He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I started pacing, my body too full of panic to stay still.

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Sloane slipped inside and shut the door, then guided me down toward the couch like I was about to fall apart.

“Brennan,” she said quietly. “You need to breathe.”

“I can’t breathe. I have to find her. I have to fix this.”

She left the room. I heard cabinets opening, glass clinking.

When she came back she had a glass of wine and the bottle.

I drained the first glass in two swallows.

She poured another.

And another.

I didn’t stop her. I didn’t even think. I just kept drinking because every second sober felt like

drowning.

“Shhhe left me,” I mumbled, the words slurring into each other. “Shhher-”

“I know,” Sloane murmured. “I know, baby. I’ll make it better.”

I felt her hand at my pocket, tugging something free. Then she took my finger and pressed it down onto it, like she was unlocking something.

She moved away. Came back.

Fabric whispered. My vision swam and then my eyes found her chest–round and heavy in front of me. My hands lifted, clumsy, and I squeezed, surprised by the softness.

“They need shome hair,” I said thickly.

She giggled. She moaned.

My hands dropped and then my shorts were being pulled.

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“Oh,” she breathed, “you’re so big.”

“Yeah,” I laughed drunkenly. “Sooo biiig.”

Then a wet, hot mouth closed around me and my whole body jerked.

Fuck.

That felt too good.

“Sooo good,” I groaned.

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Her head moved, sliding up and down, and the room narrowed to sensation. I grabbed her and pushed, sinking deeper.

“That’s right,” I snarled, filthy and mean, “take all of it, you dirty whore.”

This had to be another dream–another one where Sloane showed up and my brain turned it

into porn.

If it was a dream, I didn’t stop.

“That’s it,” I heard myself say, voice rough. “Sloane, take everything. You’re such a cum slut for me, aren’t you?”

She moaned around me and my eyes rolled back. I wanted more–needed more.

I pulled her off and stood, wobbling, catching myself on the edge of the couch. I shoved her forward until her hands hit the floor.

A short skirt. I tore her thong away.

My hand gripped my cock, pumping a few times, then dragging the thick head through her wetness. She gasped and I slammed into her.

“Yes!” she cried. “Brennan–oh God–you’re so thick.”

“Good,” I panted. “Take daddy’s cock like the good girl you are.”

I pulled out until only the tip kissed her entrance, then drove back in.

Again.

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< Chapter 9

Again.

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The rhythm turned brutal, desperate. My fingers bit into her hips. I wanted marks. I wanted proof–even in this supposed dream.

My balls tightened, drawing up. I slapped her ass hard and came with a raw shout.

We collapsed to the floor in a heap.

I lay there waiting for the snap back to reality.

Any second.

Any-

A sound.

My eyes flew open.

I was on the living room floor.

My mouth tasted rancid, like stale wine and something worse. My head throbbed as I pushed myself upright.

My shorts weren’t on.

My dick hung soft against my hip.

The memory of what I’d just “dreamed” rushed back.

Right. I must have gotten off and blacked out.

Then I saw the wine glass on the table.

That explained the vividness.

I dragged my shorts back on and found my phone on the floor where it must have fallen out of my pocket. My hands were shaky as I unlocked it.

Maybe Scar had written.

Still woozy, I sat on the couch and opened our messages.

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My breath caught.

Every single text I’d sent… read.

And there-

A video.

Seen.

My thumb hit play.

The world turned ice.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was me. It was Sloane. It was sex–recorded–and sent straight to Scar.

“That fucking cunt,” I whispered, nausea rising. “She just-”

She had blown my life apart.

I tried calling Scar again. Nothing.

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I typed fast, messy, telling her it was a setup, that I was drunk, that I hadn’t known- anything to make her listen.

After everything I’d done for Sloane, why would she do this?

I flew out the door and sprinted to Sloane’s place, pounding on her door until my knuckles

ached.

No answer.

I turned and saw the empty spot where her car should’ve been.

“Son of a bitch.”

I stayed on her porch for hours anyway, like waiting hard enough could rewind time.

She never came.

Eventually I went home, took a shower, and crawled into bed feeling hollowed out.

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Before I set my phone down, I checked it one last time.

A message from Scar.

My heart jolted, frantic and stupid with hope.

I opened it.

Scar: SIGN THE DIVORCE PAPERS!