“No,” I shake my head. “I want a husband who loves me, who would do everything in his power not to hurt me—and that doesn’t just include physically, but emotionally as well. I want a husband who doesn’t fuck every pair of tits he comes across who offers it up. I want devotion, and I want him to want a family as much as I do. You don’t, Sloane, and that’s okay. Maybe there is a woman out there who will love you and be okay with you being with other women; maybe there’s a woman out there that you couldn’t imagine cheating on, but I just know that that woman is not me. If it were, you wouldn’t have cheated on me repeatedly for over twelve years.”
“Imogen,” he rasps as his hand moves to cup my cheek, his eyes searching mine. “I can’t change the things I did, baby. All I can do is be better for the future.”
“What does that future look like to you? What do you want?”
“You, sunshine, and whatever comes with you. Whatever you want,” he murmurs.
God knows that I want to believe all of these sweet words, but this isn’t anything new. Sloane knows how to sweet-talk me, and I believe him every single time. I buy all of his sugary words every single fucking time.
Even right now, I want to believe him, I want to believe in him, but I’m not sure if my heart can handle it anymore. There isn’t much left of me, and I’m afraid to hope one last time and have there be absolutely nothing of me left when he betrays me.
“You’re so risky, Sloane,” I whisper.
“Give a sober ex-con a chance, sunshine,” he murmurs.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I whisper, mostly to myself. I know he hears me because his fingers flex and he grimaces.
“I hope not,” he grunts before his lips press against mine.
I don’t bother to get up. Rather, snuggling closer to his hard, warm, body, I do something I haven’t done in days—I close my eyes, and I sleep.
Imogen’s breathing evens out and her body becomes heavier against mine as she falls asleep. Guilt. It’s an emotion I should feel on a regular basis, but I don’t. I never really have felt it before, except when it comes to Genny. I’ve felt bad, angry, regretful, but never truly guilty. I’ve just lied to my wife, again, and not only a small white-lie, I’ve downright fucking lied to her.
A family.
I’ve never really wanted one, and I still don’t. Yet, to keep her, that’s one of the major things she needs from me. Something she’s mentioned more than once, twice, or even a dozen times to me over the years. I offered it to her, half-heartedly throughout our marriage to appease her, but I never really thought she’d push for it. She didn’t, until now. I had a shitty childhood. I’m aware that I never did without financially, but emotionally, I was extremely destitute.
My father has never shown any other emotions toward me but disappointment and anger. He’s selfish, fucked up, and abusive.
My mother has always been so worried about upsetting my father, about being perfect for him, and then later about drowning in a bottle, that she never had time to nurture me. She spent my entire childhood trying to save her own ass that she had no clue how messed up our whole family dynamic was for me.
In order for me to keep Imogen, I’ll have to knock her up. That I can do, the fidelity thing I’m not so sure I can do. I’m not scared of fucking someone else, or of being able to say no because I could. I just don’t know that I would say no when the opportunity presents itself.
In fact, it’s not really the desire for other pussy, it’s the desire to get blitzed. When I’m stoned, I don’t give a fuck what I’m doing or how it’ll make anybody feel. When I’m wrecked, all I care about is climbing higher and higher.
Then I crash, and fuck me, the resentment I feel toward myself is too much, so I search for that dope again and I end up fucking whores, drinking, and doing stupid shit that I know is wrong. I end up acting just like my goddamn father. Isn’t that the fucker? I act exactly like the man I despise. I treat my wife the way he treats my mother.
I squeeze my eyes closed and can’t get the image of the look on her face the first time Genny caught me with another woman out of my mind. She looked devastated. I was blitzed as fuck and just brushed it off, because I literally didn’t give a shit in the moment. It’s so hard, to be what she needs and what I need, and being high, that thrill and that escape from reality, it was easy. It was always easier to escape through dope and booze.
Fuck, I’m such a dick. Even now, I’m not sure I could keep from fucking around. It’s not that I don’t love her, because I do. I love her as much as I’m capable of loving another person, but sex is sex, and I need it—the thrill, the escape, just like with dope.
I need it all. Without it, I don’t know who I am. I’ve been rebelling and fighting for so long, I’m not sure how to just be. I don’t want to lose her, either. Sitting in that cell, thinking about her and how much she means to me, and how much I truly missed her, I know that I need her in my life.
Opening my eyes, I look down on her sleeping against me. I should let her go. I should let her find someone who could make her happy, someone who can stay faithful and give her those kids she wants without reservation or hesitation.
Fuck.
Her doorbell rings, and I slide out from underneath her sleeping body before gathering my jeans. I yank them up my legs and hips, zipping them only as I make my way downstairs to the front door. I pull it open without looking through the peephole, and I’m met with the angry gaze of Graham.
I can’t contain my smirk as his eyes widen and then narrow on me. Taking in the fact that I’m shirtless, barefoot and answering Imogen’s door in the early evening, he practically growls at me.
“So, it’s true. The whore lied to me, then,” he grunts.
“Genny doesn’t lie.”
“So you didn’t get back together?” he asks.
“We did, but not until about an hour ago. I have more important things to talk to you about, you prick,” I growl.
