Page 158 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“I’ll do anything,” he goes on. “But, please, don’t marry him.”
He kisses away my salty tears and I let him, because I’m selfish. I don’t know what this is—if it’s goodbye or something else.
Leaning his seat back to give us more room, we both work frantically at each other’s clothes. He rises slightly so I can yank down his athletic shorts. He shoves my cotton shorts to the side and cry out when he fills me a moment later. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I hold on as he fucks me hard and fast. It’s downright punishing, but I don’t ask him to stop. Instead, I beg, “Harder. More. Give me more.”
His tears soon mingle with my own and I wonder how we got here—how I let things get so fucked up.
My hand slaps against the window and I bite down on my lip.
“Spencer,” I whimper.
“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses my neck. “Come on my cock. You know you want to.”
I lean back and bump into the horn, the loud sound ringing out into the night, but it doesn’t slow us down.
“Right there,” I whimper when his thumb finds my clit. It doesn’t take long for me to come, and he holds my hips, pumping into me with that same relentless pace until he comes too.
“Yes,” he growls into my neck, filling me up with his cum. He stills, holding me to him. Despite the darkness, I see him clearly from the light casting over the car from the streetlight across the way. His eyes are darkly shadowed as they track over my face. “Look at you,” he croons. “You’re going to go home to your fiancé with my cum dripping out of your sweet cunt. He might’ve put his ring on your finger, but you’remine.”
I don’t correct him that Jameson isn’t there, because it doesn’t matter when he’s right about one thing—I’m his and I never stood a chance of outrunning him.
CHAPTER 63
HARLOW
Waking up, I find that my body is feeling the effects of sex in Spencer’s car. After we cleaned ourselves up the best we could, he drove me home in silence and dropped me off. I suppose he figured he’d said and done everything he could.
I press my hand to my forehead.
I have to talk to Jameson.
I’m not ready to be with Spencer, but Jameson is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this. I’m not good enough for him. Nor am I good enough for Spencer, but I need to tackle one thing at a time and that means being honest with Jameson even if it’s going to rip me apart to do so.
Rolling over, I check the clock and find that it’s a little past six-thirty.
I scoop up my phone to see if I have a text from my mom on how Monroe is doing, but there’s nothing as of yet.
There is, however, a cryptic message from Spencer that shows it came in around five this morning. Probably when he was heading to set.
I squint at the screen, trying to understand what the message means.
Spencer: I’m so fucking sorry.
He’s sorry? About last night? Or something else?
I quickly type back.
Me: What do you mean?
My phone begins to ring, but it’s not Spencer calling me. It’s my sister.
“Willa?” I answer.
“I guess I know why you avoided me, and we didn’t chat again after the engagement.” There’s a tone of incredulity in her voice. “Harlow, I … you’re my sister, I love you, nothing can change that, but what the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She sighs. “Let me text it to you.”
