P s i hate you, p.16
P.S. I Hate You, page 16
“Oh, you fucked up, princess.” With another evil snicker, he runs toward me like a bull, snatching the lawn bag up on his way.
A river of clippings cascades over me. My jaw drops. They’re in my hair, my shirt, and stuck in my eyelashes. I shake like a dog. Grass flies everywhere, but I pay it no mind as I swipe up the hose and turn it on him next. He raises his hands to protect his face from the violent spray, but the ball’s in my court. I advance, soaking him from head to toe, taking delight that I’m the one with the upper hand for once, but my victory ends too soon.
He barrels through the violent rush and takes hold of the hose. My grip tightens. We wrestle to the ground, both unwilling to let it go, each of us soaked and cackling and covered in muddy grass.
But the water suddenly slows to a stop. I look up to find the source. Troy stands over us, red-cheeked, his face twisted in a scowl. “Get your hands off her, dick!”
Jace jumps to his feet. “You lookin’ for an ass whoopin’, McNamara?”
My heart riots. They step toe-to-toe, both out for blood. I scramble to my feet, slipping on the wet clippings to get between them before something bad happens. “It’s alright, Troy. He wasn’t hurting me. We were playing and got carried away.”
“Playing, huh?” His glare streaks past my sopping hair down to my mud-soaked feet. “Well, I can’t very well take you to my family’s table looking like that, can I?”
The dinner party. Shit!
So much had happened in the last few days that I’d forgotten all about it. I clear the mess from my face. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
He huffs, then leans in closer. The wrinkle between his brows deepens. “What the fuck? What is happening with your eyes?”
My stomach twists. With that cat out of the bag, there’s no point in wearing my contacts around the house. I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone else besides Jace today. “Oh … um …” I stammer, trying to find a quick answer to his question, but his disgusted scowl only adds to my unease.
“Do something about that. And for God’s sake, clean yourself up.”
Tension drives off Jace so thick I can feel it. “You gonna tell her what she can and can’t do now?”
Troy’s nostrils flare. “This doesn’t concern you. Stay out of it if you know what’s good for you.”
“What’s good for me would be kicking your ass.”
Troy shoves his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I dare you to take a swing at me,” he warns with a smug grin. “And when I sue you for assault, I’ll bulldoze this dump and turn it into a parking lot.”
Jace’s jaw ticks. He and Troy stand nose to nose. This feud is a long time coming, but it isn’t going to end with me. I have to stop this before Jace does something I know he’ll regret. “Look. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Why don’t you just go wait in the car? I’ll get ready super quick and come out, okay?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Troy snaps, backing down.
“Fifteen minutes.” I link my arm with Jace’s and drag him back as I move toward the house. “Why does everything have to be a fight with you?”
He flips his sodden hair off his forehead. “Please. That asshole’s been beggin’ for it since we were kids.”
“Yeah, well, that asshole pays your mom’s bills, and I’m not going to be the reason he stops.” I rake the last shred of our battle from my hair and shake it onto the porch before going inside. “I’m taking a shower,” I announce, leaving him dripping onto the floorboards.
After turning on the shower, I strip off my filthy clothes and wrap myself in a towel, then take them to the backyard to dry in the sun. But when I scurry back to hop in, the bathroom door is locked.
I jiggle the knob thinking maybe it’s stuck, but Jace’s throaty sigh seeps in from under the crack. “Are you kidding me?” I slam my fist against the wood.
“Who is it?” A thread of innocence slivers through his infuriating question.
“C’mon, Jace. This isn’t funny!”
I cross my arms over my chest, stewing outside the bathroom door. My irritation grows with each passing minute. I tap my barefoot as the sound of the spray goes instantly quiet. The door whooshes open. A cloud of steam whirls around his naked chest. With nothing but a towel tucked around his waist, he grabs my wrist and pulls me in, then shoves me against the closed door on the other side.
