Break Up with Him, for Me (You Belong With Me 1)

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the edge harder, as he rocked against me and thrusted in and out with controlled, yet wild abandon.

Years of our friendship unraveled and fell away with every deep stroke. With every wet kiss he pressed against my neck.

He slid his left hand up to my breast and squeezed it, whispering, “You feel so fucking good.”

I moaned as he slid into me harder.

The way he watched me through the mirror as he controlled me, as he fucked me, was beyond intoxicating. I never wanted to look away.

“Slide your hand to your clit,” he whispered. “Let me see how well I taught you.”

I sucked in a breath as he kept up his reckless rhythm, and I slowly slid my hand under the slit of my dress.

I teased my clit with my fingertips, rubbing it in a slow circle, gaining his gaze of approval.

I tried to match his tempo, but it was no use. He was suddenly getting even more turned on at the sight of me touching myself, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

I can’t hold on anymore.

I gripped the counter harder than I had all night and screamed his name at the top of my lungs.

He stiffened behind me, reaching his orgasm next.

Both panting, our bodies still entwined, we stared at our reflection to see what we’d just done.

He kissed the back of my neck one last time before slowly pulling out of me. And he didn’t take his eyes off mine while he zipped his pants.

He smoothed my hair into place, looking as if he wanted to say something, but no words fell from his lips.

The realization of what just happened dawned on me in slow motion. Each staggered second exposed that the two of us had done more than cross the line of our friendship.

We’d bulldozed over it and set fire to the bridge behind it.

“I can’t do this.” I pushed him away. “I can’t believe that I…That we…”

I unlocked the door and left.

Twenty-Seven (B)

Present Day

Penelope

I ran out of the building and into the rain, rushing toward the first available town car. The sign in the rear window read, Designated Driver: Paid for by Mr. Hunter, and a valet quickly walked over and opened the backdoor.

“Have a safe night, Miss.” He shut it once I climbed inside.

“Where to?” The driver asked.

“555 Aurora Avenue. As fast as you can, please.”

“Will do.”

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the street, but he didn’t strike up a conversation. Instead, he turned on the radio, letting the songs complement the rain’s steady percussion.

Holding back tears, I leaned against the seat and tried to process whatever the hell had happened between Hayden and me in that bathroom.

My heart pounded an unfamiliar rhythm with every instant replay, and my lips felt pleasurably sore from how hard he’d kissed me.

How hard he fucked me …

“Simon isn’t who he you think he is.” “He’s been cheating on you this entire time.” “That’s where the fuck I’ve been. Looking out for you.”

I knew he’d never lie to me, but those words still hurt to hear. And I couldn’t believe he’d waited more than a single day to tell me the truth.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

My phone vibrated against my thigh as the car coasted through Manhattan, but I ignored it.

It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I forced myself to face its screen and change Hayden’s name for the umpteenth time.

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

I opened the images one by one, feeling my stomach tighten and twist with each stolen glimpse of Simon’s other lives.

He kissed a blonde on a white-sanded beach, hugged a brunette in the corner booth of a crepe café, and laughed with a pretty redhead over confetti-speckled ice cream.

He wore glasses and a plaid shirt while wearing an “S. Gines” name tag, a suit while standing in front of a sign that read “Sam Giannis Wealth Building Seminar,” and jeans and a T-shirt while picking up a coffee reserved for “Silas Gains.”

Oh my god.

With every new picture, a memory of the time we’d shared over the past few months shattered to pieces in my mind.

As I was staring at an image of him groping some woman’s ass in the arrivals zone at John F. Kennedy International Airport, his name crossed my screen via phone call.

I hit ignore.

I zoomed in on the image and realized that this woman wasn’t just anyone. She was the fiancé who’d supposedly left him hanging on his wedding day, the woman he’d crafted as a total villain whenever he brought her up to me.

What a fucking liar.

He called my phone again, and I immediately answered.

“Yeah?” I didn’t try to hide my disdain. “What the hell do you want, Simon?”