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I would go. And as an added bonus put some distance between me and Atticus. Because clearly I couldn’t be trusted in his presence.
Chapter 7
GWEN
Sweat made locks of my hair stick to my forehead under my satin cap as I thrashed, stuck in the throes of my nightmare.
I knew it was a dream.
The same one I'd been having for two months now. Tonight was worse though. Seeing him had set me back. Tasting him, holding him, touching him made the dream that much more visceral.
Add in what had happened on the subway platform and my subconscious was in overdrive. And like a fool, my subconscious made it worse by replaying over and over what he’d said to me, how he’d held me. Every filthy word he’d whispered to me as he fucked me in my office.
Why did you do that to yourself?
Not like it was my fault. I couldn’t control my damn brain.
I’d been the one to say yes. Like a moth to a flame. Like some kind of Carrie and Big shit.
As if he wasn’t the reason for the dark hole my soul had been dragged into.
It was bad enough that each night when I went to bed between the cool Egyptian cotton sheets of Lance’s guest bedroom with the twinkling lights of London’s Soho neighborhood lulling me to sleep just outside, I was transported back home, to my penthouse in New York with Atticus. To that night in the study as he told me he didn't love me.
I remembered Atticus, cold and unyielding, telling me to leave. Telling me I belonged with Lance. Telling me he didn't want me. And me, begging him, bargaining, yelling… so angry, embarrassed, and rejected. But he didn't budge, and I had been left with no choice but to walk out. To leave the place I'd been building as my home. Leave behind the man who had made me promises after he’d chosen me.
A tortured moan escaped. I felt arms side around me. Soothing, comforting, holding me tight, telling me I was okay.
I was startled awake, groaning.
I scrubbed my hand over my face and dragged off my duvet.
This, was all too familiar. I grabbed my favorite Colombia hoodie, slipping it over my head before padding out into the living room.
The scent of buttered popcorn hit my nostrils, making me smile. “You know, we’re going to have to brush and floss again.”
Lance shifted the blanket on his lap, making room for me as he shuffled the popcorn bowl. “I’m willing to live dangerously if you are.”
I grabbed a handful, chomping down and letting the comfort seep into me as he threw his arm around my shoulders. "Thanks. Sorry my nightly dream and startle awake routine is keeping you from your beauty rest.”
Lance shrugged casually. “Meh, I’m pretty enough. You're fine. I couldn’t sleep anyway."
I narrowed my gaze at him. “Liar.” This had become far too routine for it to be coincidence.
Lance shifted on the couch and adjusted the volume on the East Enders rerun. “Walls are a little thin and you mutter in your sleep.”
“Oh fantastic,” I’d been keeping him up. "I'm sorry I woke you,” I said. “I wish this could stop. I should probably just get my own place."
"No! You’re being ridiculous,” Lance insisted. “You're not getting your own place. Why, so you can be home alone? At least this way I can be here for you. I make excellent popcorn."
"Yeah, but you're not getting any sleep."
"One of these days,” he said, “I'm going to suggest we just fall asleep on the couch."
I shook my head and said nothing.I hated this. Why wasn’t I over this already.
You’ll never be over it at this rate. You shouldn’t have fucked him. You shouldn’t have let him make you come.
“I’m not sure it would help.”
