Ex Games

He didn’t have to tell me that he was going to come.

I pulled him out with a naughty pop just in time, pointing his cock at my body and letting him finish with a roar onto my breasts. He gnashed his teeth, his awed eyes unblinking as he watched the endless streams fall onto me, one by one.

Our lips were still locked as he cleaned and zipped me up.

Back at the party, while chatting with Sawyer and Sloane, I could still feel a drop of Jake under my dress, in my skin. Silently, I savored it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next morning, I woke up a guilty mess.

It didn’t help that I had spent the night once again dreaming about Jake. Sitting up in bed, I felt short of breath, immediately suffocated by the memory of last night. Angry. Vengeful. Bitter. Those were the words I used to shame myself. But at the back of my head, I wondered if they were totally accurate – if I’d done what I’d solely to get back at Jackson, or if his lies had just been my excuse to feel Jake inside of me again.

Because I couldn’t deny it anymore. I wanted him. I thought about him when I wasn’t supposed to think about him. I touched myself and imagined my fingers were his.

Jackson’s plan had officially gone awry. I was supposed to sleep with a random person to know the feeling of a meaningless affair. But instead, I’d slept with a man who made me want more – who made my body ache for him more than I ached for my fiancé. And to top it all off, he was my fiancé’s brother

This has to stop, I told myself, resolving to make this day about straightening things out with Jackson. We’d hash things out about our fight over Audra, I’d tell him that I’d finished our deal and we’d go back to being us, to being the same, perfect Jackson and Lara that once existed.

Unfortunately, Jackson spent the entire day out. When I texted him, he claimed to be in important meetings. At night, when I couldn’t reach him and texted Caleb, Caleb told me that they were all out having drinks.

And so I went to bed, determined to talk to Jackson when he got back.

But the next morning, I found him passed out with Caleb and Sawyer on our couches downstairs, all three of them still wearing the shirts and pants they’d gone out drinking in. That entire Sunday was spent nursing all three of their hangovers. When I brought Sawyer his 2PM breakfast, he kissed my cheek and asked Jackson if he knew how “fuckin’ lucky” he was to be marrying me.

“Very lucky,” Jackson said distractedly as he read a text on his phone. I glared at him so hard that I knew poor Sawyer could feel the tension because he randomly excused himself to make a call. But even with him gone, Jackson didn’t bother looking my way. He didn’t care to. He knew I was there but he kept his eyes glued on his phone, blissfully ignoring the fact that I was livid to the point of leaving.

Because I simply couldn’t understand it.

He’d done nothing but hurt me for the past couple of months. And yet I still tried to make it work. But every time I did that, I uncovered another one of his terrible secrets. I realized another reason I should leave. But instead of leaving, I gave him opportunities to explain himself.

And somehow, he was the one angry with me.

That night, I had gazed into my closet for a half hour, a glass of wine in hand as I wondered what I’d pack if I left. Staring, drinking, I eventually decided on nothing because everything would remind me of Jackson. Then, in my fury, I sat in bed, let the buzz fade, and with a fully sober mind, resolved to talking things out with my fiancé before having any more irrational thoughts.

So on Monday, I awoke shortly after Jackson and found him on the terrace with a cup of coffee. He was half-dressed for work – in black boxer briefs and an unbuttoned dress shirt, his grey tie draped around his neck. He looked undeniably adorable, answering emails with one hand an

d unsuccessfully trying to button his shirt with the other. I instinctively wanted to help him but instead, I reminded myself of the reason I’d come out here.

“Jackson.”

He barely looked up. “What’s up.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’ve spoken probably a total of eight words since Jake’s party.”

“Yeah.”

You ass, I crossed my arms. “Jackson, can we talk about what happened that night?”

He didn’t look up from his phone. “I thought we agreed not to bring it up again because it was ridiculous.”

“No, you said it was ridiculous but I still think it’s pretty valid,” I said, my words measured. “And considering the other dramas we’re coming off of this year, you should probably understand why I might be sensitive to the fact that you’re getting a little too cozy with another woman. The fact that she’s your stepsister and someone you have history with only makes it worse.”

Jackson finally looked up at me. “History?” he repeated.

As in sex, I wanted to say. But since Jake would be my obvious source on that information, I held back. “Yes. History. History that you’ve purposely never told me about, that led me to think it was something traumatic and upsetting when it clearly wasn’t considering how close you two looked the other night.”

Jackson laughed, setting his phone down and standing up. “Christ. This Gabrielle thing’s made you paranoid, hasn’t it?”