Releasing March 10
I have been lied to.
Betrayed.
And now, threatened.
With Angelina, it was quick. Sudden.
I was a moth and she was the flame. I had to touch her. I needed a taste.
By doing so, my life has completely spiraled.
And then there’s Colette, and her slew of bullshit.
She’s lied to me to over and over again.
Sadly, because of that, I no longer crave her love.
Who am I to trust when the world and the people I love seem to
be turning against me?
Who is there to fall back on when none of them seem safe enough?
Betrayal no more.
Give a man like me flames, and I will torch anything that stands in my way.
I will burn it right down to the ground.
And yes, that includes the women I care about.
Chapter One
Angelina
I’ve been sitting in the same spot all day—, on the recliner
with my feet perched on the edge of the ottoman, my body motionless.
God, I really need to get out. Move—do something other than
keep sipping on this stupid bottle of wine I ordered via room service.
I drop my head, focusing on the iPhone on my lap.
Griffin is busy, I know, but I thought he would have
contacted me by now. Doubt has settled in, and my fingernails dig into my palms
from pure anxiety.
Maybe he read the contract in its entirety.
Maybe I didn’t get him to trust me enough to simply sign it
without much thought.
Sex is the only way of getting a man of Griffin’s power to
feel anything for—or trust—a woman. Hopefully, I did my job. Hopefully, it was
a hook, line, and sinker.
But, shit, if I didn’t get him to trust me and he did read
over it, taking note of the small one- and two-liners I tossed in between every
other page, ones that only a certified lawyer would notice, I’m screwed.
I hope I’m not. I paid the lawyer who wrote it up with me a
lot of damn money.
If this fails, I will have let everyone down: the lawyer,
Scott, my father, and my sister.
With frazzled nerves, I settle on going down to the bar for
a drink. I can’t deal with the wine. It makes me drowsy and blue.
I need something that’ll hit hard…carry me through the night
with high hopes.
So, I get dressed in simple attire: leather leggings, Nikes,
a thin white T-shirt, and a New York Yankees baseball cap.
I don’t want to be noticed tonight. I just want to be left
alone; unbothered until Griffin contacts me, hopefully telling me what I’ve
been waiting to hear.
I collect my wallet, cellphone, and room key, and then I’m
out of the door.
There aren’t many people at the bar. Most are probably up in
their rooms with bottles of expensive wine or one of the fifty-year-old
scotches lined up on the wall behind the bar.
That’s the good thing about this place. You get what you pay
for.
I maneuver my way to the empty spot at the end of the
counter, ordering a neat Bacardi rum when the young, blonde bartender asks what
I’m having.
As my lips seal around the rim and the cold, white, furious
liquid swims down my throat, I can feel my muscles relaxing, my mind easing up
a bit.
See, that’s all I needed. Yes, there is a lot of work to do,
but I won’t be able to get shit done until I calm my tits.
The bartender wipes the spot in front of me, asking me if
I’d like another when I drop my empty glass to the counter. I try not to nod too
eagerly, but she whisks it away, obviously knowing I need it.
I accept my drink, and she collects my used napkin, tossing
it in the nearest trash bin and replacing it with a new one. It’s not until she
hears the same footsteps I do that she whips her head up to look at the person
coming in the direction of the bar.
She smiles instantly, broad and cheesy, and my brows dip out
of curiosity. She asks for the person’s order as their large, well-groomed hand
grips the back of the barstool.
I don’t bother looking at whom she’s so pleased to see.
Probably some guy she’s banging… or someone who also works here.
I couldn’t care less… until the mystery customer says, “I
assume you have Russell’s? Neat, then, if you do.”
“Coming right up,” the bartender chimes, purposely swinging
her hips in a large circle to get to the counter.
The barstool beside me screeches across the floor, but
that’s the least of my worries right now. This person beside me isn’t just anyone…
he’s important.
Familiar.
He’s the last person I expected to see tonight.
Griffin fucking Boyd.
Suddenly, I don’t feel so relaxed anymore.
He sighs as he takes the seat, adjusting himself to get
comfortable on the plush black leather. His torso presses against the back rail
of his chair, and when I look up, those brown eyes immediately lock on mine.
I don’t like that look.
It’s… different.
Serious and determined.
Suspicious.
I do my best not to look away too much or seem too surprised
to see him… or maybe I should be surprised and really happy to see him because
that was the plan all along.
Like him a little bit, even though I’m sure I like him a
little too much. My heart knows it, but my brain is too stubborn to accept it.
