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Between Love and Loathing: Chapter 31


No one owned me but that man in that kitchen at that moment. I was his and his alone. This wasn’t fake. This was real. And my heart was ready to fight anyone for it. I wanted him to see that.

I lifted my legs, moved to the middle of the island counter, and spun around to lay on my back. Then I hung my head from the side of the island.

“Clara,” he said cautiously even though his eyes looked hungry as they took me in, lying there upside down on that counter. He was supposed to be listening to his ex on the phone, not whispering to me, “What are you doing?”

“What I’m sure my boyfriend is going to enjoy.” I reached my hand out to pull his cock near my mouth and murmured up at him. “You trust the artist, Dominic?”

He growled and breathed out hard before his hands were pulling at my shirt as he held the phone between his shoulder and his ear. He whispered back, “The question is, do you trust me?”

I bit my lip and stared at his thick length that I held in my hand, so massive I knew I’d choke on it if I didn’t relax, if he didn’t slide into my mouth and throat at just the right angle as he worked my body.

“Baby, you have to say you trust me.”

I took two breaths before I nodded and then I pulled him forward. I heard Natya muttering something on the phone. I knew she was there. I knew deep down maybe she always would be there, a barrier between us, but I wanted to have him now, even while she tried to get him back. I wanted to be the first woman on his mind now because I knew I wouldn’t be first in the future.

He groaned and then swore over and over. The phone clattered to the counter as his hands gripped my breasts hard. Natya’s voice was near my ear. “Are you listening, Dom? You know you won’t last with her. I need you back.”

His cock slid further into my throat and one of his hands slid down my stomach to pinch my clit, to pull it, to work in rhythm with how he fucked my mouth. Deeper and deeper he went to the back of my throat, slow at first, and then faster, more erratic.

“I’m going to make you taste every part of me, baby. No one is ever going to fuck your pretty mouth the way I do. You understand?”

I hummed in approval.

“That’s right, cupcake. Take it all. Take every fucking drop of me.” I swirled my tongue over the head of him, tasted the salty cum that built up right before he thrust hard, so hard my eyes watered as he came down my throat. I came with him as he pinched a nipple and thrust one large finger in me, curling it fast with his release.

One of us should have been hanging up on Natya or worrying about the fact that we’d both come over the phone for his ex to hear. Yet, neither of us seemed to care as he pulled away from me but reappeared almost immediately to wipe a warm damp towel over my sex. Then, he asked, “Need anything before bed?”

I bit my lip and started to sit up from the counter as I glanced around. “Have another cupcake before we go to sleep?”

“Don’t want one.” He shook his head and I frowned.

“Are you kidding me? You loved these the first time you tried them, and you just said they would do in the bakery.”

Dominic glanced at a jar over in the corner of the kitchen and had the audacity to walk over to it, open the lid, and pop a chocolate I had not made into his mouth.

Motherfucker. My jaw actually dropped before I stomped over to snatch the jar and grab a chocolate for myself. “What’s so good about these? You told me you don’t like chocolate.”

“No. I said I don’t like to indulge in it. There’s a difference.”

I popped one in my mouth and chewed it. Then I turned to spit it out into the sink. “These are terrible.”

“Pretty much abominable,” he confirmed.

“Why would you eat these over everything I’ve offered you?”

“I’m already addicted to your pussy, baby. It’s the best dessert you offer. I don’t need to be addicted to anything else.”

I rolled my eyes. He chuckled and scooped me up like a baby. “Come on, little fighter. You’re sleeping in my bed.”

I shook my head, laughing at how ridiculous he was, but my gaze landed on the wall of pictures he’d put up just a few days ago and I blurted out, “Why are those pictures there? Are you having guests over because if so—”

“I just wanted pictures up of people I care about.”

I think I lost my heart there. Lost it all to him. “But I’m up there.”

“Yes. Well, I think I might care about you most.”

Nothing should have been intimate with my fake boyfriend. We should have gone to our own separate beds and forgotten about the sex we’d had that day. But his words and his actions imprinted themselves on my heart. Those pictures on his wall were in color.



Devastating color.

He would have told me just weeks ago a picture of color on his walls would have marred his whole home. Now, they hung there like a statement piece. My heart was fueled by it, consumed by it, and probably hypnotized by it.

From that point forth, he’d become my real boyfriend. I couldn’t help it. I made him breakfast, hung out with him through the day, laid in his study while he worked in the evening. We laughed. We discussed the resort. We made changes together. It felt real. It felt good. It felt like a space I wanted to be in for the rest of my life. There and in his bed. It’s where I slept every night until the reopening of the resort.


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