You’re dreaming, Scarlett.
Wake the hell up.
My brain stutters for a moment, my eyes taking in more light than I expected. Every part of me goes on pause while my thoughts catch up. His desire to touch me only increases with his fingers gliding down toward my legs and using his knee, the force spreading my legs open wide creating a gap while his groin presses against me.
Words are trapped beneath my erratic breathing, desperate to ask how this happened and say his name to confirm it’s really him.
But there’s no chance to process this madness.
This is not happening.
What have I done?
His fingers play between my legs, rubbing at a slow and agonizing pace. Tell him to stop. Ignore the sensation consuming your body and focus on how very wrong this is to have him in your bed, touching you intimately.
His grunts are short, his demand to have his way with me overpowering my strength to push him away and tell him we can’t do this. The edge of his lips scrapes against my ear as he whispers dirty words, telling me I’m only his forever and now, telling me how much he needs me and cementing his desire by running his hands alo
ng my clit and rubbing it roughly. My eyes shut, body out of control as my chest rises and falls, the sensation rippling throughout me before I let out a long-winded moan. The waves of pleasure burst through me, again and again, making it almost impossible to move under his touch.
He clasps his hand over my mouth, whispering, “Quiet… you’ll wake the kids.”
Kids?
The pleasure which consumed me only seconds ago disappears instantly with a cold, hard, slap in the face. The realization that what we’d done is so wrong that my stomach hardens from the sick feeling which buries itself deep inside of me.
There are many moments in my life I’m not proud of, but this one takes the damn cake. A poor decision on my part, though, I had absolutely no recollection of last night’s event. I don’t remember anything involving Noah besides our talk at the bar before Morgan stormed in and started the fight to end all fights.
He senses my resistance, pulling away slowly without saying a word. I hope he understands how wrong this is. Despite our argument, and the name-calling, Morgan doesn’t deserve this.
Damn! I am a homewrecker. This is a new low for me. I have morals, I have boundaries, and this is one I never intentionally wanted to cross. Morgan’s right, I am a slut, and nothing can erase what we’ve just done.
“What’s wrong?” He kisses my shoulder, turning me around, so our eyes meet.
I don’t want to look him.
Terrified the reality will slap me hard in the face.
I shut my eyes, refusing to open them. Wishing I could turn back time, erase the destructive path we’ve just created in our lives.
“I said, I’m sorry,” he barks, frustrated as all hell.
My eyes open wide at his harsh tone. It’s Noah, there’s no mistaking it. His blue eyes are staring back at me, demanding a response of some sort.
“Sorry?” I gulp, unable to connect any rational thoughts to my words.
“Sorry for our fight.” He falls onto his back, lacing his arm behind his head. “Those divorce papers got me so angry, I just didn’t understand why you did it. I agree with Dr. Parkins, we need to attend regular marriage therapy. If you’re not willing to go, then what’s the point. Huh?
“Divorce papers…” I repeat. “Marriage therapy?”
Maybe he’s had too much to drink, or maybe he’s taken something—ecstasy or coke to ease his pain. He isn’t thinking straight that’s for damn sure.
This is just a dream.
He’s talking to me as if I am Morgan.
I simply needed to wake up.
C’mon, Scarlett… wake the fuck up.