Perhaps Marcus could teach her a few things. With his confidence and powerful demeanour he would command control. That forbidden idea made her heart pound and her pulse skip.
That’s it, I’m not going on Friday. Rory can go on his own. I need to stay away from Marcus and figure out what I really want.
Friday soon rolled around, Rory half-heartedly attempted to persuade her to go with him to Verto Veneri. Lana told him it was her time of the month, which meant she had horrendous stomach cramps.
The lie didn’t sit well with her, but there was no way she would walk back into the club… and see Marcus in a tailored three-piece suit with sexy trimmed stubble coating his strong jaw. She shivered as her imagination ran wild.
“Just go on ahead, Rory, I’ll be okay here. I’ll go to the next event.” She suggested, wondering if she would ever go back.
“If you’re sure, babe. Love you.” He lightly kissed her lips.
“Will you be home tonight?” she asked, watching him button up the pale blue shirt she had bought him a few weeks ago.
He was handsome in a roguish way, his new chestnut stubble filled out his jawline, adding a masculine touch to his otherwise baby face.
Rory brought his gaze to her reflection in the mirror as he tucked in his shirt. “Lana, I don’t know, I don’t need to feel like I have a curfew.” He doused his hands with cologne, patted his cheeks and then turned to face her. “Look, whatever happens, happens – okay, babe.”
Her lips tightened and her brow creased, anger swelling in her veins like venom. “I’m not your bloody mother, Rory. I’m only asking if I can expect you home. It’s common courtesy to let me know in case something happens to you. I am your girlfriend—aren’t I?”
He flicked his hands up and drew his shoulders back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he spat out. “Of course you’re my girlfriend. You live here, don’t you?”
Lana launched off the bed. “Yeah, I might as well live in the house by myself for all I’ve seen of you lately. You could be out shagging the whole of Jordanstown and I would have no idea. A bunch of stupid flowers once in a blue moon doesn’t build a relationship.”
He came home straight after work on Thursday and crashed into bed, without having dinner or speaking. It was like living with a lodger, or a stranger.
Rory grabbed her wrists, his eyes filled with fury and jaw clenched. “We agreed to this, Lana. You agreed to this, so don’t start trying to paint me as the bad guy here. I’ve been letting off some stream, even you like space!” His grip tightened. “And why the hell would I buy you flowers? You know they’re a waste of money, just wilting away in water.”
Her heart lurched. She knew he was right. Lana willingly signed and authorised her approval for him to fuck whomever he wanted in the Verto Veneri club, and she was content in her own company, suiting herself.
“I just don’t feel like I can give you what you need, Rory.” She sucked in a ragged sob, feeling uncertain for their future.
“Look, babe, you’re my girl. Okay?” He kissed her forehead, freed her wrists and sauntered out of the bedroom like nothing was wrong.
As she watched him leave, Lana decided to be more open to whatever new sexploits Rory wanted to try, if it meant bringing them closer together again.
She was going to make their sex life even better, so he wouldn’t need to get it elsewhere. An odd feeling fluttered in her chest, doubting her resolve to make things better.
Being honest with herself, she knew their sex life should be enough for him and if it wasn’t, then there was no point being together.
That’s when the plan hit her. She would stream a few risqué movies and study the techniques, then surprise him with something new.
But then someone else’s lips would be kissing him tonight. The question she had to ask herself was the cold hard truth—could she enjoy touching him, knowing he’d cheated again?
She jumped into the shower, letting warm jets of water sluice over her tense limbs. Then she dried herself with a fluffy towel and put on her favourite pyjama set of jersey shorts and a tank top.
She was fully prepared for a night in all alone with a litre bottle of gin (definitely not McGrath’s), large bag of potato chips and her laptop.
Settling in the cosy living room with a tall glass crammed with crushed ice, cucumber slices and a double shot of gin, she sat back and began her research.
A few drinks and the entire bag of salty potato chips later, Lana was feeling brave enough to watch some short erotic movie clips.
The moaning and groaning from a raven-haired woman filled the tiny room as her partners, both well-built, banged into her from both ends, completely void of emotion.
This wasn’t new to Lana, she’d watched porn before; however, the random title of the clip ‘Spit Roasting Rochelle’ had spiked her interest and made her giggle.
A loud thump on the front door broke her naughty fascination. She clicked the pause button and crept to the hall, only to hear persistent loud banging.
Flicking the safety chain across, Lana peered through the thin gap as she opened the door.