Page 45 of Shattered Dreams
“Harder, Roman. Harder thanhefuckedme.”
Jesus fucking Christ!
My hand fists her hair as I yank her down from the counter, bending her over before slamming back into her.
“Is this harder than he did it, huh? Is this enough for you?” I hiss, bruising her hips with my fingers. “Does my wife want to be fucked hard by her husband?”
“You’renotmy husband!” Ava throws over her shoulder, just as I grip her chin.
“Yes. I. Fucking. Am.” I punctuate each word with a thrust so hard she cries out, gripping the counter so she doesn’t fall.
She cries out as her body tenses around me, her pussy clenching and squeezing my dick like it missed it too.
Did she do this with him? Did he get to feel this?
“I hate you!” she half sobs, and I bow my head, releasing myself into her as she says it over and over again.
“So hate me, baby. But you’re still mine.”
When it's over, we stay connected, breathing hard, her face buried in my neck. For a moment, I think maybe?—
"This means nothing." Her words are quiet but final.
"Ava—"
"It meansnothing."
I pull back to look at her, but she won't meet my eyes. "Baby?—"
"Don'tcall me that." She pushes me until I step back, then rises from the counter, already reaching for her clothes. "This doesn't change anything, Roman. This was just..." She trails off, wrapping her arms around herself.
I can’t…
"Just what?"
"Just me saying goodbye." She finally looks at me, and her eyes are empty again. "It won't happen again."
I reach for my shirt, my chest tight. "Ava, we can work through this?—"
"All I see is you and her, do you know that? That is all I see. You can stay, but not in our room. Poppy deserves better than her parents living apart or fighting. I don't know what the fuck I want, but I can't have you clouding my vision with your fuckboy skills."
She walks away, her hair falling in between her shoulder blades as I feel myself physically ache.
"I'm not a fuckboy; I'm your husband," I mumble.
How the fuck do I get my wife back?
I watch her climb the stairs, each step taking her further away from me. When she reaches the top, she doesn't look back.
I'm left standing in our kitchen, half-dressed and completely broken, realizing that having her body meant nothing if I couldn't have her heart.
And I'm not sure I ever will again.
17
ROMAN
It’s been seven days. Seven days since I had her against our kitchen counter, seven days since she told me it meant nothing, and every day was pure hell.