“Griffin,” I breathe, lips spreading to form a smile. I
adjust a bit to face him. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were
busy?” I act so surprised. I guess I’m good at that. Pretending.
“I was… for a few hours.” His eyes roam my body, hard. Cold.
Not as warm as they were when he left this morning.
I blink rapidly, nodding. “Ohh. Okay.” Then I grab my drink,
taking a quick swig.
I start to put the short tumbler back down on the counter,
until he says, “You should probably keep drinking, Miss Clark. You have a lot
of answering to do tonight, and I need honesty.”
I narrow my brows at him, like I don’t know what the hell he
means. “What are you talking about—”
My response is short-lived. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Angelina.
Just fucking cut it,” he hisses at me. His voice is different. I can sense the
rage, the frustration. He’s trying so hard to remain casual, to keep his cool
while he’s so exposed, so public.
As he looks me over, I pull my lips in and press down, the
pain not enough to cover up how stupid I feel. To my luck, the bartender
returns with Griffin’s drink, sliding it across the counter and lingering a
bit.
When Griffin thanks her but doesn’t look up, she takes it as
a sign. She looks my way and frowns a bit, but I keep my face impassive, my
eyes steady. I must be ruining her game.
Whatever.
I’m somewhat relieved and upset when she’s gone. Relieved
because she needs to stop eyeballing my Griffin, but upset because she’s the
only witness I have if Griffin drags me out of this place and I never return.
Not that I think he’d hurt me or anything, but I’m sure he
won’t let me off with a slap on the wrist, either.
“I’ll take what you said into consideration.” I flag the
helpless bartender down before she can get too far, asking her to top me off.
She supplies me in a jiffy.
With his glass in hand, he watches me guzzle down my alcohol
like I’m in a college beer pong contest, and when I slam my glass down on the
counter, he slams his as well, pushing out of his chair and standing. “Let’s go
to your room. Now.”
“I think we should stay here.”
“You want me to sign that fucking contract, you do as I
say.”
My head whips up rapidly. “Wait… what?”
“You want me to sign it, let’s go.” He reaches for my arm,
twisting me around on my stool and pulling me off. “Walk with me.” He turns,
his large body rigid as he walks with my arm in his hand towards the elevator.
When he jabs a thumb at the button, almost damaging the
ceramic, I sigh.
“How could you do this to me, Angelina?”
“How can you still sign it if you know?”
For some reason, I can’t help but feel relief that he hasn’t
yet. My conscience has been fucked with all day, and now that I’ve had those
drinks, which have ironically cleared my mind, I know damn well I would have
regretted this decision, no matter how much money the Clarks were to make in
the future.
“I need the truth.” The elevator doors shoot open and he
marches in, his hand sliding down and entwining with my fingers. He does this
for show, and so I won’t escape.
There are other people coming onto the elevator with us. It
feels nice to hold hands. Sweet and safe. But they get off at the third floor
and he snatches his hand back right away, glaring down at me the rest of the
ride up.
“How did you find out?” I ask, stepping out of the elevator
and walking to my door.
I hesitantly pull my room key out. I shouldn’t let him in. I
don’t know what he’ll do, what he’ll say. What if his deal is to promise not to
sue me? Promise not to hire someone to kill me? Kill me himself out of anger…?
Would he even do something like that?
Come to think of it, I don’t even know. I don’t know much
about Griffin at all.
Fuck.
I stop in front of my room door, staring down at the tips of
my sneakers. The sound of my throat swallowing is all I can hear, the whooshing
in my brain from the alcohol in my veins, and the deep, heavy breathing
belonging to Griffin… who is now standing right behind me.
He’s so close I can feel his body heat, right along my back,
seeping through my thin clothing. I can smell his cologne—manly but still
sweet.
I can almost feel him touching me.
“Open the door, Angelina. Now.”
Lips pressed, I lift a hand and stick the key into the slot,
pushing the door open and walking ahead casually.
Let me stop acting like I’m in some damn Lifetime Channel
movie. Griffin Boyd isn’t foolish enough to do something to me, not when I have
people that know where I am and who’s with me.
Not when his DNA is all over this hotel room and all over
me. Not when he has so much on the line.
When I make it to the bed, pulling off my baseball cap, the
door slams behind me and I spin around. Griffin is still standing by the door,
hands in his front pockets, jaw locked, shoulders squared.
A shadow is cast across the top half of his face, but I can
see everything below it.
He. Is. Pissed.
That strong, defined jaw gives it all away.
“Griffin, if you would just let me explain…” I trail off,
expecting him to say something—maybe cut me off for even talking. But he
doesn’t.
