Page 58 of Another Life

It’s the only safe thing I can think to ask.

“I’m wrapping up a film,” he tells me, and I open my eyes to watch the Boston night sky, tilting my head against the glass window. “If I’m being honest, I was hoping I’d see you here.”

I want to ask him why. I want to remind him of the last time we saw each other. I want to ask him about his ex-wife. I want to demand an apology.

So many things I want to do. But more than that, I want to take from him and leave him with his withered hope.

The car comes to a stop outside the Boston Harbor Hotel, and I continue staring out the window, at the gorgeous building. I’ve driven past it many times, never having been inside.

“Are you ready?” His question is quiet, but not as I quiet as I am, only giving him a nod, not even looking his way.

I hear his door open and before I know it, he’s opening mine, offering his hand to help me out.

Still silent, I take it. And all while we walk through the building, into the elevator, and up to his room, he keeps my hand in his.

It’s a display of affection I wasn’t afforded in the past—one I deigned to accept. One I’m coming apart over.

He wants to kiss, to hold hands, to rehash the past and fall in love all over again.

He wants to make love to me. But I want to fuck him the same way he did my heart.

I’m better with revenge than I am with forgiveness.

We walk into his suite and as he removes his jacket, I peruse the room, ending up at the large window, taking in the view of the harbor.

“I like seeing you here,” he murmurs, and I jump a little, not realizing he was so close. He makes quick work of sliding my jacket off my shoulders and when it hits the floor, I take a deep breath.

“The red is different,” he murmurs before running hisfingers along the base of my neck. When I tilt my head to the side to give him access to more skin, he slides his fingers into my hair and grips the strands to keep me still. “I’ve been looking for bright red and all this time, you’ve been hiding under this ginger shade.”

It’s too much.

Why can’t he just fuck me quietly?

In an effort to keep him silent, I turn and kiss him, placing my arms over his shoulders.

Would this be considered our second first kiss? I’ve kissed quite a few people since him, but none as skillful as he is. It’s a thought that makes me still, thinking of Peter.

He feels me stiffen and pulls back to look into my eyes.

“What is it,Stellina?” I shove him toward the bed, and he stands there, watching me.

“Stop talking,” I murmur before I step back, yanking my blouse from where my waistband anchors it. He watches with hooded eyes, leaning back against the footboard of the bed as I step out of my heels.

I note the way his brows rise at the sight of one of the heels tipping over to reveal its red bottom.

Yes, I’m a whole different bitch.

Maybe it’s the vengeance fueling me. Maybe it’s the men I’ve learned from in the years since he’s known my body. Maybe it’s familiarity of his desire; a feeling I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried.

I want to be in control. I need to be.

But,God, I’ll lose control if he keeps talking to me.

“Get on the bed,” I instruct, my fingers dancing over his chest before I push at his unyielding frame. But he relinquishes control, sitting on the bed before leaning back, his elbows hitting the mattress.

I hike up my skirt, pulling at my panties, loving the way his gaze follows them down to the floor.

I pick up the scrap of red and place it on the bed besidehim before unbuttoning my blouse and letting the silk fall to the floor, kicking it to the side.

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