She squeezed hard and jacked me until she saw pre-cum bead at the tip.
“Maybe I should just suck your dick until you shoot your load all over my tits,” she murmured, those whiskey eyes turning greedy as they locked on my dick. “Because, goddamn, do you have a perfect cock. You and your Moby Dick.”
“And you’ve got the perfect tits.” I reached for her shirt and pulled it up to get it off her, but she slapped my hands away.
“Mind your stitches,” she said as she released my dick to strip her shirt off herself.
“Okay, mama.”
That got a smile out of her, right before her mouth covered the head of my cock, and I forgot everything except how fucking glad I was that I’d taken the call that brought me to New Orleans . . . no matter the consequences.
Present day
I drag myself out of the memory, hating the choices I had to make, because they took me away from Magnolia. If it wasn’t for the path I took, I could have been the guy she played chess with all these years. We could have had a life together.
But we didn’t get that.
Because of me.
Thirty-Nine
Magnolia
If that man thinks that he can just put me in the back of a car and shut me in here until he’s ready to deal with me, he’s dead wrong. And if he thinks a woman scorned has fury, he’s not seen me mad yet.
I am not the kind of woman who does what she’s told, or is seen and not heard.
Fuck that.
With every mile we drive, I get more and more pissed off. I mentally rehearse exactly what I’ll say to him the second he opens that damn door.
If you came back to win me back, you’re doing it the wrong fucking way. Because I’m not the kind of woman who will let you steamroll me. I don’t care if you drive a Rolls Royce, you don’t just put a person in the back and ignore them the whole way home. You could at least talk to me about why you’re so damn pissed off.
Finally, I realize we’re not going back to my house like I thought we were. We’re in the Marigny when we slow and turn into a driveway. There’s a pause before we move forward again.
The hell?
I’m determined to get some goddamned answers, do some yelling, and then march my ass home if I have to.
When the engine shuts off, I reach for the door handle and yank on it. But it won’t open. With a growl, I start pushing buttons, but none of them unlock the door from the inside.
What the hell? He did not lock me inside here. No fucking way.
I hear the driver’s door open and shut, and I expect Moses to let me out immediately.
Boy, am I ready.
But he doesn’t come open my door.
What in the actual fuck?
I crane my neck to see outside the window, but it’s pitch black, and I can’t make out anything.
“You’d best not fucking leave me in here! Let me out!” I yell, and my words echo in the tightly sealed cabin of the Rolls. Suddenly, the door pops open, and I open my mouth to unleash hell on Moses—but it’s not his face I see.
It’s Jules.
“Right this way, Ms. Maison. I’ll show you inside.” He doesn’t even wait before starting for the door.
“Where the hell is Moses?”
“He had other business to attend to. He’s unavailable at the moment. But I have your purse.”
My mouth drops open as I take it from him. “What? He was just here. Driving the car. He—” I cut off my words, because clearly Moses left me. “Never mind. I’ll walk my ass home.”
Jules turns and faces me again. “You’re staying here tonight, Ms. Maison.”
“Give me one good reason,” I tell him as my hands go to my hips. “You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Do you want to live to see tomorrow?” he asks, and the grave question takes me by surprise.
I fall back on my heels and stop in my tracks. “What?”
His hands rise as he explains. “You’re safe here. At home, you may not be. Plus, I hear you don’t have any furniture, and the beds here are damn comfy.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off, but . . . that whole do you want to live to see tomorrow question has my sense of self-preservation kicking in.
“Fine. But only because I don’t have a bed yet.” Silently, I add, And because I really fucking like the idea of being safe. It’s not something I’ve had enough of in my life to take for granted.
He tilts his head and raises his brows. “And because you want to ream Moses?”
I glare at him. “That’s not part of the reason.”
With a shrug, he replies, “Whatever you say. Follow me.”
He takes me through a courtyard with a pool, and then a sliding glass door that leads into a wide-open living space. There’s a long table in the middle, and a young-looking guy with short brown hair and glasses sits in front of it, typing away.
He gives me a chin lift as I follow Jules. “Hi, Magnolia, heard a lot about you. Go easy on the boss. By the way, I’m Trey. Nice to meet you.”
My reputation precedes me, even here. “Hi.”
“You want something to eat?” Jules asks, pointing to the fridge. “We have food, or we can order in for you. Just say the word, and we’ll make it happen.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m good. Just . . . show me to the dungeon, I guess.”
Trey chokes out a laugh. “Damn. Shit really must’ve gone wrong tonight. Between that comment and how Moses stomped through here and disappeared . . .”
Jules shoots his friend a look that shuts him up.
“I don’t care what Moses is doing,” I tell both of them. “He can go fuck himself for all I care.” I turn to Jules. “You mentioned there’s a bed?”
“Through here.” He takes me down a hall and shows me to a bedroom. I shut the door in his face as soon as I’m inside, but I don’t do it out of spite. I do it because I realize where I’m sleeping as soon as he opened the door.
Moses’s room.
How did I know? There’s a chessboard set up on a small table near the window. I cross the room to look at it and immediately notice the missing pieces.
Pawn and knight.
I set my purse on the table and dig them out. I’ve been carrying them with me, feeling sentimental as hell every time I touch them.
Who has time for sentiment, anyway?
I place them in their respective spots and turn away from the board. But Ho-It-All rears her ugly head.
How would you feel if you walked into this room and saw Moses playing chess with another woman? Would you be okay with it? Or would you want to rip her goddamned eyes out of her head for knowing how sexy he looks across a chessboard? You know, admiring the way he rocks his jaw back and forth when he considers his next move. How he reaches up and grips the back of his neck when he’s watching you win—trying to hold back a grin all the while? Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have a problem with that. No big deal. Right?
That fucking bitch of a conscience. She just had to go there.
I turn back around and drop into one of the chairs.
Fuck.
I wait for hours, but Moses doesn’t show. Finally, I curl up on the bed and pass out. He can see a miracle occur in broad daylight then—me apologizing.