Instead, he carelessly shrugs one shoulder and says, “Go
ahead. Explain.”
I watch him for a few seconds, and then sit on the edge of
the mattress. The thought of snitching on Scott moves me—it rocks me so
hard—but I don’t.
I can’t rat out my own brother. Besides, I’m an adult. I agreed
to it. I agreed to do the dirty work. He just pitched the idea and, like a
fool, I ran with it.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be the way you are,” I confess.
He steps forward, eyes thinned. “The way I am? What the hell
is that supposed to mean?”
“I… I don’t know. I thought, when I met you, that you’d be
this arrogant, super- uptight jackass that wouldn’t mind cheating on his wife
for the hell of it.” He frowns. I don’t think I’m making an impression on him,
so I continue. “Then I saw that you accepted your flaws, and I saw how hurt you
were… but I still tried. I still tried to tear you down. God, Scott made you
seem like such a dick, but now I see it was only envy.”
“Scott?” he growls, grimacing. “He set this up?”
“No,” I respond rapidly, head shaking. “No, I went through
with this. I helped write up the contract. I set the years, the timeframes,
created the wording. It was me.”
Furious, Griffin storms in my direction, grips my upper
arms, and pulls me up to face him. My heart slams hard in my chest, beating a
mile a minute.
The sight of his flared nostrils, livid eyes, and tight lip,
break my fucking heart. I should feel threatened, wanting to call the fucking
cops for having him hold me like this, but who am I kidding? I kind of deserve
whatever his wrath may be.
I mean, I was about to tear his entire business down, rip it
to shreds. “I would have made sure you were taken care of, I swear,” I whisper,
voice cracking. “Since I got to know you, I would have made sure.”
“Fuck that, Angelina. All you’re saying to me is words. How
can I believe any of the shit that comes out of your mouth? All this time I
thought you were someone who cared— someone who fucking liked me for who I am.”
His head shakes, the rage clear. But, not only do I see
rage, I see disappointment.
I see weakness.
Hurt. I know he’s probably thinking something along the
lines of that makes two women that have broken me.
God, I hurt him.
“Griffin, just calm down. Okay? Just… breathe. We can work
something out. We can set a plan. I only did this because I need this for my
family… for my Dad. You don’t know the full story. You don’t know what your
boss did to my father.”
“My boss?” His brows draw together again. “What the fuck are
you talking about?”
“Your boss… Mr. Jenkins. He’s the reason we’re doing all of
this. He’s the reason we have to go through you, but I swear if I would have
known how you are—what kind of person you are—I wouldn’t have agreed to any of
this at all.”
“Yeah, what the fuck ever, Angelina.” His eyes drop, face
tight and distraught.
The look he passes is like a child being punished after
being disobedient. It breaks my heart because it’s so innocent, pure, and raw,
and yet… so full of emotion and brokenness.
Since the beginning, I have wanted to mend this man. I have
wanted to make things better for him, even though I had an ulterior motive. He
never knew, but there was one.
Through my tipsy stupor, I start to wrap my arms around him
to comfort him, but he shoves me away and I land on top of the mattress. A gasp
spills through my lips, and before I can respond, he pounces on top of me,
trapping me between his thick arms. I hear the ripping of fabric, my shirt
being pulled apart, my black bra and stomach revealed.
His fingers curl around the edge of my leggings and he yanks
them down, causing another loud, ripping noise. My mouth moves in protest, but
I can’t speak when my eyes lock with his.
They’re hard.
Furious.
He grips my wrists in one hand, shoving them above my head,
and the other goes down to my pubic bone. For a split second, his eyes soften,
and he looks down, watching as his fingers lightly tread the clean V between my
legs. He stops just at my clit, sinking his middle finger between the folds.
Then he presses down, and I buck, gasping from the sudden pressure.
His eyes move up to mine again, eyebrows strung together,
mouth pinched tight. His middle finger continues gliding down, and I squirm,
but he forces me still, nostrils flaring, his finger now running in and out of
my pussy.
He fucks me with his long, middle finger— in and out, faster
and faster. Within a minute, he’s slamming, and by the third minute, there are
two fingers deep inside me, forcing their way in and out. He places mild bites
on my shoulder, still finger-fucking me, still going.
“Oh, God, Griffin…. Please,” I beg.
“Please, what, Angelina? What exactly are you begging for?”
“For you to… forgive… me.” My voice breaks. He doesn’t want
me to speak. Every time a word gets out he’s driving his fingers harder, his
thumb working magic circles on my clit, eliciting heat. Fire. He has me cupped
in his hand, at his mercy.
