Page 31 of Accidental Groom
Elena, bare, throwing a pillow at me with anger in her eyes, almost every inch of her on display.
Elena, twisted under my hands in the penthouse suite, gasping my name like it was the only word she knew.
I don’twantto remember how she arched off the bed when my thumb swept the inside of her thigh. I don’twantto hear the way her breath hitched when I murmured filthy praise against her skin. And I don’twantto think about how she’d looked at me two days ago, challenging and furious andalive, like she was waiting to see if I’d cross the line she knew I’d drawn.
But my body doesn’t give a shit about what Iwant.
Steam fogs my vision as I brace one forearm against the tile wall, the other working over my cock with rough, punishing strokes. Water burns down my spine, but it’s not enough to wash away the fantasies creeping in — how her thighs would tremble if I had her pressed against this same wall, how her nipples would harden under my tongue, how she’d whimper and gasp if I tilted her hips just likethat?—
Goddammit.
My grip tightens. The pressure builds, heat coiling in my gut like a snake ready to strike. Everything morphs — it’s not just my hand anymore, it’sher, vivid in my imagination. Her mouth. Her thighs. The slick grip of her pussy?—
Stop, stop, stop?—
A ragged groan rips from my throat.Disgusting. That’s what this is. She’s half my age, she was meant for myson, I’m meant to be taking care of her, for Christ’s sake, not beating off to the thought of her.
My hips jerk, betraying me.
In my head, she’s on her knees right here in this shower, her lashes damp and fluttering up at me,daringto take what she’s offering. The fantasy burns too vividly. Her tongue tracing the head of my cock, my fingers tangled in her soaking hair, my name slipping from her lips between gasps for breath or gags.
AndGod, the sounds she’d make. No timid little sighs, no hesitant whimpers. She’d moan like she did in the penthouse suite, loud and messy and shameless, her body vibrating with need. She wouldn’t stop until I was spilling every drop down her throat?—
“Fuck,” I choke out, loud and unhinged, my release slamming into me so violently that my knees nearly buckle. The spray rinses the evidence away in seconds, but the emptiness that follows is so much worse than the lust that was clouding my head.
I turn my face into the water, letting it scald me, half in punishment and half to clear my thoughts.
It’s not enough.
This isn’tenough.
Chapter 11
Elena
Two weeks of living in the cottage, and I’m finally starting to feel like I can breathe again.
The morning air is crisp against my face as I lace up my hiking boots on the cottage’s front steps, dew clinging to the grass and the ivy. I’ve been eyeing the trail system that winds through the estate for days, catching glimpses of it from my bedroom window, but work calls and the lingering awkwardness with Harry have kept me inside.
Not today, though. Today, I need tomove, need to get out of my head and into the woods where the only thing that matters is putting one foot in front of the other.
I shoulder my small backpack, just a water bottle and a granola bar inside, and set off into the grass. The main house looms behind me, its windows dark except for what I assume is Harry’s study on the ground floor. He’s probably already buried in Switzerland hotel plans or Croatia updates. Matthew’s been gone for over two weeks now, with next to no updates on finding George, and Harry’s been increasingly tense, spending longer and longer locked away with his work and avoiding me like the plague.
Which is fine. The less I see of him, the less I have to pretend like that argument in my bedroom didn’t end with me taking the coldest shower of my life before I sank into the bath.
The trailhead sits at the edge of the manicured gardens, marked by a simple wooden sign that readsHighcourt Nature Reserve - Private Property. Beyond it, the forest opens up like something out of a storybook. Ancient oaks and maples create a cathedral of greenery overhead, dappled sunlight filtering through leaves that rustle every time the wind blows.
I follow the main path deeper into the woods, my boots crunching softly on the freshly fallen leaves and pine needles, easy signs pointing to the start of fall. The air smells of earth and moss andlife, so different from the perpetual stale air of event spaces and wine tastings. Here, at least, I can finally hear myself think.
Or try to, anyway.
My thoughts, annoyingly, keep circling back to Harry, to the way he’d looked at me in my bedroom doorway, to the careful distance he’s maintained since. We pass each other in the larger kitchen sometimes, when I need to grab something or when a chef makes dinner and I’m too lazy to make something for myself, just polite nods or a briefhello,but it’s like we’re both walking on eggshells, afraid to disturb whatever fragile peace we seem to have established.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear the approaching footsteps until they’re right behind me.
“Elena.”
I spin around, my hand flying to my chest. Harry stands on the trail behind me, slightly out of breath like he’s been jogging, wearing a pair of casual, dark jeans and a charcoal grey henley that unfortunately makes my pulse skitter.