His tongue slides across his bottom lip seconds before his lips fuse to mine. It ignites a spark. A brilliant flash that bursts into flames and engulfs me like wildfire.
Droplets roll down the muscular peaks and valleys of his torso. I follow their trail with my fingertips, the hard plane of his abs contracting under my touch. He handles me rough. Angry hands hoist me off the floor. He pins me to the wall with his hips and tears off my towel. “I’m all dirty,” I whimper as he runs his tongue over my nipple.
“I prefer you dirty.” He pulls my breast into his mouth, and my head falls back.
Hardness pushes against my core. Need is a tsunami coursing through me. I grind against him, hoping for a release, but all it does is build the ache threatening to tear me in two.
Calloused fingers slip between our bodies. The gentle way he took me before is a distant memory. He doesn’t play games, and he doesn’t go slow. He slides inside me knuckle deep. I gasp out a breathy moan. My hands dig into his shoulders. He fucks me with his fingers and doesn’t stop until the room spins around us in a drunken haze of lust.
“I want you to think about me while you’re sitting at that fuck’s table tonight,” he rumbles as his thumb circles my throbbing clit.
My only response is a pleasure-filled moan. I roll my hips, matching his rhythm. My body responds willingly, the sin of the forbidden tickling my tailbone with every rigid movement he makes. I lose myself in the moment. Yesterday is over, and tomorrow hasn’t happened yet. The second he comes, we’ll go back to hating each other, but all that matters is right now. I succumb to the pleasure he’s willing to give and let his love wash over my flesh until I’m whole.
A keening cry tears from my lungs. My body falls limp, but his strong arms catch me before I fall. With one swift move, he tears away his towel and impales me on his hard erection. Lightning flashes beneath my lids, the delicious bite of pain and brute force mixing with the thrill of being his if only for the moment. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t crave this tainted touch the way I do, but he cast a spell the first time he laid claim to me, one that makes me want to submit to his every desire, no matter the cost.
When the fog begins to clear, I catch our reflection in the mirror. His ass taut, corded muscles flexing in his back as he drives into me fast and free. His body is a work of art. Every thrust of his hips pushes me harder, each husky breath sending shivers down my spine.
The sore stretch at the base of my thighs is nothing compared to the primal energy swimming around us. No words, no demands, just grunts and groans, the slapping sound of skin, and the doorframe rattling as he clamps me against it.
A storm swirls in my gut as another orgasm appears on the horizon. He pulls me closer, ramming into me until I fall over the edge and plummet into pure pleasure. “Fuckin’ A,” he grits.
He steps back suddenly, tearing himself away. I fall to my knees as he wraps one fist in my hair and takes hold of his cock with the other. Purple and swollen, he pumps it hard, his head tipping back for just a moment before dropping forward.
“Fuck,” he pants again. His eyes want to close, but he forces them open. An evil grin tugs at his lips. His fingers tighten at the base of my scalp. Hot cum drips onto my face. He drops his hold and slaps my sticky cheek before bending down to sweep the towel off the floor.
“Shower’s all yours, princess.”
My lashes flap in the hot steam as I float down from my trance. A blast of cool air wafts across my naked skin as he opens the door and sees himself out. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he gets off on humiliating me or the realization that I’m starting to like it.
I wipe my face and climb to my feet, but my legs stagger like a fawn just learning to walk. Bowlegged and weak, I feel as if I’ve just spent the afternoon horseback riding. I have five minutes to shower and get myself ready to meet Troy’s family, and all I want to do is crawl back into Jace’s bed and let him defile me again.
I shower in two minutes flat, then race to my room to find something suitable to wear. With no time to do my hair, I drench it in mousse and throw it in a high ponytail, letting the wet waves tumble down my back. Lenses inserted and lipgloss applied, I shove my feet into a pair of heels, and I’m on my way.
Troy’s Porsche idles in the drive. I fall into the passenger seat with a forced smile, the phantom feeling of Jace still vibrating between my thighs. “Sorry I took so long.”
