Page 117 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Thank you. Finally, an honest answer.”

“I was honest with you when you asked me what I wanted.” He stripped the pads off his hands and tossed them aside. “I wanted to meet you because of your name, the Montgomery name, and my interest in you was mainly sexual when we first met. It was never meant to get more complicated than that.”

“Alright. Then fuck me.” I tore the Velcro of my gloves open with my teeth and let them fall to the ground.

“No.”

“I want you to fuck me. Right now. Right here. All cards on the table. August Beckett and Delilah Edwards. No more lies. Come on.” I pushed him and he dropped a step back, putting some distance between us.

“No.”

“What? Scared you won’t make me come?” I pushed him again, his back colliding with the elastic ropes. “Or were you only turned on by my naïveté? Is that what gets you going? The lies? Wide-eyed Delilah lapping them up?”

“Delilah, stop.” My hands froze and hovered over his chest before I could give him another push. In one swift move, he grabbed my wrists and spun me around, pushed against the corner post of the ring. His body pressed into my back, air wedged from my lungs. One hand like iron around my wrists, the other slipped around my waist and into my pants, pinching my clit between his fingers. Sharp pain shot through my nerves, along with a spark of heat. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut.

He tugged my workout shorts down to my thighs, not letting go of his grip on my wrists. He pushed two fingers into me, painfully fast. “You want this?” I couldn’t spread my legs with my pants tying my knees together, but he pumped in and out, the slick sound filling the gym.

“Yes,” I moaned when a new wave of tears spilled down my cheeks, “more.”

A zipper. The rustle of fabric. He pulled my hips back, bending me in the middle, and then he pushed into me. It was the worst pain I’d ever experienced during sex. I bit my tongue so hard, a bitter metallic taste welled up in my mouth. I couldn’t open far enough. I wasn’t wet enough. He was just fucking into me, too big and too fast. And I started doing what I always did: Moan when the dick hit deep, clench when it was pulled out. Throw in an “Oh god, yes.” every now and again and clench down harder. Within a few minutes, he groaned and spilled himself into me.

The second he pulled out, I straightened, tugged my pants back into place and climbed out of the ring. “Goodbye, Beck,” I yelled over my shoulder before disappearing into the shower. Never had I ever wanted to scrub a man off my body faster.

FORTY-EIGHT

I shouldn’t have fuckedher.

I should not have fucked her.

I. Should. Not. Have. Fucked. Her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I wanted to bang my head against the wall until my brain started rattling, because that thing was clearly not working. The same thought had been on repeat since last night.I shouldn’t have fucked her.But I was a fucking idiot.

“Working from home today?” Brody asked.

I snapped my head up from where I’d pressed it against the cool metal of the refrigerator - which hadn’t helped either - and watched her snatch an apple from the fruit bowl. “No, and you’re not going to school. I actually need you to go and pack an overnight bag.”

“What?” Her brows furrowed just before a stubborn hope unfolded on her features. “Do you know where Dad is?” I really didn’t and it was better that way. I’d spent a lot of money to retain that plausible deniability.

“We’re going to see your aunt Eva.”

“We’re what now?”

Eight hours later, our jet landed in Portland, and Eva greeted us with a big, pink, sparkling sign that read ‘Brody’ in neon letters. She pulled Brody into a tight, motherly hug the second we were close enough. “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” she squealed, bobbing from side to side with Brody in her arms.

I hadn’t spoken to Eva since the wedding, 17 years ago, until last night, after I came home from the Vortex. Turned out, Julian had done his fair share of damage to ensure her side of the family wanted nothing to do with ours and vice versa. He’d also done his fair share of damage to Brody’s trust.

Which meant I owed Del a bigger apology than I’d thought. No wonder she hadn’t picked up the phone for a few measly flowers.

Eva wrapped an arm around Brody’s side and led us to her car. “Your uncle’s told me that you’re into sports. Your mother and I actually used to be competitive figure skaters, you know?” Okay, so maybe they wouldn’t bond over their favorite sports, but Brody’s eyes lit up at the mention of her mother.

I didn’t let her out of my sight, but I gave her space that weekend. Space to meet her cousins and show the 8-year-old how to kick-punch his bullies into oblivion. Space to look through old pictures of her mother and try on her horrible 2001 prom dress - and keep it. Space to learn her grandparents’ traditional donut recipe that sparked an entire business. I may have given her less space for that last one, crowding around the kitchen island with her.

“You never told me what happened between you and Del.” Brody plopped down on the porch bench beside me that evening, another donut speared onto her pinky. She pulled my phone out of my hands, sliding it face-down onto the table.

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