Page 63 of The Substitute Fiancée

I feel her hand tense under mine.

“Yes,” Sam explains softly. “She overheard me talking about it with Anna on the phone.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my jaw clenching.

“I’m sorry. Sorry I was blind enough to fall into her trap.”

The silence stretches. Then her fingers lace with mine.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs. “You couldn’t have known. Even I didn’t realize how much she hated me. But none of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s what matters.”

I nod and pull into the underground parking garage.

When the engine cuts off, I draw her into my arms and kiss her, tenderness and gratitude woven together.

“Yes,” I murmur against her lips. “We’re together. And this time, I won’t look away.”

Sam unbuckles her seatbelt and I recline my seat so she can climb onto my lap. Her knees slide on either side of my hips and she leans toward me to kiss me. My cock hardens and pulses gently against her lace panties. I lean down and kiss her cleavage that smells of wine. I lick her skin with the tip of my tongue and she arches backward to offer me her throat while her pussy rubs against my erection.

The parking garage is shrouded in darkness. I lower her zipper and free her breasts. Her lace bra is so sheer it’s indecent. I take her breast in my mouth over the thin fabric and wet it with my tongue. She moans with pleasure while grinding against my hard cock until ecstasy overtakes her.

I lift her up a bit, just long enough to free my shaft and push her panties aside. She watches me as I align us both, then, eyes locked on mine, she slowly impales herself on my erection.

My hips rise to meet her. My mouth finds her breasts again as Sam rides me without restraint. I’ve never known such a torrid relationship with a woman. And when her walls tighten around my cock and I release my climax inside her, I’m terrified by the passion she inspires in me.

21. Red Flags

Samantha

My graduation project is coming along well. Out of the thirty works required, eleven are already finished: seven oil paintings and four watercolors. I paint both at school and at home. In fifth year, personal work takes up a considerable amount of space. Once my pieces are completed at school, I bring them back home. Suffice it to say, the Lacroix sisters’ living room and dining room are as much a place to live as they are a miniature artist’s studio.

Today, I’m working at home. I need quiet to paint. Watercolor does not forgive distraction. Once the color is laid down, it’s almost impossible to go back. It demands a clear decision, absolute trust in the gesture.

I prepare the sheet, the composition already sketched out. I gently wet the paper. Too much water and it warps; not enough and it resists. Then I glue it carefully and let it dry.

When everything is ready, I sit at the dining table. Natural light floods the room. I lay out my brushes, my pans, my jars of clean water. It’s a chance to break in the Raphaël brushes and the new pans Alexander gave me.

Then I begin.

The sky first. A wash of blue mixed with violet spreads slowly. I preserve the whites, let the water do its work. The trees come next, blurred, distant. Finally, the architecture in the foreground—sharper, more assertive.

Very quickly, everything else disappears.

Time.

The world.

Thoughts.

Until I stop short.

The brush trembles slightly between my fingers. I frown. That never happens to me.

I breathe and try again. But something resists. The wash freezes where I don’t expect it to. The color no longer flows the way it did before.

I set the brush down.

My phone is there, on the table. Screen black. Silent.