“Your hair’s wet.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, well excuse me. I left my magic wand in New York. I’d say I look pretty good considering.”
…Considering I spent more time getting the soul fucked out of me by Jace than actually getting ready to go out.
He sighs. “You look very pretty. I don’t mean to be a jerk. My dad’s dinner parties always stress me out.”
“I understand,” I say, resting my hand on his arm.
He offers me a dimpled grin, and my racing heart begins to slow. We aren’t together—I’ve made that clear—but I can’t help the guilt stewing in my veins, knowing I was bathed in another guy’s cum just minutes ago. The notion pulls the corners of my lips. I’m actually smiling over the vulgarity of it all.
Good Lord, who even am I?
Troy’s house sits high on a hill at the end of a long and twisty road. A sprawling estate nestled in the trees. Troy pulls around the curved driveway and parks in an open lot behind the house. The sound of trickling water pulls my attention as I step out. It runs down an embankment of rocks and leads to an oversized pool.
“This way.” Troy threads our fingers together and walks me toward the grand deck off the back of the house. Lazy fans spin simultaneously over the lush lounge furniture facing a fireplace embedded between two sets of double French doors. The view from up here is breathtaking. The endless forest stretches in all directions, the sun fading below the horizon. It feels as though I’m at the top of the Earth looking down from above. Yet, for some reason, my heart aches for the tiny porch and its two faded rockers, the setting for some of the best conversations of my life.
The low din of chatter wafts through the stark white kitchen. Various staff move about. My heels clack on the walnut floors. I move in closer to Troy, my opposite hand gripping his arm as we enter the dining room. “There he is!” A distinguished man with graying sideburns stands to greet us. He puts his arm around Troy’s shoulders. “You all remember my son, right?”
A round of greetings ripples across the open space. Troy smiles, his fingers tightening around mine as if to say I won’t let you go. “Hey, everyone. This is Ellie.”
I offer a silent wave. Troy’s father extends his hand. “The enchanting Ellie Cartwright. Troy has told me all about you.”
“Has he?” I reply with a lifted brow.
“Don’t worry. I don’t believe a word of it,” he says with a wink.
Polite laughter spills off my tongue. I’ve been to enough of these boring dinners to last me a lifetime. I’m well aware of my place at this party. I’m a pretty face. A piece of arm candy. A conversation starter. No one cares to hear my voice. I’m merely the woman beside the man. That’s all I am to people like this.
Troy pulls out a seat and waits for me to sit before settling in beside me. “Where’s Mom?”
The ice clinks in Mr. McNamara’s glass as he lifts it to his lips. “Oh, you know your mother. Late as usual.” His remark drips with disdain. He takes another sip of his drink, then snaps his fingers at the butler I didn’t notice was there until just now. With a curt nod, he disappears into the kitchen.
The bald man across from us rests his elbows on either side of his charger. “So Troy. Kevin tells us you’re on the fast track for Duke next year. Fine institution.”
“Yes, well. A legacy will get you far in life.”
Troy’s father clears his throat.
The woman beside the bald man speaks next. “And you … Miss …”
“Ellie,” I repeat. “I’m hoping to attend Parson’s in New York.”
“Hoping to? A little late in the year for hopes, isn’t it?”
“Well, I was accepted, but …” I trail off, unsure of what to say. I look at Troy before ultimately deciding on, “I’m still trying to work out the financing.”
“You’re better off attending a real school anyway,” he says.
“It is a real school.”
“Design school isn’t the same as college.”
The table goes quiet. The butler slides the first course in front of us, but I’m too busy glaring at Troy to pay it any mind.
The woman speaks again. “What do you hope to do in the future?”
“I want to be a fashion designer.”
Troy dips a spoon in his soup. “Hobbies rarely become lucrative careers.”
“A hobby?” A flush spreads across my chest and forehead. “For your information, I’ve already been given an opportunity to showcase my new line at the store.”
