“I fucked up,” he mutters as he climbs out of the water completely naked. “I’m sorry.”
I watch him go, my gaze on his nude body. How comfortable he is in front of me without a stitch of clothing on.
“Are you going to answer the door like that?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes,” he snaps, grabbing a towel from a nearby lounger and wrapping it around his waist before he heads inside the house to answer the door.
I duck under the water and swim beneath the surface, like I’m modest and don’t want him to see me. Normally I would feel that way.
But he’s seen everything, touched everything. Fucked me extra hard and came inside of me in the most careless way possible. I don’t want babies with him. Not now.
Maybe not even ever.
Chapter Twelve
Perry
We eat ourbreakfast quietly at the massive dining table, me sitting at the head while Charlotte sits to my right. I’m shoveling it in as fast as I can, like I can’t get enough while she merely picks at her food. Swirling it around her plate with her fork, a sad expression on her pretty face.
She’s wearing a hotel robe that completely engulfs her and I still have my towel on, naked beneath it. No reason to get dressed up for this meal, am I right?
I still can’t believe how angry I got. How I threatened her and that McFuckhole dickwad. Who the hell do I think I am? Winston?
We do come from the same family. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that I’d make threats like that—and mean them.
Because I do mean it. That Morelli offshoot gets near my wife and I’ll bash his face in. I don’t even want him looking at her.
When I asked her if she gave him a blow job and she didn’t say anything? I was fucking infuriated.
But I also walked right into that one. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answer to, and that’s exactly what I did. To make things even better, I fucked her in the pool.
Without a condom.
What the hell was I thinking? What am I doing, putting everything at risk? We only just got married and now the potential is there that we’ve brought a baby into the mix? I’m too damn young.
So is she.
I barely know her.
This isn’t a real marriage. The last thing we need to do is have a kid.
That’s just all kinds of fucked up.
Watching her drag her eggs back and forth across the plate is literally driving me insane and I can’t take it anymore.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell.
She jumps, her fork falling with a clatter onto the plate as she glares at me. “You don’t have to yell.”
I soften my tone. “You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Still hungover?”
“A little. The headache’s gone though,” she admits, keeping her head bent. Like she can’t look at me.
Guess I fucked it right out of her.