Page 42 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. I am too. But everything’s going to be fine… eventually.” I rub her back and kiss the top of her head.

She pulls back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Right. Eventually.” Her voice is still shaky, but she looks up at me. “You seem tense. What’s going on?”

“Agh, just work shit. It’s been stressful making sure everything for this trip next week is ready to go. I’ve already got a lot on my plate during the day, and on top of that, I have a coworker who’s being difficult.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Difficult how?”

I grip the back of my neck. “I don’t know. She just pushes back on a lot of things. It’s starting to piss me off.”

“You know you work too much. It’s too many hours—too much stress… You need a day off.”

“I’m fine. I like the distraction.” As soon as I say it she flinches, and I realize how it sounded. “Not from you… just… from everything.”

“Come here.” She takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom, sitting me on the bed. Standing between my legs she starts to rub my shoulders. “Your shoulders are really tight. Try to relax.”

“That’s just from my workout. You don’t have to do this Beth. I’m fine.”

“Stop. I want to.” Her fingers knead into the muscles of my shoulders and neck, easing the tension, and God, it feels good. She’s in her usual pajamas—a tank top and a pair of shorts.They never match, but that’s always been her style, and I never cared. It’s so Beth, and it showed just enough skin to keep things interesting. Tonight, it’s a gray tank top and red shorts, her breasts right at eye level. She’s never had big boobs, but they’ve always been perfect—perky, with great nipples.

Beth’s hands work their way up to my scalp, her fingers threading through my hair. I let my head fall forward, resting against her chest. Her skin is warm, and I breathe in her familiar scent—the same Dior perfume she asks for every year for Christmas. It’s comforting in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

I haven’t been touched like this in months, and suddenly, every muscle in my body is aching for more, craving her touch. But I’m unsure if it’s Beth’s touch specifically that I’m longing for, or if it’s just the feeling of being touched at all.

Without thinking, my hands slide up her thighs, gripping her hips. I feel myself hardening, my body responding to the simple touch, the closeness. God, I’m tired. Tired of holding everything in, of feeling like shit every day. I press my face into the space between her breasts, breathing her in, feeling that old pull—the one that’s both familiar and frustrating.

She feels it too. I can tell. Her fingers still for a moment before she looks down at me. “Ryan,” she whispers. Her hands slide down from my hair to my shoulders, her breath shallow.

My fingers press into her skin, needing something—anything. I lift my head, brushing my lips against her chest, then her neck. She shivers, a reaction I haven’t seen in a long time.

“Wait,” she murmurs, her hands firm on my shoulders, stopping me. “Let me… do this for you,” she says softly, already starting to lower herself to her knees in front of me.

I blink, confused. “Beth, you don’t have to—”

“No, I want to,” she insists. Her eyes meet mine, earnest and a little desperate. “You’ve done so much for me, and I knowthings aren’t the same between us. But I want to do this… for you.”

I hesitate, torn between frustration and the way her fingers graze my thighs, already undoing my belt. She’s right; things aren’t the same. They never will be. But right now, with her looking up at me, offering something I haven’t felt in months—relief, release—I’m too far gone to care.

“Okay,” I murmur, my voice thick. “If you’re sure.”

Beth nods, giving me a small, sad smile. “I am.”

I lift a bit as she tugs at my pants and boxer briefs, pulling them off, and I can’t help but let out a sigh as her mouth wraps around me.Fuck.It feels so good—too good. I close my eyes, leaning back, trying to focus on the sensation and not everything else. Not how she’s trying to fix something that’s beyond repair. Not how I’m letting her, using her, even though I don’t want to be here.God, I’m a dick.

The tension from the day—the bullshit with Cooper, the stress of this trip, everything—starts to melt away. But as much as I want to just give in, I can’t shake it. The guilt. The frustration. Cooper’s voice in my head calling men creeps, and here I am, proving her right. My wife is down there, trying to please me, trying to make things right, and all I can think about is how much I’d rather be doing this with someone else. Someone who doesn’t look at me with sad, hopeful eyes… Someone like Cooper.

I’m just like the guys Cooper hates. And maybe she’s right to hate them. Maybe she’s right to hate me.

Beth’s rhythm picks up, and I push those thoughts away, focusing on the sensation, trying to lose myself in it, even if it’s just for a moment.

Chapter 14

COOPER

I scowl at Ryan as he takes his sweet-ass time getting ready for our work session tonight. It’s been a long goddamn day, and I’m over it. The past nine days following the Christmas party have been hell. A slow, burning, torturous hell. Not only do I loathe Ryan and everything that he’s about—or at least that’s what I tell myself—I loathe my fiancé at the moment as well—they’re one and the same. Men who lie and put their physical needs before the people they claim to love.

To top it all off, I started my period about an hour ago, and I feel like the devil reincarnated. My hormones are raging, I’ve got cramps, a headache creeping in, and I’m tired. I’m also sick of fighting with Brad. He has not relented with the snarky, suspicious comments about Ryan and me working together. And now, with my admission about Newport, he’s got fresh ammo. He’s great when he wants sex though—yup, he can magically flip that charm right on, like none of it ever happened.

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