“Boots n’ Bangles is hardly Prada.”
“It’s a start. We don’t all have ready-made careers waiting for us after graduation.”
Troy scowls. Another woman—this one in a hideous sequined top—tries to smooth out the tension. “My late husband always said, if you do what you love, the money will follow.”
“There’s no shame in starting from the bottom. Hard work makes the spoils that much sweeter,” Troy’s father adds.
I grin, but my relief goes up in flames when the man in a handlebar mustache suddenly says, “You look so familiar to me. Where do I know you from?”
My stomach lurches. I swallow down the nausea clawing up my esophagus while I think of what to say. I hadn’t planned on becoming the topic of conversation. This is not the place to discuss my mother. I was meant to be a support for Troy and nothing more.
Troy’s father directs a cautious gaze at his son. I lick my lips, preparing to evade the question as best I can, but Troy throws me to the wolves. “Her mother was Sarah Cartwright.”
A hush swells over the table. I may as well be Jeffrey Dahmer’s kid. Though, cannibalism is likely more acceptable to folks like this than stealing wealth for your own personal gain. After all, the best way to hurt rich people is by making them poor people.
“That must have been awful for you, dear.” Sequin, once again, comes to my aid, though I’m not entirely sure what she means by awful—my mother’s death, or the fact that she got caught with her hand in the pockets of people across the entire country.
“I’m getting by.”
“So how did you end up here?” someone else asks.
“I came to live with my mother’s friend over in Hell’s Bend.”
“You remember Jackson Wilder, right, Colin?” Troy’s dad turns his attention to me to explain. “Colin’s in the oil game, too.”
Colin nods. “Oh, right. Was he your father?”
A laugh gets stuck in my throat. “No, no. My mother grew up in Hell’s Bend. She was close with Jackson’s wife, Cindy.”
“You were friendly with their son, weren’t you?” Colin asks Troy.
“I try not to consort with criminals if I can help it.”
“Troy,” Mr. McNamara warns.
Troy’s green gaze narrows as he glares across the table. “What? Are you denying Jace is a thief?”
“Jace may have stumbled as a boy, but he’s always been a hard worker. You can learn a lot from him.”
Troy drops his spoon, and it clangs against the china. “You always take his side. Why do you do this?”
“I’m not taking sides, son. You judge people too harshly. Jace was a good boy who found himself in a bad situation. Resilience and hard work are the keys to survival in this cruel world. Something you have failed to learn.”
The legs of Troy’s chair screech along the floor. He jumps to his feet and slams his napkin into his bowl of half-eaten soup. “Excuse me.”
My stomach clenches as he storms from the room. I scan the bewildered faces sitting before me. Troy’s father doesn’t make any attempt to go after him. He sips his drink and continues as if his son didn’t just throw a tantrum right in front of him. “I should go talk to him.”
I follow Troy’s path through the kitchen and find him standing in the corner. His gaze trained on the floor, he doesn’t look up as I approach.
“What was that all about?”
“My father always liked Jace better than me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” I slip my fingertips against his palm.
He wrenches from my grasp. “You think I’m blind or just stupid? You like Jace better than me, too. You avoided me for weeks just so you could stay home and play house with that psychopath.”
I blanche. “Are we back on this again? I told you his mom was sick.”
He squares his stance. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re done here.” I turn on my heel and head for the open set of French doors.
“It’s a long walk back to Hell’s Bend.”
I turn back around, my glare like daggers. “Take me home, Troy.”
He fits his finger inside the knot around his neck and pulls it down. “This was a stupid idea. I thought you being here would take the heat off me, but I should have known better.” He flings the tie onto the counter, stepping toward me.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I am a very forgiving person, but I am no one’s doormat. I came here because you asked me to, and you’ve been an insufferable jerk all night.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Good. ’Cause I’ve had it up to here with people thinking they could push me around for their own amusement.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk. He takes me by the waist and pulls me closer. “You’re getting a little twang there, city girl.”