“Keep begging me. Beg me to fucking stop,” he growls in my
ear, right before his teeth capture my earlobe and graze it. I moan when he
pulls his mouth away, the warmth of them an unbearable mix with those magical
fingers. “You want me to forgive you, you fucking beg, Angel.”
Angel… oh, God. So maybe he isn’t as angry as he seems. He only
calls me that when he means it… from what I know of our experience so far. My
back arches, and I clutch the sheets above my head. He still has my wrists
gridlocked in his hands. I don’t know how he’s doing this, bringing me so high,
but it’s happening. It’s real, and it can’t be denied.
“Beg,” he demands.
“Please, Griffin… please,” I whimper.
“Please? Please what, baby? Huh?”
“Please forgive me…”
“Forgive you for what?”
“Trying to… betray you—oh God! Lying! OHH! GOD!” He’s going
faster now, slamming, massaging, all at once. Shooting stars fly, fireworks
behind my eyelids, almost reaching high enough… and then it happens.
A great boom.
A massive explosion.
I shatter beneath Griffin’s frustrations and his rough
embrace. I cry out—I’m not sure to whom—but it feels so fucking amazing and so
very, very intense. Wave after wave hits me; I tremble and quake, my thighs
locking around his hand as he slows down, still rubbing my clit, still drawing
out my bliss.
When my body finally dies down, my hips and back drop, my
head rolling to the side, and I look in his direction. He pulls his fingers
from between my thighs, brings them up, and slides them between my parted lips.
“Taste yourself. Your betrayal. Your fucking lies,” he
growls. “You fucking lied to me, stabbed me right in the fucking back, Angel,
and yet, you still make my dick as hard as a fucking rock.” He moves his hips
forward, rubbing his cock across my thigh. I feel it, it’s familiar, and I
can’t deny the fact that I’m craving it.
Because that’s where the ultimate pleasure lies.
That’s really where the magic happens. Don’t get me wrong,
those fingers were wonderful, but that cock of his? That thing is like a jar of
notes that contains every woman’s greatest desires.
“Why are you still willing to sign the contract?” I ask when
he forces himself away from me, adjusting the hard-on in his pants.
He holds up an impatient finger in my face, head shaking,
eyes shutting briefly as he plants his other hand on his hip. “Don’t fucking
speak… I can’t listen to you talk right now.”
I frown. “What—”
“ANGELINA! Just shut the fuck up for a second!” My mouth
clamps shut as he turns his back to me, breathing unevenly. I’m so fucking
confused for several seconds, until I realize what he’s doing.
Breathing deep, his back facing me, ignoring me in my
vulnerable state—shirt ripped wide open, no panties, or pants for that matter.
I am basically his for the taking, and he knows that, but he doesn’t want to
fall for it again.
I huff a laugh, climbing off the bed just as he turns in my
direction. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t want me… you can’t take back
your attraction.”
“Hush,” he mutters, but he knows it’s true.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“The contract? Why still sign it? How did you even find out?
Did you read it yourself?”
“No. I went to my lawyer… who I just found out, has been fucking
my wife for the past two years behind my fucking back.”
I gasp sharply. I was not expecting that. “What!?”
His mouth twitches.
“How did you find that out?”
“She told me… right after she tried to trap me.”
I’m confused now. “Trap you how?”
He blinks at me, his head shaking. “It’s… a long story. I’m
not here to talk about that right now. Right now, all I have is my business.
See, what I was going to do was have my fucker of a lawyer write up a bullshit
contract similar to yours, sign it, and then have you sign it, and then own
your ass, but then I thought about it… and I realized for a person like you to
do something like this, things must have to be really bad back at home.” He
steps towards me and my stomach sinks with the heavy knots now formed. “Is that
why you won’t stay home for long? Why you don’t mind joining me for trips?
Don’t you have people to get home to? Family? Friends?”
“I’m a busy woman,” I retort.
“Yes, and you’re busy for a reason.”
“I enjoy my job. It’s what I do.”
“It’s not just that.” He’s close now, his warm breath
drifting through my cleavage and down the skin on my belly. “No, Angelina, even
though we haven’t been around each other too long, I know something is up. You
wouldn’t have done something like that, not even to the filthiest, most
ignorant man in the world, because I know where your heart stands. You’re not
that low. It’s why you were drinking tonight. Because of your regret. That guilt
is eating you alive right now. I can see it.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “I watched you for a few minutes before
I came over to the bar. You’re feeling wrong about all of this. Why now? What
triggered it?”
