Page 5 of Duress (Birch Falls #3)

EVERLY

I am picking at the Bahn Mi sliders I ordered, wishing it was an actual Bahn Mi sandwich from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant.

These are a sad imitation of the real thing.

But that place is a tiny hole-in-the-wall, and Bryce wouldn’t lower himself to going somewhere with only three tables and two employees for dinner.

No one would see him there. Bryce likes to be seen and feel important.

I feel like that’s eighty percent of the reason he is still married to me.

Being connected to me equals being connected to my dad, and he is gunning for his job eventually.

“Are you even listening to me, Everly?” Bryce’s clipped tone pulls me from my distracted thoughts of actual good food.

When I look up at him, his face is an annoyed mask.

Shit, I tuned him out. I’ve been doing that a lot when he talks about work.

Mostly because it doesn’t affect me, and he never asks me how my day was.

“Yeah, sorry. I zoned out for a second. What were you saying, darling?” The smile I give him doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I put my slider down and give him my full attention.

“I said we need to go to the Harringtons for a dinner next Friday. Skip is fund raising for his campaign for re-election. We need to make an appearance and a donation. Also, Veronica wants you to join her for a luncheon on Sunday. You will need to go to that.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his demand.

The Harringtons are some of the most shallow, superficial, pretentious busybodies I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, and for some unfortunate reason, Veronica has been trying to recruit me to be her best friend.

My gentle brush-offs and reluctance to make plans never seems to phase her.

She persists in inviting me to do things, and if I brush these plans off, Bryce will know and give me a lecture about not doing my part networking to support his career.

Forcing another smile, I respond, “I’ll give her a call this weekend.

” I shove a large bite of slider into my mouth while returning my attention back to my plate, hoping that is the end of that conversation.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and come down with a gnarly case of food poisoning from this subpar pork slider and have an excuse to stay home .

Eventually, a couple of attorneys Bryce works with come in and spot us.

Bryce proceeds to spend the next forty-five minutes ignoring me while glad-handing and chatting with them.

I throw back two more overpriced cocktails and scroll on my phone, waiting for him to remember I am there.

This is almost always how it is when we go out for dinner.

He goes somewhere to be seen, is seen, then proceeds to ignore me in favor of whomever he can connect with for whatever case or pet project he is working on.

Once I finish my third cocktail, my bladder decides it’s time for a trip to the ladies room.

My seat is tucked against the wall, and I’m blocked in by Bryce’s colleagues.

Shane and Rob? Steve and Bob? Shit, I can’t remember their names.

There’s no way I’ll be able to sneak past them without disrupting their conversation.

Bracing myself for the awkwardness, I clear my throat and stand.

“Sorry, gentlemen, I need to slip past to go to the ladies room.” Steve—or is it Shane?

—turns to look at me, and the look he gives me more closely resembles a leer.

His eyes rake down my body, lingering far too long on my chest, and I suddenly feel self-conscious about the dress I chose to wear.

It’s one thing for my husband to ogle me.

Another for his older, balder, also married colleague to do it.

This man is in his late fifties and could easily be my dad.

“Sure, Everly. Squeeze on by.” He gives me a smile that causes my stomach to turn and my dinner to threaten a reappearance.

Taking one step back, he gives a minuscule amount of space for me and my ample ass to scoot between him and the table.

Bryce’s attention is fixed on Rob or Bob, or whoever he is.

Blowing out an exasperated sigh, I move to slide past Shane/Steve.

As I step in front of him, I feel his hand fall to my hip, grasping it tightly as he pushes his crotch into my ass.

I freeze, shocked by his brazenness. He has his hands on me, right in front of my husband, and he doesn’t even seem to give a fuck.

Low, so only I can hear, he whispers into my ear, “God, what I wouldn’t give to take this for a ride. You should call me sometime when he’s working late. I’ll take care of you.”

Bile rises in my throat, and I finally come to my senses enough to move out of his grasp and escape to the bathroom.

I glance over my shoulder as I beat a hasty retreat, and see him checking out my ass shamelessly, like he isn’t even trying to hide his interest from my husband.

What the fuck? I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom, hiding in a stall, trying to calm my racing heart, hoping Shane and Bob are gone when I come back.

I can’t bring myself to get within groping distance of that pervert again.

My phone buzzes in my hand. A text notification from Bryce pops up on my screen.

Bryce

Where are you? I paid the check. Time to go.

I let out a relieved breath and step out of the stall.

After washing my hands, I make my way back out into the dining room and find Bryce waiting by the door, tapping his foot with an impatient, irritated look on his face.

Great. I made him wait to leave for five minutes after he ignored me for the last hour, and now I’m the bad guy .

Bryce’s jaw is clenched; a slight tick is all the indication I get that he’s irritated with me as we drive home. I debate if I should mention what Steve did. Would Bryce even believe me? I’m not entirely sure he would.

When we arrive home, I get out of the car without a word and head straight to our bedroom.

All I want to do is hop in the shower and wash off the slimy feeling of Shane/Steve’s touch.

I don’t trust myself not to start a fight.

Not with this much alcohol coursing through me.

As I get to our bedroom, Bryce catches up to me, grabbing me by the arm.

He spins me, backing me into the wall so he can cage me in.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is cold, harsh, but there is a fire in his eyes. He’s looking at me like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck me or throttle me.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you mind?”

“I do mind. I told you I was going to take this dress off of you.” His grip on my arm tightens, causing me to wince. When I try to look away, his other hand comes up and grips my neck, directing my gaze back up to meet his.

Annoyance at being manhandled again surges through me.

“Get your hands off me. Do you really think I want to fuck after you spent most of our date ignoring me? After your friend fucking groped my ass and said he wanted to take me for a ride? You’re delusional.

” Oops, the alcohol has loosened my tongue. So much for not starting a fight.

“ Who said they want to take you for a ride?’ Bryce’s grip tightens to the point of pain, and I let out a yelp.

“Steve! Shane! Whatever the fuck his name is! ”

“Shane said he wants to take you for a ride?” Bryce’s voice drops to a low, scary tone.

When I look him in the eyes there is a manic gleam to them. I can’t tell if he’s angry or excited or turned on.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind. Too bad for him, I’m the only one who gets to fuck this pussy.

” The arm that was holding my throat drops, grabbing my dress and hiking it up on one swift move.

Bryce grips my sex, slipping one finger past the edge of my thong into my wet pussy.

I’m disgusted with myself for being turned on by his caveman behavior, but my wetness is all the permission he needs.

A feral grin splits his face right before he yanks my dress off and tosses me to the bed.

I watch, chest heaving, as he stalks across the room, unbuttoning his pants, freeing his cock.

It’s been so long since Bryce has shown any interest in me that my mind can’t decide if I should be excited by the inferno burning between us, or angry at how he’s treating me.

Bryce crawls onto the bed nude, his erection jutting out in front of him.

He is still as gorgeous as he ever was. I lick my lips as he settles over me, the heat from his body scorching mine.

Hiking up one of my legs over his shoulder, Bryce notches the head of his cock at my entrance.

“This pussy is mine. I am the only one who gets to fuck it. No one touches it without my say-so.” He punctuates his statement by thrusting, sheathing his full length inside me.

My eyes fly open at the intrusion, and it takes a second for his words to register in my brain. No one touches me without his say-so .

The implication of those words sends dread coursing through me as he fucks me senseless.