My desire takes hold again and I grab the hand he’s fingering me with and force two more fingers in. He likes this, I know by his smile I feel spread across his face that’s resting on my tits. He lets out a loud groan, his pleasure meeting my own. He’s no longer slow, methodical. Instead he moves his fingers in and out of my wet slit faster and faster.
I resist the urge to finish. I want to wait for him, to come with him. I pull his face up to mine and cradle his head in my hands. Fixating my eyes on his, “Take me,” is all I have to say, and he’s more than ready. All it takes is a breathy moan of my name from his lips to damn near send me over the edge.
He’s throbbing, rock hard, refusing to allow his gaze to stray from my eyes as I bite at my bottom lip. I try to steady my breathing but it’s no use. All I can think about is that first, hard pump into me.
When I can’t take it any longer, I turn from him and bend slightly at the waist, beckoning him to come inside. He does, and I scream his name as he enters me, with one hard thrust.
His moans echo off the shower walls as he fills me with every satisfying inch of him. I feel him pulsating inside me, and it takes everything in me not to fall apart with release immediately.
I love that he knows what he’s doing, that he wants to please me as much as I want to please him. He pulls out of me and I wonder what the hell he’s thinking, but I feel his lips on my pussy seconds later, licking me, his tongue going in and out of me and then up to my clit in a rhythm that is pure fucking magic.
When he enters me again, it’s like the first time—hard, fast. He’s fucking ravaging me and I wouldn't want it any other way in this moment. I throw my head back, the warm shower water rolling down my face as I try to keep myself from coming undone.
“I’m going to come,” he says, pumping in and out even harder than before.
“Please,” is all I can manage, knowing I’m right there on the cusp with him.
He moans, and it’s deep, husky, guttural. I tighten myself around him and he groans with pleasure loudly, releasing inside me.
I turn back around to face him, breathless. “You’re incredible. And yes, I know exactly what I do to you.”
When I step into his room, his cell phone is lit up on the nightstand. I’m not the type of woman to go through someone’s phone, but I can’t help but look. After all I’ve been through, I convince myself that I can at least sneak a quick peek. I need to sneak a peek.
But the moment I see the name, I wish I hadn’t. Jackie Marshall. Fuck. Jackie Marshall? Why is she texting him this early? And there were two missed phone calls while we were in the shower. Who the hell is Jackie Marshall? The name doesn’t ring a bell. He’s only talked about one woman from his past. Could it be her? I fucking hope not. I hear him turn the water off and I haphazardly yank my clothes on.
I’m all but totally dressed when he walks into the bedroom, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of me. “Woah! Where are you going? I thought maybe we could snuggle a bit and then I could make you some breakfast,” he says.
I don’t meet his eyes. I’m not sure if I’m overreacting. It isn’t like I just saw him making out with a girl in front of me; it’s just a random girl’s name on his phone screen. We aren’t even exclusively dating, right? I mean, we never talked about it. Besides, the name could have belonged to anyone—an agent for his band even. Who knows?
Still, I feel the need to leave. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say as I finish gathering my things. “I really have to work a bit today. My publisher is getting pissed at my lack of progress lately.” I give him a weak smile and hope he doesn’t notice.
He walks me out and kisses me with lips that are the same as earlier, but feel different on mine.
“Don’t worry, young grasshopper,” Hailee says to me. “I know exactly what we’ll do.” Pursing her lips, she shifts her gaze to her phone and picks it up. “We’re going to Facebook stalk the bitch!”
“Oh, good Lord, Hailee, what?” I’m genuinely nervous. Hailee can be savage when it comes to things like this. She once cyberstalked a guy so hard she ended up finding out what the dog of his great aunt’s husband (twice removed) ate. Now that’s dedication.
Narrowing her eyes and furiously tapping at her screen, she asks, “Jackie Marshall, right?”
I nod my head, regretting even telling her about what happened—which is probably nothing.
But then she slowly looks up from her phone screen to me and says, “Fuck.”
“What?” I ask her, as she scowls down at her cell. “Hailee, what? You can’t just say fuck and look at me like that and not say anything else!” My heart drops right into my butt.
“I’m friends with her.” She hesitates before thumbing her phone again, then looks up at me for a moment. “I mean, I have a shit ton of friends on here, so I don’t exactly know everyone, but I can’t believe I don’t remember this girl.” She pauses for a beat. “This woman.” She accentuates the word and I want to vomit.
I sit down next to Hailee and examine her screen with intent. Woman is right. This woman is easily in her late thirties and has long platinum blonde hair that looks disgustingly expensive to maintain. She’s wearing a business pantsuit that hugs her in all the right places and is holding an award in her hands with a wide smile plastered to her face like she just won the fucking Nobel Peace Prize. Shit.
Upon further examination, we find that she’s a very well-off realtor. She lives in the Gold Coast, has a tiny white Maltese puppy named Dottie the Diva (barf), and enjoys happy hour at overpriced spots—every single day of the week. The last status she posted though (a check-in at some socialite place), was months ago. It seems like she’s been on a Facebook break. Maybe?
How the hell could River be in contact with this bimbo Barbie? Or rather, why the hell? “Okay, wait.” I have a thought. “How do we know this is the right Jackie Marshall? I feel like both names are fairly common, no?” I say, knowing there could be tons of Jackie Marshalls in the world—just not necessarily in Chicago.
Hailee doesn’t look hopeful but she digs anyway. “So,” she says, her eyes not leaving the screen, “we can look at her mutual friends if she has them public, and we can check her tagged photos. Let’s see.”
It doesn’t take much sleuthing to find out that River is friends with her and they both checked into an upscale martini bar that plays live music right around the same time she stopped posting. The date suggests it was right before he messaged me on the app.
“Well, that’s annoying,” Hailee says. Understatement of the damn year.
Why do I care that River was hanging out with her before we started talking again? Well, maybe because she was calling him at seven AM this morning. Maybe that’s why. I struggle back and forth in my mind and Hailee asks me what I’m thinking.
“Why do I care?” I shake my head. “Tell me why I care that he was hanging out with her before we reconnected.”
She locks her phone and it goes black. “I don’t think it’s so much that he was hanging out with someone before you met up with him again. I think it’s that you were hesitant to start things back up, and then you did, and right after you started getting in your feelings, you saw her name pop up on his phone,” she says. “Sound about right?”