile.
I try not to cringe as he walks to her, throwing an arm over her shoulders.
It’s such a sad, caring scene.
My heart would’ve melted in my chest, if only it wasn’t pounding like a hummingbird on crack.
Dad doesn’t believe her.
He thinks it’s too crazy for real life.
Does that mean he’s really that appalled at the idea of his daughter falling in love with her stepbrother?
My stomach churns, and it has nothing to do with eating enough blueberries to reenact that purple transformation from Willy Wonka.
And I hate that I’m even afraid after Chris was so bold with me.
It shouldn’t matter what they think or anyone else.
We’re in love, and no judgmental crap ought to change that.
But when I saw Dad’s face go whiter than a sheet...
My own fork slips and clatters on my plate, causing them to look up from their stormy embrace.
Evie gives me another disgusted look, a cruel sharpness in her eyes.
“Bruce, I think you’d better have a talk with your dearest daughter. You’re right, it’s better that you hear it from her. Not me. But I promise you, I’m not imagining anything.”
My heart leaps into my throat.
“Evangeline, please. I’m sure if there were anything untoward happening, Cordelia would let me know,” he says gently.
He still doesn’t believe her. Thank God.
Too bad lying is the only thing holding me back from total disaster. Because if he’s this freaked out just hearing it suggested...how would he feel if he knew?
Evie grabs his arm and throws him off with an exasperated sound like a snake.
She staggers up, hurling her napkin over her half-finished food, and glares at my poor whipped father.
“Your lying little skank has some nerve, Bruce, I’ll give her that. She’s old enough to go after a man, I suppose, even if he’s the last boy in the world she ought to be with.”
“Evie, enough,” Dad clips. “I won’t have you calling my daughter a skank in this house. I understand you’ve been through pure hell, and we’re here for you, but that doesn’t give you the right to be such a...”
He trails off.
I’m so flipping stunned I can’t breathe.
Evie cocks her head, her eyes narrowed. “A bitch, you mean? Oh, Brucey. I would’ve given you a kiss if you’d had the balls to finally say what you really think. You’re hardly the first.” She pauses, this miserable expression on her face before she looks at him again. “Oh, well! I’ll let you find out the hard way, Mr. Hardass. You won’t have me butting in anymore, hubby. Good fucking night.”
My eyes stay on my food the entire time she bolts up and stomps away.
Consider my appetite obliterated.
Dad sticking up for me lends a shred of hope, despite making me feel worse than ever for lying through my teeth.
We can’t hold back the truth forever.
What happens then?
He pulls the chair out next to Evie’s empty seat and sinks down angrily, huffing out a defeated sigh.
We both listen to the echo of her heels, distant and lonely, like the hooves of some creature making its way back below the surface.
With anybody else, I’d be exaggerating, but with Evangeline...
“Dad, don’t worry. It must be the lingering withdrawals or something messing with her head. You guys will be fine,” I whisper, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight. “Don’t listen to her. I’m glad you stood up for me, whether she really meant that crap or not.”
He gives me a wry smile like he can’t believe my words, but wants to.
“You had to put her in her place,” I whisper.
Well, almost, I think to myself, but of course I don’t say it.
I just hope he hasn’t demolished the whole relationship and his ego along with it—even if it’s clearer by the day that breaking this insanity off sooner would be the best outcome.
“I just wish I knew why they all wind up hating me in the end,” he growls, pulling his hand away from mine. He rakes his hair back, ruffling his salt-and-pepper layers.
“Crazy women suck,” I say sharply. “You’re a great guy, Dad. It’s just bad luck. You never know, if this doesn’t work... Maybe the third time’s the charm?”
He looks away, shaking his head fiercely.
“I can’t throw in the towel just yet, Cordelia.”
Why? I wonder, staring at him.
He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Sometimes this feels worse than with your mother. At least her affair...well, I saw it coming. I didn’t want to, but I had enough hints. And maybe I was partly at fault... I worked too many hours. I ignored her too much. I know I screwed up.”
