Page 43 of Fourth Wheel
Dempsey
Ilieacrossmybed sideways, shame and bewilderment coursing through me. It’s been more than three hours since Maddie Wheeler waltzed into my room and gave me the best head of my life. I’ve hated myself a little more every second since.
We’re playing a dangerous game. Every time we get away with something like this, we deceive ourselves a little more, like what we’re doing is okay. Like if we do this, it won’t bleed into other parts of our lives. Like we can give in to our mutual attraction, and it’ll never get back to him.
I’ve spent the last few hours trying to decide what makes me hate myself more. What I allowed and how it could affect him? Or what I accepted without reciprocating?
I let her have her way with me, and I was too mind-fucked by the whole encounter to return the favor. I basically used her mouth and tits to get off, then sent her back to bed.
I should never have let her straddle me. Or undo the button of my pants. Or wrap her mouth around my dick. The second I saw her tits, I knew it was over. There’s no fucking way I won’t be back for more.
She pushes me constantly. And all I want to do is take.
The alarm on my phone vibrates, so I haul myself out of bed like I have three times already tonight and quietly head downstairs.
By the time I make it to his room, I’ve let my frustration about Maddie bloom into anger.
If he hadn’t done what he did… if he hadn’t gotten mixed up with another man’s wife... none of this would be a problem. He made such shitty choices. Now I have to live in the shadow of the consequences.
“Field,” I call out, loud enough to startle him. When he doesn’t move, I go for the kill shot, jabbing him in the armpit of his good arm until he jumps off the mattress.
“Fuck,” he hisses, whether from the pain or the abrupt wake up call, I’m not sure. He comes to and shakes out his mess of blond curls before reaching over for a sip of water.
“Good. You’re still alive,” I mock as I turn around and head back out of the room.
“You’re usually a little nicer to me when I’m possibly concussed,” he mutters before taking another sip of water and sitting up straighter in bed.
“Not tonight, Fielding,” I chastise. I’m tired. So fucking tired. And I have no interest in getting into it with him at four a.m.
“It’s because she’s here,” he says in a knowing tone.
I freeze where I stand, tempted to tell him to shut up but also morbidly curious to hear what he has to say. Is my connection to her really that apparent?
“You’re all twisted up with Little Wheeler sleeping in your wing.”
I turn in time to see him flop back down on his bed, then let out an obnoxiously long yawn.
“I get it. She’s hot,” he offers nonchalantly.
“She’s twenty,” I counter, my tone full of vitriol fueled by my own self-loathing.
“She always did want to meet you,” he muses as he rolls to his side and yawns again.
“She’s twenty,” I repeat. It’s the only argument that feels safe. We both know the real reason Maddie Wheeler is off limits. It has little to do with her age and everything to do with who she’s related to.
I wait a breath, then another, listening for the sound of his breathing as he drifts back to sleep. When I’m almost certain he’s out again, I walk back into the room and bend low, kissing his forehead and brushing the curls out of his eyes.
“It would be okay, you know,” he whispers without opening his eyes.
I freeze. Is he awake?
“Wouldn’t bother me,” he continues. “I’m fucked up enough already. You hooking up with Wheeler’s little sister wouldn’t do any additional damage. There’s nothing left to destroy.”
The truth of his pain crawls inside me and claws at my heart. He thinks he wouldn’t care—but I know him too well to believe the lie he’s telling us both.
“Go to sleep, Fielding.”
“Stop waking me up, Dumpy,” he grumbles.
