Squeezing and pinching her nipples, Harry bit down just enough to make her whimper, her nails raking down his chest through the fabric of his shirt.
“You miss me?” he growled against her skin, his voice muffled. Jessica replied by bouncing faster.
The car was a furnace now, the windows fogging, the air thick with the sounds of skin slapping skin, their ragged breaths and the wet, obscene noises her pussy made every time she slammed down against him.
“Harder,” she demanded. “Fuck me harder.”
Harry gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he drove up into her, meeting her movements with sharp, punishing thrusts.
The car rocked with the force, the springs protesting, but no one cared. Nothing else mattered more than the way her tits bounced with every snap of his hips.
“Harry,” Jessica gasped, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Fuck, fuck—”
“You like it?” he asked her, ramming his cock as deep into her as he could.
“Yes,” she moaned. “I love it,” Jessica said, barely able to get the words out.
She came with a broken cry, her body tightened, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. The pulse of her orgasm milked him, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. With a groan, he buried his face against her neck.
He continued thrusting into her as she rode him until his cock twitched and spasmed in Jessica’s cunt as he exploded inside her.
Jessica collapsed on top of him, his cock still buried deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around him, her forehead pressed against his, her breath hot and fast against his lip. For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The only sound was their ragged breathing, the occasional creak of the car seat settling. her skin damp with sweat, her hair sticking to her temples. Slowly, she lifted her head, her dark eyes meeting his. There was something unreadable in them—satisfaction, maybe, or the ghost of a smirk.
She shifted, wincing slightly as she pulled off him, Harry’s cock slipping free with a wet sound. The loss of her heat made him shiver.
She reached for the tissues in the glove compartment, cleaning herself up with efficient movements. She wore her pants back tucked, her shirt in, her fingers steady as she rebuttoned her shirt, though she left the top two undone, the lace of her bra peeking through.
The car smelled like sex and her perfume.
“Is that a yes?” he whispered.
Jessica’s phone buzzed in her purse. Probably work emails. She thought of her mother and the machines breathing for her.
She thought of Rhoda, smiling in that engagement party invitation, so happy, so hopeful, so completely unaware of the knife Jessica was about to put in her back.
She thought of Fred, and his threats, and the power she could hold over him. She thought of Harry’s money—double the pay—and all the problems it could solve.
“I need time,” she heard herself say. “To set it up. To make sure it’s safe this time.”
Harry’s smile was victorious. “Take all the time you need. Well—” He laughed. “Not all the time. But you know what I mean.” He kissed her again, softer this time, almost tender.
Jessica let herself sink into it one more time, storing the feeling away like a keepsake she knew she’d regret.
When she finally extracted herself from the car, her legs were unsteady beneath her. Harry’s eyes followed her as she walked away, back toward the elevator, back toward her office and her paperwork and her normal life.
The elevator doors closed, and Jessica slumped against the wall, her carefully maintained composure crumbling.
What had she just agreed to? What had she done? But she knew the answer. The same thing she always did. Whatever it took to survive.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, she looked at it. A text from Rhoda: Can’t wait to see you at the party! I’ve missed you so much. We have SO much to catch up on!
Jessica stared at the message until the screen went black, her reflection ghostly in the darkened glass.
Then she took a deep breath, straightened her blouse, and headed back to her desk. She had work to do. Plans to make. A best friend to betray. The paperwork could wait until morning.
The crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows across Frank’s sprawling living room, their light catching on champagne flutes and diamond earrings with equal brilliance.
Rhoda’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted her glass, her gaze finding Frank across the crowded space. He moved through the throng of guests—confident, radiant, utterly in his element.
God, he’s beautiful when he’s happy. The last time she’d seen that particular spark in his eyes was at Fred’s wedding. The memory sent ice water through her veins. Fred. Fred was here. Somewhere in this room, among the sixty-or-so guests Frank had somehow assembled for what he’d promised would be “just a small gathering.”
A small gathering. Rhoda almost laughed at the absurdity. This was practically a wedding—their wedding, in everything but name.
White roses climbed the walls in cascading arrangements. He’d done this for her, all of it. The guilt twisted in her stomach like a living thing.
“To the happy couple!” someone called out, and Frank’s eyes found hers across the room. The love in them was so naked, so pure, that Rhoda had to look away. If only he knew. If only he could see inside her head, see the poison that lived there, see his own brother—
“Rhoda!” She turned to find Jessica materialising at her elbow, resplendent in emerald silk that hugged every curve.
Her best friend’s smile was dazzling, professional, perfect. But Rhoda had known Jessica long enough to see the tightness around her eyes, the way her fingers worried at the stem of her glass.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jessica murmured, leaning in close enough that her perfume—something expensive and vaguely desperate—filled Rhoda’s nose.
