Page 31 of Hate the One You're With
And speak of the devil, my phone buzzes with her name flashing on the screen. My stomach tightens, a bit of tension creeping in as I swipe to answer, half-expecting her to say Caleb canceled everything. “Clarissa?” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t tell me he’s backing out because . . .” My voice trails off, unsure of how to finish the thought.
“Oh, I have no idea, but I was thinking?—”
“Nope,” I quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear whatever wild idea she’s about to suggest. One whirlwind in my life—courtesy of my late grandmother—is more than enough. If Clarissa adds her flair to the mix, this whole thing might spiral out of control.
“You haven’t even?—”
“Nope,” I say again, more determined this time. I start humming “la la la la” to drown out her voice, heading toward the balcony for a breather. As I step outside, I’m greeted by a view of the park below—a view I might miss once my life as a Langley is over.
I let the breeze calm my nerves, trying to imagine a life where I’m not tied to that last name. Maybe I’ll even change it, start fresh. Emmersyn Hayes? Emmersyn Blake? EmmersynKing? I test them out in my head, seeing if any of them feel right. None of them quite fit, but the idea of leaving the Langley name behind has its appeal. A clean slate, a new beginning.
The thought lingers as I continue to block out Clarissa’s voice, letting myself imagine what life could be like with a different identity, free from the weight of the past.
“You’re not paying attention to me,” Clarissa complains, her voice cutting through my daydream.
“If it’s related to your brother and the will, the answer is nope,” I reply firmly, making it clear I’m not budging.
“But—think—about—it—a—six—month—vacation—in—some—remote—paradise—while—he’s—living—in—New—York,” she spits out so quickly it’s like one long, tangled sentence. It’s more like a big blob of gibberish than anything coherent.
“Still, the answer is no. We have to share the same house. Percy will be checking in on us,” I say, though my confidence wavers slightly.
I think Percy will be checking in . . . right? Honestly, I’m not even sure what’s supposed to prove we’re following the rules. Are there any rules other than sharing a house and a bed? Which, by the way, I’m definitely not sharing. Caleb can get comfortable on the floor for all I care. Like a good wife, I should buy him an inflatable mattress as a welcome gift.
“Are you one hundred percent sure about that?” she asks.
“Yes, I went through the whole will. I had several lawyers doing the same. It’s ironclad.” I start pacing back and forth on the balcony, the cool breeze doing little to calm my nerves.
“There’s no way to avoid the six-month cohabitation. It’sfine, though. I added a clause of my own,” I say with a hint of satisfaction, thinking of the little twist I’ve thrown into the mix.
“I’m trying to help, but it seems like this time you’re really screwed,” Clarissa sighs. “I wish my brother was less . . . well, Caleb.”
That makes me laugh because, for once, we both agree on something. “Yeah, he’s too broody, too stubborn, too infuriating . . .” I trail off, because she shouldn’t hear me say, ‘and sometimes, way too hot for his own good.’
It’ll open Pandora’s box or give her the wrong idea about us. Clarissa wasn’t kidding when she was asking for a niece or a nephew—or both. In her very crazy mind, her brother and I should fall in love and become a real couple.
That will never happen between us. He’s infuriating, really. But is it him or the situation that’s driving me insane?
How can someone be so maddeningly difficult yet still make my heart race just by breathing the same air as me? The way his jaw clenches when he’s annoyed, those intense eyes that seem to see right through me—it’s like he’s a walking contradiction. I can’t stand his arrogance, his refusal to bend, and yet . . . I can’t ignore the pull.
Even now, I can’t stop thinking about that phone conversation. How I told him he couldn’t touch me, trying to keep control, and how he turned it around, denying me his cock. The memory of his voice, thick with desire, telling me I didn’t deserve it, still sends a shiver down my spine.
The worst part? He was right. I wanted it then—so badly it made my breath hitch. I could feel the heat pooling between my thighs, my body betraying me as his voice wrapped around me like a command I couldn’t disobey. My hand drifted down,sliding beneath the waistband of my panties, and I was already soaked, slick with need for him. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape as I touched myself, his voice still echoing in my mind, dark and demanding.
I wanted him to push me, to take me to the edge and make me beg. And I did beg, silently, as my fingers circled my clit, the pleasure building with every word he spoke. He didn’t need to touch me to get under my skin, to make me ache for him. Just the sound of his voice, thick with control, was enough to send me over the edge.
I came, trembling, biting down on my lip to keep quiet, his words still ringing in my ears. It wasn’t just the orgasm—it was the way he made me feel, the way he took control even when we weren’t in the same room. He owned that moment, and part of me hated that I let him, that I wanted it so much.
And that’s what scares me the most. This pull, this undeniable attraction that has me second-guessing everything.
How can I hate him so much yet crave his touch, his voice, and his dominance? It’s infuriating, confusing, and yet . . . I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I just let go, if I stopped fighting and let myself feel everything he’s making me feel.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
I have to keep control, even if it kills me.
“Okay, I guess I’m out of options,” Clarissa sighs, bringing me back to the conversation and away from her tempting infuriating brother. “Just for the record, I tried to help you because I remember how things ended up last time.”