“Dad, no! Stop it.” I lean across the table, searching his eyes. “You didn’t deserve being cheated on. And you don’t need a wife who talks down to you, either.”
My heart sinks into my gut.
He’s beating himself up again, and I don’t want to hear it.
Okay, maybe there’s a grain of truth to everything he’s saying, but Mom walked out on us both.
He absolutely isn’t the one to blame for that imploding like it did.
Jesus, I haven’t gotten more than Christmas and birthday cards from her since the divorce and the rare awkward phone call. She cut us out of her new life ever since she attached herself to a new dick and moved across the country.
That was her choice, and hers alone.
Call me a daddy’s girl, but it’s always been just us.
I’m used to that.
And until this nasty third wheel rolled into our lives, I was used to Dad not hurting. Not bleeding a little more of his shredded heart out every time I see him.
I know I’m still the only thing he can count on.
That always went both ways.
We were happy.
One small, imperfect, happy family.
Until Evie.
Until Chris.
Now, she’s strangling him one day at a time like the boa constrictor she is, and I’m lying to my own father for the last man in the world I should be falling for.
Why is this my life?
I shouldn’t have downed that third glass of wine, trying to take the edge off.
But I push down the lump in my throat, fighting to keep it together, hating that I’m blotting at my eyes with my napkin every time Dad has his back turned.
He gives me the familiar, wounded look he always does when he knows I’m hurting.
It’s extra brutal when I know he’s the one who’s bleeding rivers inside.
He’s just too proud to show any tears.
However weak he is about calling her out, he keeps his own agony behind barbed wire. Funerals were the only times I ever saw him cry, minus one of the worst days of the recession, when he had to sign off on a couple thousand layoffs.
“Delia, we’ll get through this,” he promises, his lip pulled stiff.
“There’s nothing to get through, Dad. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s her baggage, and she just...she has a whole freaking house full. What I don’t get is how you keep fighting for it.”
I don’t mean to sound so harsh.
The hurt lines on his face deepen.
God. I can’t even bring myself to take him by the shoulders, shake him, tell him to divorce this loose cannon before it goes off in his face.
But it’s Dad’s decision.
It’s also pretty dishonest to want her gone when I have a very handsome, painfully emotional conflict of interest.
“You know what’s worse than a middle-aged airline exec whose name gets dragged through the mud every time the company stumbles?” His lips turn up when he asks like it’s some strange riddle.
I look at him, shaking my head.
He smiles “A middle-aged executive with mud on his face and two divorces behind him.”
“Oh, Dad. I just want you to be happy,” I say softly. I mean it. “Seriously. You’ve done so much for me. I wouldn’t be half the person I am without you, and the way you bend over backwards for her ungrateful ass—you deserve more. So much better.”
He gives me a big smile and walks over, folding his arms around me.
“Thanks for being my rock, dear, as always.”
I hug him back and slowly let go, feeling him pull away.
He looks past me then, staring down the hall like he dreads what’s next, but can’t walk away from it.
“Well. I guess I’d better see if she’s going to keep me locked out tonight.” He shrugs. “They said it’d be a long road getting everything out of her system and putting her mind back in a good place. Please don’t be too hard on her, honey, whatever nonsense she says. She’s not in her right mind. She’s suffered so much, and I have to help her find her way back.”
You poor, kind lunk. It isn’t your job, I think bitterly.
My fists hang at my sides, clenched so hard my hands tremble.
But Dad doesn’t glance back as he walks away.
I release a heavy sigh, offering him one more burst of encouragement as I call after him. “Whatever works, Dad! Just please be happy.”
Happy.
There’s that word again, a bullet to the heart.
I’m not sure my happiness and Dad’s will ever be compatible.
Definitely not when he finds out about Chris.
And sooner or later, it’s inevitable.
If Chris doesn’t just blurt it out in the open, I know I’ll slip up sooner or later.
I’m scared I won’t be ready for that when it matters most.
I wonder if I ever can be.
And if I can’t, if my fear overpowers this love, what then?
