Page 44 of Shattered Souls
“Good,” he purrs. “This hole is ours. One day, we’re going to fill all of your holes. Have you so full that you’ll feel like you’re going to burst from your skin. We’re going to fill you with our cum—allthreeof us.”
As if he knew that was what I needed, my release rushes to the surface at the image of allthreeof them taking me at once. With another couple of pumps, Royce explodes in my cunt, and Logan grunts as he spills down my throat.
My legs give out, and Logan bundles me into his arms before I can collapse. Eyes narrowed, my hazy gaze lands on Grayson. More specifically, the blatantly obvious hard-on stretching the fabric of his jeans, before I slowly drag them up to his face.
The extent of the hunger, the possession burning in those dark depths, should terrify me.
Itshould.
But it doesn’t.
It makes me excited for when I can have themall.
12
LYDIA
Dabbing at my lips with my cloth napkin, I glance at my husband seated at the far end of the table as I determine how to breach the subject in a way that will ensure I get what I want.
Something I’m accustomed to achieving… except when it comes to my obstinate husband. Of course, he gave me everything I expected when I married him—money, the lifestyle I wanted, lavish gifts. Our marriage was one of contractual obligation: He gave me the opulent life I’d always strived for, and in turn, I’m the pretty accessory on his arm and in his bed every night.
The problem is, as time went on, I wanted more.
I wantedhim.
Yet, all he ever wanted washer.
I analyze him for another moment as I delicately slide my knife through the filet of poached salmon and place it in my mouth before setting my cutlery on my plate and lifting my chin, pinning him with my gaze.
“Bertram, wearegoing on this trip,” I state assertively, disregarding his previous objections. My voice echoes in the large dining room, vibrating off the walls before reaching him.He lifts his gaze, chewing on his bite of steak. “The matter is not open for debate; it has been decided. People will be expecting us to take this time to reconnect. It will seem strange if we don’t take time for ourselves.” I pause, tapping my perfectly manicured nails on the table for emphasis. “I’ve arranged everything already. The pilot is on standby and ready to leave tonight.”
My declaration is met with the scrape of his knife against the plate as he cuts another chunk of meat before soaking it in red wine au’ jus and putting it in his mouth. The silence that follows is thick and oppressive, charged with the unspoken battle of wills that hangs in the air between us—two predators circling one another, each waiting for the other to show a moment of weakness—as he chews deliberately on his bite of steak as if savoring it more than he ever savored any moment with me.
He sets his fork down with meticulous care before finally deigning to respond.
“Lydia.” His tone is measured and icy, as it often is with me. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m afraid your decision lacks the necessary consultation.” His eyes meet mine, unflinching and cold. “A trip sounds charming, truly, but I have more pressing matters to attend to here. Matters that require my undivided attention and are, quite frankly, far more important than the gossip mill of bored housewives.”
Irritation surges through me as he leans back in his chair, a faint, infuriating smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, you know my focus is on reconnecting with our family and re-familiarizing myself with my business.” His stare is hard. “Your arrangements are noted, but they do not dictate my actions.”
He pauses, letting the silence stretch, clearly enjoying the tension, the challenge in my eyes. “You can dismiss the pilot. That plane won’t be going anywhere tonight. Nevertheless, dofeel free to go alone. It’s not like your presence will be greatly missed.”
I watch, seething internally as he dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before dropping it onto his plate and rising. His oxfords squeak as he crosses the floor, pausing when he reaches my side. He stares down at me, a smugness twitching at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps you should invite Riley over to keep me company while you’re away. We can catch up, father to daughter. You know how much I havealwayspreferred her company to yours.”
I see green.
He goes to move past me and I dart out of my chair, putting myself in his face. “You can’t talk to me that way! How dare you bring her into this—say her name in my presence.”
Bored.That’shis expression while I scream in his face.
“Iam your wife!”
Finally, I get a reaction from him. “Yes,” he drawls. “You are.” His lips are pursed in disappointment before he leans in and lowers his voice. “I wouldn’t be getting too comfortable in that role, if I were you.”
With that, he walks out, leaving me gaping at his back.
“Well, did you invite her?” Bertram snaps at me at dinner the following evening.
“Invite who?” I enquire, keeping my eyes fixed on the plate as I delicately slide my seared scallop through the cauliflower purée and beetroot reduction. I’m still mad at him for his callous remarks last night and his not apologizing.
