His hands dove into my hair, and he murmured his approval. “Take me deep, Bliss. Let me feel you.”
I squeezed my nipples hard enough to mimic clamps, then dropped one hand to my clit.
I spread my legs. In the fantasy, I did the same.
Hands moved up my thighs, another man settling in behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to find War staring at me with an intensity that burned my body alive. With no care that we were in a room full of people or that I had my lips wrapped around Nash’s cock, War rucked my skirt up around my waist and lowered my panties.
His eyes flared with desire as he took a handful of my ass, while his other hand spread my folds. “Look at your pretty cunt, baby girl. You’re wet and dripping, just creaming yourself for my dick.”
His words in my head were coarse and dirty, but when I touched myself, pushing my fingers between my folds, I was soaked.
It was almost too much to bear. I was already right on the verge after hours of sex around me. Putting War and Nash together in a fantasy was too much. I rubbed my clit and rode my fingers. I added a third, trying to emulate the thickness I craved, and eventually, I pulled my vibrator out of my top drawer and let that take the place of my fingers.
I pressed the vibrator against my clit before sliding it lower to fill the ache inside me. My hips bucked right off the bed as an orgasm barreled down on me. It was too quick, but I couldn’t bring myself to drag it out.
And Lord knew, I was used to a quick orgasm. I’d become a pro at it, quietly making myself come after every time Caleb and I had sex and he rolled over and went to sleep.
The moment the orgasm faded, embarrassment washed over me. Beneath the sheets, I was a sticky mess of my own making.
“You’re an idiot, Bliss,” I murmured to myself, dragging myself out of bed for a shower even though exhaustion was setting in.
I had no business fantasizing over anyone but Caleb. I was still engaged. The man’s ring had been on my finger when I’d thrust it inside myself, desperate to fill the ache another man had woken up in me. Not just one man but two. I barely even knew War, and yet I’d let him into the most intimate parts of me during the fantasy. Nash was like a brother to me. Thinking of him in any other way would cause me nothing but complete and utter mortification.
But Caleb and I were done. The way he’d looked at me while he’d fucked Lucinda still sent chills down my spine. And owning Psychos made leaving him possible.
I’d have my own money. Not just the pittance the childcare center paid me. But real money.
Money meant opportunities.
Options.
Money meant I would never be forced into a marriage I didn’t want, solely for the financial security the man could provide me.
I’d be everything my mother had never been.
I’d be free.
There were seventeen missed calls on my phone when I woke up on Monday morning. They displayed above the twenty-three from the day before.
All of them Caleb.
I wasn’t ready to speak to him. I knew what I had to do. I knew what I wanted to do. And yet I knew myself. I was easily swayed. A doormat.
I couldn’t face Caleb until I was one-hundred-percent sure I wouldn’t let him gaslight me into believing the entire thing was my fault.
I’d been ignoring him all weekend. I’d turned my phone off and stayed out of the house as much as I could. I’d taken myself shopping, to dinner, and then to a late movie. When I’d gotten home on Sunday night, Nichelle said Caleb had been by twice, looking for me.
I’d thanked her and told her I’d call him.
But I hadn’t.
I knew I couldn’t put it off much longer, and I would have to face the music later that day. But I needed to go to work first.
I dug through my closet because nothing felt right. Everything felt like Bethany-Melissa. Polished. Put together. The future wife of a successful businessman.
None of it felt like Bliss.
At the back, I found a pair of jeans I couldn’t remember buying. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d worn denim at all. But I pulled them on, wincing a little at how tight they were, but once I had them buttoned, I grinned at my reflection. I found a black T-shirt in my drawer and partnered it with a jacket and a gray knitted scarf.
I wished I had a pair of Doc Martens like Rebel’s, but I settled for a pair of white running shoes with the promise of scuffing them up a bit on my way into work so they weren’t quite so blindingly white.
“Well,” I said to my reflection. “That’s new.”
I liked it, though. It was casual and young, and I felt cute. The jeans made my ass look good.