Page 42 of A Lethal Game of Trust

“Come around my cock,” he ordered. “It’ll feel better tomorrow, but let me feel you now.”

Somehow, I managed to call out his name as it hit me hard.

“This will be short and sweet,” he said, running his hands up and down my sides. “But we’ll make up for it later.”

There were only a few more thrusts before I felt him come inside of me with a grunt, his hands all over my body.

14

You’ll Regret This

Leonie

When he pulled out, he stood, slipped off the condom, tied it and walked out of the room.

Without a single word.

My heart was still beating a mile a minute and now it was beating with an echo of guilt, shame, fear that he’d done exactly what I had expected the whole time. Used me and now chucked me like that damn condom.

I needed my clothes. My socks.

It was when I stood up — the only things under the sofa were a few of Ghost’s toys — that I saw it on the TV stand. A framed photo of Dom and Mia, smiling. They were clearly at a wedding, he was in a black fitted suit and her a red, skin-tight midi dress.

He’d given up the models, the wild nights out, the bachelor life, for her. It boiled my blood.

They looked happy. She was grinning from ear to ear, he was looking down at her with an emotion some might confusefor love.

A facade. Dominic Belov only ever showed you what he wanted. Either he had been lying to Mia for a whole year, or he had lied to me last night.

I hoped it was me.

Tears were in my eyes, threatening to fall as I pulled my underwear on and shook out my jeans so they were no longer inside out. I wanted my bra. I wanted my top. I could only find one of those stupid white socks.

Pathetic, embarrassing Leonie. He calls asking for a favour, after hating me for over ten years, and I come running in an awkward waddle with my legs spread and my knickers at my ankles. Exactly how he expected and exactly who I thought I no longer was.

Where was this bloody sock?

He came back into the room, completely naked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I snapped and pushed past him to the hallway.

I retrieved my clothes, pocketing the bra and throwing on the top before running up the stairs to find my phone.

“Leo,” he called, his voice laced with concern.

At his bedroom door, his grip latched onto my arm and pulled me around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is great,” I chirped, avoiding his gaze and looking at the rug on his bedroom floor for my phone.

He tugged to bring my attention to him, but he’d had enough of my attention. For years.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Fine! I sign myself up for being used, again and again, like it’s some secret kink I have,” I shouted. “It’s like I have a bigass sign on my head: Use little Leonie. She’s gagging for it.”

He was so silent that I finally looked up at him. His hazel eyes were narrowed, looking down at me with a frown. His hold on me slackened.

“Youweregagging for it,” he said, his voice cold and I could have slapped him there and then. “But that’s the point. I wasn’t using you if you were using me, too. Did you not enjoy yourself? Because I’m sure I made youtasteotherwise. I can pull down these jeans and show you on my fingers how much you—”