DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

my comment off like a joke. “How romantic.”

“Are you dogging me for wanting to sleep with my wife?”

“I’m barely your wife. We don’t—“ I tsk and shake my head again.

“You hid me, not the other way around. I would’ve made a banner if you wanted me to, Emmy. I don’t give a fuck what Marty or Mills have to say about it.”

“And Kyson?” She flicks a brow. “What do you think he’d say if he knew we married each other on accident?”

“Who said it was by accident?”

Emmy squints at me. “I do. We were drunk and—“

“And I was crushing on you for years.” I corner her literally between two walls so that she can’t excuse what I’m saying like she always has.

In Emmy Lou Rhodes’s mind, all I want to do is fuck her.

And even though that is perfectly true, I do hold very vigorous feelings for the woman I convinced to marry me.

Were we toasted, yeah, but I’d never change what we did, obviously because I won’t divorce her.

But I want fully committed and not the half-ass relationship that she wants to keep with me. It would mean that Emmy would have to be fully vulnerable to the things I can’t do with me opening up.

Something she and I just have a really hard time doing.

“What do you want me to say, Emmy? I’m a fuck up. I’m fucked up. My past is a lot of the reason why I can’t free up. I have a difficult time connecting and expressing shit. I’m not perfect, but I’d try if you’d let me.”

“You can’t even tell me how you feel right now.”

“I just did.”

“A crush, Bish, that’s high school shit.”

“Then I have active feelings for you, Rhodes, how’s that? I know what you want from me, but you won’t give either.” Her nostrils flare because Emmy has never told me she loved me either. We’re at a crossroads where both of us are still scared of the other.

“You told me to date.”

I nod. “I did.”

“And I have.”

“But you can’t fully move on without me now, can you?”

“You won’t let me.”

“Because I’m not ready to let you go.”

“That’s not fair,” she mutters. “You can’t keep me.”

“Don’t I already?”

She shoves against my chest, but I don’t move. “You’re an asshole. I’m not going to tell our closest friends that I married you when you can’t even tell me you love me.”

“Do you love me, Ems?”

“Why would—“

“See—“ I wag a finger at her. ”—you want me to say it first in case I never do. You never said it either. Why do you want to divorce me anyway? You’re not serious with anyone, and if I die, you get all my shit.”

“Seriously? You think that’s what this is about? I don’t want your shit.”

“You get my dog.”

“Fine, but what are you going to leave behind a Zippo lighter and your bow and arrow? The hell am I going to do with that?”

“Change your name to Robin Hood?”

“You are dumb. And see, we never get things situated. It lands on crap like this, and we…we just don’t work. I wanted us to, but…this is why you don’t get in relationships with your co-workers.”

“But we did. And here we are. And it’s your fortieth birthday, and I want—“

“I’m not forty!”

I smile. I can’t help it. I fucking love driving this woman absolutely insane.

Leaning forward, Emmy’s chin raises to follow my gaze.

I don’t say another word because my actions have always spoken louder anyway.

My tongue swipes against her lips before ours meet. She opens her mouth without question for me, and this is it—us.

Our feelings are like silent films that actively play out sentences in our heads as closed captions.

And I think Emmy loves me almost as much as I do her.

I also can’t blame her somewhat for not saying it either, but it doesn’t settle how I want it to in my chest. How we won’t give in. How we’re our own worse enemy, and we can’t muster the courage to break through and be the first to announce it.

Opening my door, I pull Emmy against me and step inside.

This woman is mine.

I just have to figure out what tomorrow means.

I’m in Bishop’s arms before the bedroom door even slams closed. My legs are comfortably wrapped around his body, right above his hips, as he kisses me like he can’t be another second without.

I melt into his hard chest as his tongue takes over, muddling what I’m attempting to do here.

I’m trying to find a way out of being in love with my husband. And Bishop’s lips are weapons of mass destruction against any means to do that.

My rationality stops working when we’re like this—memorized and enthralled in each other—because I crave us so badly that reality takes a seat in the trunk of my messy life.

Bishop anchors the both of us in the middle of the room where we’re each other’s lifelines and the only thing to hold on to from falling back into the rut of our relationship.

The only thing to touch, caress and breathe.

He gets me in ways that no one else has. And in others, he doesn’t.

The ones that yearn to be filled with love. To be aware that it exists in this world somewhere only for me. That it holds somewhere safe within his broody frame.

That it’s even possible.

Bishop’s meaty hand rakes through my hair and pulls, exposing my throat to the graze of his soft lips and wet tongue.

He sinks his teeth into my carotid artery just enough for me to feel the sharp edges, then lapses the marks with a soft brush of his unstable tongue.

“Fucking addicting as all shit,” he growls deeply into the crook of my neck. “I don’t know what to do with you, Emmy.”

I hum in agreement. I don’t know what he needs to do with me either.

Divorce me, don’t divorce me.

Put me out of my misery or love me like he’s going to lose me.

Bishop bends over and gently places me on the bed, never allowing our chests to break contact.