He chuckles. “And what’s that?”
“You hit my wife,” I state. He winces but stands firm and doesn’t respond. “Do you have anything to say for yourself there?”
“You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. Her father doesn’t want you with her, and he’s going to make life really fucking difficult for her, and you, if she doesn’t toe the line. Just remember that,” he says, lifting his chin.
“Oh, I’ve won, Graham. Haven’t you realized yet? I always win; and with Imogen, I always will. My dick is the only one she’s ever known. You aren’t getting even a taste of her, you piece of shit. You come anywhere near her again, and I’ll kill you,” I rumble.
“We’ll see,” he winks before he turns and jogs away. My entire body jolts as I watch him go.
I close the door and turn around on a heavy sigh as I make my way back up to Genny. I’m done. I decide right here and now. This worry about other women, this worry about staying sober, this worry about me chasing a high, it’s done.
Maybe it took Graham coming over with his cocky as fuck smile, maybe it was the fact that he’s threatening to take the only woman who has ever loved me away. Maybe it’s that he represents the fact that I was on the verge of losing her forever. I’m done.
Gathering her in my arms I inhale her sweet scent and press my lips to the top of her head. From now on, I fight, but I don’t fight her. I fight for her and for us. I’m going to fight my demons, and I refuse to be my mother, to drink myself to death, or to get blitzed anymore. I refuse to be the bastard my father is. What I am going to be is a better man. Starting right fucking now.
I groan and stretch, my arms colliding with a hot body lying next to me. Opening one eye, I see Sloane’s sleeping form next to me. His hair is a mess, and his full lips are facing me. I stare at him and wonder what exactly is going to happen next. Before I can even think about any scenarios, one of his eyes opens and he grins.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs, wrapping his hand around my waist and tugging me closer to him.
He throws one of his legs between my thighs.
“Morning,” I whisper before my breath hitches when he presses his thigh against my center.
“You ready to pack your shit and come home tonight?” he asks as his fingers tweak my nipple.
“What? No,” I breathe as I arch closer to him. He repeats the motion then adds a tug to my hardened nipple.
“Why the fuck not?”
I shrug, “I don’t want to rush anything. I’m not ready for anything serious, not with you.”
I watch as a storm passes through his green eyes, and then he shakes his head.
“Sunshine, I’ve been your man for twenty years. We aren’t really rushing anything, and we’re fucking married. That shit’s as serious as it gets,” he quips.
“I’m not ready to move back up there. I’m not ready for everything that the club includes. Plus, I want to make sure this is going to work before I leave the city again,” I whisper as I hitch my leg around his waist.
Sloane slips his hand between my thighs, and I shiver when two fingers dive inside of me and curl immediately.
“Genny,” he rasps as he works me up, his thumb pressing against my clit while his fingers fuck me.
Moaning, I whisper, “I’m serious, Sloane,” I roll my hips as I search for more from him.
“How long?” he groans as he moves his hand and then thrusts inside of me, rolling me onto my back while he slides to his knees.
“I don’t know,” I admit as I spread my legs as wide as I can and wrap my hands around his forearms.
“We can’t move on with what you want, the way you want it, if you keep your pussy here, sunshine,” he grumbles, his head dipped down and focusing on our connection.
“Maybe I want to see if you can keep your dick in your pants,” I sigh as he starts to thrust a little harder.
“Not big on being tested, baby. Either I get full access or we go back to the way it was and you spread for me when you’re feeling horny,” he grinds out.
“You fucking asshole,” I gasp as I reach up to slap him across the face.
Sloane catches my hand and starts to pound inside of me. His grip on my wrist is solid, his strokes firm and hard. His eyes blaze into mine with a heat and anger he shouldn’t be allowed to possess, since he was the one being a dick.
I feel my orgasm rush through me, and I know that Sloane feels it, too. His fingers flex and he fucks me wild until he’s coming inside of me with a roar. He doesn’t stay inside for long. He pulls out and stomps toward my bathroom before slamming the door. I don’t know what I did to piss him off so much, but I’m not his puppet.
I may not be the cold-bitch I was three years ago, but I’m not about to follow after his every whim either. If this is a real relationship, a marriage, then there has to be compromise. Plus, I don’t think that I’m being unreasonable in not trusting him and his roaming cock.
A few minutes later, he emerges, still naked. I’ve slipped on the soft Devils shirt that I had been wearing earlier, along with my panties, and I have the covers pulled up to my waist. I watch him move around the room, silently. He grabs his phone from his jeans pocket and pokes at it for a few minutes before he finally walks over to me.
“What do you want, Imogen?” he sighs, almost in defeat, as he sits down.
“I want this to work. In order for that to happen, I need to trust you. It’s been a long time since I’ve trusted you, Sloane,” I admit.
“I don’t see how we can change anything with you living here and me there,” he says, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He’s calm and rational, his green eyes bright and intent looking at me.
“I’m willing to discuss something different.”
“What if you lived at the house and I lived at the clubhouse?” he asks. I can’t help it, I burst out into a fit of laughter.
“What?”
“Tell me something.” He nods for me to continue. “When was the last time you fucked a clubwhore?”
