Page 22 of Tainted Love
“Uh, uh,” I tsk, with a shake of my head. My free hand drops to the hem of her towel, and brushes against the inside of her thigh. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and a shiver wracks her body, causing a surge of satisfaction to washover me. “Don’t lie to me, Bea. I can smell my scent all over you. Did you think about me as you fucked your cunt with your fingers?”
She shakes her head, well, as much as possible while my fingers are still wrapped around her delicate throat. When she finally brings her amber gaze back to mine, her lips are turned up into a sneer.
“As if,” she rasps. “I was thinking of Killian and how skilled he would be with his drumsticks.”
I don’t even realise my grip on her neck has tightened until the sound of her choking cuts through the roar of my anger. I release my hold and I punch the wall beside her head, causing Bea to flinch, before pushing away from her and storming out of her room.
Slamming my own bedroom door closed behind me, I pace in front of the window. From here I have a view of the pool. I can see Asher and Killian horsing around, while Wyatt lounges on a pool chair, his phone in his hand.
My fists clench and I glare down at my drummer as he pushes Asher into the pool before jumping in after him. Kill is a huge flirt. Male, female, anything with a pulse, he doesn’t discriminate.
I warned the blond fucker Bea was off limits, yet he still flirted with her. Fuck him, he should know I don’t mess around when I make a claim.
Bea’s feisty, and though she is trying to fight it, it only turns me on even more. She’s never going to win against me. She’s mine until I decide I’m done.
THE DOORBELL RINGS as I make my way back downstairs and I storm over and throw it open. My scowl ticks into a smirk the moment I see Bea’s boyfriend standing on the step. He’s dressed in a short-sleeved white button-up shirt and tan shorts, looking like a preppy fuck. I lean against the doorframe, blocking his entrance, and cross my arms over my chest.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince Harry,” I taunt. “Haven’t seen you around here lately. I thought Bea might have come to her senses and kicked your arse to the curb.”
Satisfaction washes over me at the flash of anger in his eyes when he straightens to his full height—as if this shithead can intimidate me.
“It’s Hunter,” he snaps haughtily. “I see you haven’t left yet.”
I snort. “It’s because I live here, dickhead. Where did you think I was going to go?”
His jaw clenches like he wants to bite back, but to my disappointment, he backs down. “Is Beatrice here?” he grits out.
“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t.” I pretend to peer around him to see if there’s anyone else around. “Who wants to know?”
I’ve got to give the guy props, he has balls. He steps into my space, leaving merely a breath between us.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he says, shoving a finger into my chest. “But Beatrice isn’t some little groupie slut who will leavemefor someone likeyou. She has way too much class.”
The smug look on his face is begging to be wiped off. As tempted as I am to lean in and tell him just how wet his girlfriend was for me less than half an hour ago—even if she denied it—the sound of light footsteps behind me alerts me to Bea’s presence.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I don’t know if her annoyance is directed at me or him, but words fail me when I turn to see her wearing nothing but a white bikini that compliments her olive complexion and leaves very little to the imagination.
Fuck.
I’m tempted to slam the door in her boyfriend’s face and take her against it hard and fast while he listens to her melodic moans from the other side. Before I can make good on my thought, she narrows her eyes on Hunter.
“I told you we are done, and I meant it. Stop calling me. Stop coming over. I will not change my mind.”
“Beatrice—”
“It’s Bea!” she snaps with a frustrated growl. “Jesus Christ, Hunter, pull the stick out of your arse. I fucking hate when you call me that name.”
A snicker escapes me, causing Hunter’s face to go an even darker shade of red as his eyes ping-pong between us. But I simply arch my brow and smirk, and this only makes him even angrier.
“You’re nothing but a filthy whore,” he spits at her. “Don’t think you can come crawling back when he’s done with you.”
Bea’s reaction time is fast, and the sound of her palm connecting with his cheek is extremely satisfying.
“Later, Harry,” I say, as I hook my hand around her waist and pull her back inside the house before slamming the door in his face.
She squirms out of my grip, planting her hands on my chest and shoving me away from her. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she seethes.
