Page 40 of The Quiet After The Fall

“What about Ella? Aren’t you interested in what she’s asking of me?”

I know my face is red as I tighten my grip on the mop handle.

“Why would I be?”

“Aren’t you wondering if she found me texting you last night?” He comes closer, stepping over the half cleaned mess. “If she found out what I was doing while I was talking to you?”

My face burns. I hate him for knowing exactly where to press. “Did she?”

“How would you feel if she did?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question.”

“You want to know if my fiancée found the filthy things I said to you, Sawyer? If she found out I told you to spread your legs. To circle your clit and picture my fingers doing it.”

I’m breathing hard, but I won’t let him get to me. I refuse. “I don’t care if she did.”

He drags his thumb down my cheek, sliding it under my chin so I meet him eye to eye. “Lies.”

“I was dry as a desert last night anyway. You can dirty talk all you want but it doesn’t affect me.”

“What if I told you Ella caught me fucking my fist, thinking about your wet cunt.”

He annunciates each word, deepening his voice so it reaches my bones. “I hope she cursed you out.”

He laughs, and it’s so fucking infuriating that I want to scream. I step back again, adjusting the mop so it’s in front of my body like a shield.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just that she did the opposite. She climbed on my lap and rode my cock until⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck, Knox!” I barely recognize my voice. “Leave. Go home!”

“There she is.”

His smirk ignites my blood. I want to crack this mop over his fucking smug face. Images of Ella on top of him, circling her hips, her dark hair in his face, moaning his name…I see red.

I look at his Jeep.

“Sawyer—”

His hands on her hips, his face when he comes inside her. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.

“Don’t—”

I’m already moving.

I swing and the handle connects with the driver’s door. The thunk cracks through the quiet lot like a gunshot, bouncing off every nearby car and out into the dark.

My chest heaves and some of that rage rolls off of me, but it’s not enough. I look at Knox, expecting him to rush at me, to stop me, but he’s standing perfectly still.

“Feel good?”

“Not as good as it would feel to smash your face.”

“Do it, then,” he says, smirking. “Hit me.”

“No.”