The room is silent for several seconds. Still. I inhale
before exhaling deeply, dropping my gaze, pointing it anywhere but at Griffin.
“What triggered it was you walking out of my hotel room, kissing me goodbye,
and smiling at me with absolute trust and security in your eyes. You had no doubts
about me whatsoever. None, Griffin, and I felt so fucking horrible about it. I
tried keeping my A-game on, to remember what I was doing it for, but I just
couldn’t. When you went to get the coffee this morning, Scott called… I wasn’t
even going to do it today, but I let him get into my head again. Like he always
does.”
He frowns. “So Scott is a part of this?”
“He’s not after you, I swear. It’s Jenkins.”
He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he leans
back and looks me over. He sighs agitatedly, and then walks around me, meeting
at the end of the square table.
Pulling the chair out, he sits, and then gestures towards
the one across from me. “You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do for me,
Angelina. Normally, I would have this squashed and you trashed by now, but
since I despise my father-in-law just a tad bit more than my wife, I will grant
you this opportunity. So sit and explain this situation to me. Don’t leave a
single detail out, otherwise I won’t be able to help you as best as I can.”
I nod, glad he’s offering me this chance. Maybe he will
trust me again—with time, of course. It’s foolish to tell him this, knowing how
often he speaks with Jenkins, but I know he’s only close because he has to be.
He works for him, so there aren’t many choices when it comes to that. He can’t
just drop out. We’ve done our research. He’s married to his boss’ daughter.
That’s no coincidence at all and I know it.
Hell, there aren’t any choices at all when it comes to
Jenkins and his loot. “Okay… I will. But let me change first,” I say, turning
for my suitcase in the corner. “I feel absolutely ridiculous right now.”
“Good. Hope you learned your lesson.”
I scoff. “Yeah, I don’t think I quite got the message. I
came. That’s always a win in my book.” I shuffle through my clothes, pulling
out a long black T-shirt that comes to the knee, and some pajama shorts. I have
never dressed so flatly around Griffin, but this, I know, is about to be a long
night. I don’t see why I shouldn’t get comfortable for it.
“Oh, you got the message. Be glad it was my fingers
punishing you instead of my dick.”
I roll my eyes and smile, but my back is to him so he can’t
see it.
I pull my hair up into a bun and then walk across the room
to the mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. “I don’t normally buy the
overpriced hotel bottled water, but something tells me I’m not allowed to go
out and grab a cheaper one, so this will do.” I take the seat across from him,
cracking open the bottle as he gives me an I’m glad you know kind of look.
He folds his fingers on top of the table, watching me as I
take a sip and then sigh from the refreshing, crisp taste.
“About your wife,” I start, but he cuts me off, lifting a
stern hand
“No… just no. Not right now.”
“But how could she tell you that to your face? She has to
have no conscience at all—no heart whatsoever.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to answer, but after giving it
some thought, he says, “She found out about you and used her affair against me
like a weapon. One thing about Colette is, she hates feeling played. She hates
not being one step ahead. It’s what I used to love about her—her ambition, her
drive, her efforts to always remain on top—until—” His mouth immediately stops
moving, eyes shifting down to the tabletop. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. She’s
beside the point tonight. I need to know everything, Angelina. So start, from
the beginning. What does Jenkins have to do with your father?”
I hate speaking of Jenkins and the relationship he had with
my father, but if this will help bring him down, then so be it. I can tell
Griffin is starting to warm up to me after our icy reunion.
And something also tells me that out of everyone he could
have run to for comfort, he came to me.
Yes, he finger fucked the shit out of me, but that’s okay.
Luckily, I like it rough. And I’m fucking lucky to have the honor of Griffin
Boyd pleasing me until Fourth of July fireworks explode above me.
So, I start from the beginning, right when my Dad formally
introduced me to Mr. Jenkins.
Huge mistake on Dad’s part.
Had he never met that man, he never would have lost his way.
Shanora Williams is a twenty-something that creates authentic romantic stories that, may or may not, make you question what a "Happily Ever After" truly is. After hitting the New York Times and USA Today bestsellers list at the mere age of nineteen, Shanora ventured further into the creative writing world, working even harder to create unique and memorable romances for all to enjoy.
She currently resides in Waxhaw, North Carolina and is the mother of one amazing boy, in love with her devoted man, and a sister to eleven.
When she isn't writing, she's spending time with her family, binge reading, or running marathons on Netflix while scarfing down anything sweet and salty. She also writes under the pen name S. Q. Williams.
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