Secret (Betrothed 9)

The front door opened.

I didn’t even flinch because I knew exactly who it was.

“Baby, it’s me.” He carried bags to the counter then started to open my cabinets and fridge, because he’d picked up groceries on the way. I never asked him to do that. He just did it on his own, even though I was perfectly capable of grabbing my own necessities.

“What did you get?” I asked from my bedroom. We’d fallen into a domestic routine, so comfortable with each other that it became our new way of life.

“Food. And I grabbed your favorite wine—even though it tastes like shit.”

I smiled at his deep voice. “Thank you.”

He came into the bedroom, looking so sexy in his low jeans and gray shirt. He looked at me and started to strip, removing his thin shirt before getting his jeans loose.

I stopped reading and stared at him.

He grinned slightly, like he enjoyed the attention. “Got something to say?”

“Nope…” I stared at his perfect physique and watched his arms flex as he crawled onto the bed.

He moved on top of me and kissed me, pushing the book away until it thudded on the floor. Then he overtook me completely, making me sink back into the pillows. Anxious, he pushed down his boxers so his dick could be free, and he pulled my panties off, leaving my shirt on because it took too much time to take it off.

Then he slid inside me, both of us slowing down once we were finally connected.

“Yes…” My arms wrapped around his neck, and I released a deep breath, loving how full I felt the second he entered me.

With his forehead to mine, he rocked into me slowly, breathing with me as we enjoyed each other. He moaned quietly from the back of his throat, pausing in his thrusts like he needed a chance to process how good this felt, like he was caught off guard every single time we were together.

“You love this pussy, don’t you?” I spoke against his lips, talking dirty even though I never had before.

He moaned in response, louder this time. “This is my pussy…” He started to rock harder, making the headboard tap against the wall. “And I love my pussy.”

The sound of falling water was loud because Heath was in the shower just down the hallway. After a few sessions, he was hot and sweaty, and he usually liked to be clean before bed. He continued to shave with my razor instead of bringing his own, even used my toothbrush though he could have grabbed one at the store every time he went.

I picked up my book from the floor and kept reading.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand, lighting up the dark and being obnoxiously loud.

I ignored it.

Then it started to ring.

I kept ignoring it.

Then it vibrated again—and again.

I set my book down because I wondered if something important was happening and Heath needed to know about it. I leaned over his side of the bed and grabbed his phone.

That was when my heart dropped into my chest.

Some bitch named Dynasty texted him a nude picture of herself, her tits in full focus. My hand shook as I stared at it, jealous, angry, pissed, all of the above. It was none of my business, but my emotional response outweighed my pragmatism, and I opened the message box.

Another photo for your collection.

What collection?

I opened his photos next, and he had a whole separate folder for dirty photos…with all kinds of different women. Sometimes the photos were taken with his phone, with the women right beside him.

I felt sick.

I dropped the phone like it burned me.

Now my heart raced, my ears burned from the rise in temperature, and I was so livid I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure why I was so angry. I didn’t think Heath would ever fool around with someone else, but if that wasn’t the case, why were women still texting him? Why did he continue to have those photos even though we’d been together for a month now?

What the fuck?

I stormed into the bathroom and yanked on the curtain.

He stilled, looking at me like he had no idea what was going on.

“You fucking asshole.” I slapped him across the face then shoved him into the opposite wall.

He was so caught off guard, he nearly fell, gripping the shelf to stabilize himself. “What the fuck?”

I grabbed the bar of soap and threw it at his face. “Piece of shit.” I closed the shower curtain and marched off again.

The water turned off, and his footsteps were loud behind me a few seconds later.

I grabbed his clothes off the ground then turned around and threw them in his face. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He smacked the clothes down when they came at his face, his look full of rage, more furious than he’d ever been. “You care to explain what the hell you’re freaking out about—”