Forbidden Lust

5

Barrett

Ijust turned away my Hampton fuck who had arrived at the house to ride me till sunrise.

Connor rang, telling me Lourde had just witnessed her boyfriend fucking another woman, and after hearing that, I wasn’t in the mood. I was fucking livid.

It was déjà vu.

Talk about getting dealt the shit end of the stick more than once. The poor girl had more heartache than Jennifer Aniston.

Quickly, I grabbed my keys, picking up the closest set on the keyholder, my black Audi R8. Good. I’d get to her sooner. The thought of Lourde alone on the streets had me testing the speed limits of the V10 engine and white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire way. Slowing down slightly to navigate the corner, I spotted a shadowy figure in a dark green dress on Windmill Lane. I slammed on the brakes and jolted forward. Killing the engine, I jumped out and walked toward her. “Lourde,” I said in a low voice.

Shit.Lourde’s arms were curled around the satin dress across her knees, and when she peered up at me, the whites of her eyes were tinged red. Mascara stained the tops of her cheeks, and tears pulled at the corners of her eyes. For a moment, I took her in. She wasn’t perfectly made like the porcelain doll she always was. She was broken and so fucking perfect it hurt.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Barrett, can we just go, please?” As she pulled herself to a standing position, her dress opened, revealing a high slit to her mid-thigh. My dick hummed in my pants. What a fucktard Hunter the third, fourth, or fucking fifth was.

I opened the door for her, and she climbed in. Where the fuck were her shoes?

I didn’t ask.

After closing her door, I slid inside and started the car up again, slamming the door shut. The engine roared as we went down the street.

“Thank you for coming, Barrett,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me, Lourde. I’d do anything for you.”

I felt her stare but kept my eyes pinned to the stretch of road. It was the truth.

“Connor’s like family to me, which means you are too.”

She sighed. “Yes, of course.”

“What happened?”

With her voice almost at breaking, but she proceeded to tell me how her evening unfolded. How she saw Hunter and some slut in his lap on a dune, riding him and moaning like a cheap whore. Okay, maybe I added that last part.

By the time we got back to my home, my skin burned with rage. I pressed the remote, and the garage door rolled open. After I slid the car in, I killed the engine, stepped out, and opened her door. I slammed it shut, then turned to her. Her startled expression changed as she took me in.

“What is it, Barrett?” she asked as confusion splashed across her pretty face.

“I want to smash his face in, Lourde, for what he did to you.”

Her eyes widened at my admission. “Get in line,” she said, clutching her purse to her body.

Side by side, we rode the elevator in silence. Her attention was glued to the floor a million miles away. In the dim elevator lighting, my gaze fell upon her profile of a small nose, high cheekbones, and creamy skin. A dusting of freckles dotted her cheeks and the hollow of her neck. The last time we were this close was when I stupidly pulled her onto my lap all those years ago after her debutante ball. The night I wanted to kiss her bow-like lips but didn’t dare.

I was about to say something when the doors pinged open. As I walked out of the elevator, I signaled her to follow. Arriving past the foyer and into the kitchen, I turned around. “What can I get you? Water? Coffee?”

She tossed her clutch on the counter, and I held my hand out, stopping it before it dropped to the ground. “Why me, Barrett? Why does this happen to me?”

Damn. She was asking me?

She made her way toward the kitchen counter. Under the lights, the satin clung to her waist, down her long legs, and between her thighs. Fuck! I should’ve taken that quick blow job earlier.

She sat on the bar stool. “Or are all men assholes?”

Strategically, I stood on the opposite side of the counter, needing that barrier between us.

Fuck, she was gorgeous. Even with her mascara-stained cheeks and glassy hazel eyes.

“All men are assholes. What can I say?”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re not helping.” She put her head in her hands.

“Hey.” I walked around and grabbed her hands. She glanced at me. Quickly, I dropped my hands and took a step back. What the hell was that?

“What I meant to say was, some of us cheat, some aren’t built for love, and then there’s the rest. They fit the mold and get married, mostly because society dictates they should.”

She stood up and stepped toward me. Her hair smelled of salt and berries. Her eyes were black and smudgy like magnets drawing my gaze. “And which man are you, Barrett?”

“Easy, I’m the man not built for love. And the biggest asshole of all.”

“Ugh.” She turned away. “I need to sleep.”

Truth hurts, sweetheart. Get used to it.“Follow me.”