“I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.” Rhoda gestured vaguely at the spectacle around them. “He really outdid himself.”
“Mm.” Jessica’s gaze drifted across the room, sharpening suddenly. “Don’t look now, but your favourite person just walked in.”
Rhoda didn’t need to look. She could feel Fred’s presence like a change in air pressure, like the moments before a thunderstorm breaks.
Somewhere behind her, his laugh rang out—that same laugh she’d heard whispered against her skin, breathy and urgent.
Jessica cut her off with a hand on her wrist. “I told you I’d handle it. Remember?” Jessica’s smile never wavered, but her grip was almost painful. “I’ll make sure Fred never says a word. You have my promise.” Then she walked away quickly.
Rhoda wanted to believe her. God, how she wanted to believe her. But she still had it somewhere in her that Jessica had set her up with Harry and his friends. She still had this tiny feeling that Jessica knew it was supposed to be a foursome.
Jessica’s face ached from smiling. Across the room, a dignitary, probably a state senator, raised his glass in her direction.
She lifted hers in automatic response, her mind churning with calculations that had nothing to do with social niceties. Harry’s money, her mother’s treatment, Rhoda’s cooperation.
Jessica’s stomach turned. She’d tried—God, she’d tried to offer herself instead. But Harry had been clear. It wasn’t her he wanted for his twisted little adventure.
It was Rhoda. Fresh, beautiful, engaged-to-be-married Rhoda. How am I supposed to ask her? How do I even begin?
“Excuse me? Miss?” A young man stood before her, hand extended, smile practised and privileged. “Adegboyega Precious,” he announced, as if the name should mean something. His designer suit probably cost more than Jessica’s rent.
She opened her mouth to respond—to play the game, to flirt, to do what she always did—when movement caught her eye.
Fred. Whispering something to his wife Kate, who nodded with the trusting smile of a woman who had no idea what kind of man she’d married. Then Fred was moving, slipping away from his beautiful, pregnant wife, heading for the stairs. Finally!
“I’m so sorry,” Jessica said to the young man, not sorry at all. “I really must—excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for his response. Her heels clicked urgently against the marble as she wove through clusters of guests, ignoring curious glances, her eyes locked on the staircase.
Time to end this, time to make sure he understood what would happen if he tried to destroy Rhoda’s life.
Fred had already disappeared up it. The stairs seemed to stretch forever beneath her feet.
Fred stood in the middle of the upstairs hallway like a man who’d been expecting company, wine glass dangling casually from his fingers.
The smile on his face made Jessica’s skin crawl—knowing, amused, victorious. He was waiting for her!
She froze mid-step. She hadn’t wanted him to know she was coming. Hadn’t wanted to give him the advantage.
“Jessica.” Her name in his mouth sounded like ownership.
She forced herself forward, lifting her chin, adjusting the silk of her gown with fingers that refused to shake. “Fred.”
He tilted his head toward an open door to his right, then walked through it without looking back. An invitation.
A command. Jessica’s heels clicked against the tile as she followed, each step feeling like a small defeat.
The guest room was sparse—a bed, a dresser, a mirror that took up half the wall. Frank’s house had a dozen rooms like this, meant for guests who never stayed long enough to need anything more than basics.
Fred turned to face her, leaning against the dresser with the casual arrogance of a man who’d never been told no. “I knew you’d come find me. I’ve been watching you watch me all evening.”
“This isn’t—” Jessica started, but he laughed, cutting her off.
“Social? No, I don’t imagine it is.” He took a sip of wine, eyes glittering. “So let’s skip the pleasantries. You wanted to talk to me about Rhoda.”
The ease with which he said it sent fury blazing through her veins. “You’re trying to blackmail her. I know what you’re doing, Fred. And I’m here to tell you it ends now.”
His eyebrows rose with mock surprise. “Am I? Blackmail is such an ugly word.”
“What would you call it, then? Threatening to tell Frank about a mistake she made unless she—what? Sleeps with you? Pays you off? What do you want?”
“Sleep with me? Pay me off? Mistake?” Fred rolled the words around like he was tasting it. “Is that what she told you?”
“I don’t care what you call it. If you say one word to Frank—if you even think about hurting Rhoda—I’ll go public. I’ll tell everyone about us. Your wife, your family, I’ll destroy you.”
She’d expected anger. Fear, maybe. Instead, Fred smiled wider. “This is interesting,” he said softly, setting down his wine glass.
“Because Rhoda told me the exact opposite. She said if I didn’t keep my mouth shut, she’d release the video.”
The floor seemed to tilt. “What video?”
Written by Tito