I watch as his face pales and he winces.
Yeah. Exactly what I thought.
“So what? You’re gonna keep me on a leash now? I told you I’d give you want you want. Fidelity is one of those wants. I’m willing to put in the work, try to be the man you need me to be, in order to keep you and keep us together”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but I’m sorry, I would never be able to trust you living down there,” I say. He nods and looks down at his feet. “How about I live here until my parents’ summer party, and we see if this is what we want? I can come to Shasta for a few days here and there, and you can stay here?” I suggest.
Sloane lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hand over his face before he turns to me. I watch as his green eyes roam over my face, and land on my bruise. He reaches out and his fingertips touch it.
“I don’t want you here without protection,” he murmurs softly.
He looks so worried that it hits me somewhere deep inside. As long as I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him worry like this about me.
“Can you arrange that for a couple weeks, or do you want me to hire someone from daddy’s firm?” I ask.
“I’ll arrange protection for my own fucking wife,” he growls.
“Okay, Sloane,” I murmur.
He leans down and presses his lips to mine. His tongue sneaks out to taste my lips, but he doesn’t take it further.
“I have to head back to the club tonight,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to leave you,” he says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine.
“Why do you have to leave tonight?” I ask.
“I have a meeting with my probation officer tomorrow morning first thing,” he admits.
“Yeah?”
“Gotta piss in a cup and all, sunshine,” he grumbles as he sits up.
“So that’s why you’re sober? Because the state is forcing you to be?”
“Sober for three years in prison, sunshine, not exactly a big deal to keep at it,” he shrugs.
“It is for someone who uses it as a crutch to deal with other parts of their past,” I point out. I then watch as his face turns red in anger.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I saw your mom the other day. She did my makeup for me. She told me about the abuse. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask.
Sloane stands and grabs his clothes, quietly and quickly dressing while I watch and wait for him to speak. He shakes his head after he pulls on his boots and looks over at me.
“It was a long time ago. My mother shouldn’t have said anything,” he growls. His body is stiff as he moves around, and I know this is a topic he has no desire to discuss.
“It may have been a long time ago, but Sloane, it’s affected your entire life. It’s affected us,” I murmur. His eyes flash with unbridled anger. He’s completely shutting down on me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Imogen,” he says as his eyes shutter closed and he turns to walk away from me.
If I let him go right now, I know that he won’t talk about this ever again. We need to talk about it. We need to have discussions like this or we’ll forever be two separate people living in a house together, when he’s around, that is. I climb out of bed and hurry down the stairs after him.
“Sloane, stop,” I demand as his hand reaches for my front door handle.
“What?” he bites without turning around.
“You can’t ignore this. We need to talk about it,” I call out.
I watch, waiting for him to leave me standing in the living room alone. To my surprise, he doesn’t. He turns and looks at me. His eyes are completely blank, and he looks the way he always did when I would bitch at him. Bored. Indifferent. Walls built so fucking high not even a professional rock climber could get over them.
“What do you want to talk about?” he sighs.
“Sloane,” I whisper as I close the distance between us.
He doesn’t watch me, his gaze focused on the windows that look out at the city in my
living area.
Once I’m directly in front of him, I wrap one of my hands in the back of his hair and I tip his head down to look at me. That angry muscle in his cheek jumps, but I don’t let myself become bothered by his anger.
No matter how angry he’s been toward me, he’s never once hurt me. I may not trust him in many aspects, but I do trust that he would never physically hurt me.
“Your father hurt your mother when you were a child. Don’t act like it doesn’t affect you now. Don’t act like that wasn’t a reason you did drugs and drank, like it wasn’t an escape for you. And don’t pretend that sex wasn’t a way to have affection. It all ties in together,” I say.
His eyes go from blank to angry. I welcome that anger, because at least he’s not completely impassive.
“Fine, you want the truth?” he barks. I stiffen at his tone, but I don’t move away from him.
“The drugs and booze helped me escape when I was young, but he didn’t just hit her, he hit me too, Genny. As I got older, dope and booze, they helped me escape from your bitching. I know they were the reason you bitched, but I didn’t care. The higher I got, the more I really didn’t give a fuck.
The pussy was easy and you weren’t. I didn’t give a fuck what I was doing when I was blitzed. I didn’t think about how you would feel, or about anything else. Getting caught was just another high. I wanted to. I wanted you to see me fucking those whores, to know. I got off on being able to talk my way back into your bed after you’d seen me inside of another woman. It was all a goddamn game.”
“Sloane,” I whisper as tears fall from my eyes at his hurtful words.
“You wanted to talk about it. You fucking got it, sunshine,” he bites out. I find that I hate the way he uses the nickname in anger.
“I’ve always loved you, Sloane. Since the moment I laid eyes on you across campus—you in your beat-up leather jacket and your jeans. The way you didn’t give a shit what anybody else thought. Then the way you would be so sweet to me. I felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world to be on your arm. After you graduated and you left, I thought that I’d lose you; but you came back every weekend, and I fell deeper in love with you with each passing day. That boy, he’s still inside of you, he’s just hurting. I’m here for you, baby,” I whisper.
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