Page 1 of My Never
Prologue
Ava
4 Years Ago
“Crap!”
I have got to get a new doormat. That was the last time I was going to trip on that sucker and almost crack my face open. Kicking it out of the way and under the wooden rocker on my quaint, little front porch, I smooth back the strands of hair that fell into my face and shake off the bad mood it brought on. It was a long day, but thankfully, I had enough PTO to take off early. Now I have time to finish getting things ready for Eric when he flies home from his work trip tonight. I’ll even have time for a hot bubble bath.
The key to my cottage front door turns smoothly. I step in, close the door, and walk a few steps into my little dining room that branches off the kitchen. Hanging my purse on the chair corner, I turn and take in the afternoon sun streaming in through the window, drenching the room in bright natural light that just puts my disposition back in its happy place.
Sighing in contentment, I meander to my coffee maker, popping in a little pod of caramel cappuccino mix for my afternoon dose of caffeine. Thank goodness these things are quick. Pulling down a mug that says “Surviving on Coffee & Smut”, I smile at the memory of Jenna handing me this full of little chocolates and a gift card to our local bookstore one Christmas. I miss her. I can’t believe she’s already been gone for two years.
I look up and around the kitchen as the mug warms my hands. Having finished dishes last night, the kitchen appears to be in order. I didn’t go into the living room, opting to curl up and read in bed until way past my bedtime. I mosey toward the living room anyway, just to go enjoy my coffee. Picking up my copy of H.D. Carlton’sDoes It Hurt, I flip to where I last left off. This book was completely unexpected and oh so good. I’m listening to it on audiobook when I can’t pick it up and physically hold it, and holy moly is the narrator’s voice delicious.
Right as I am about to start reading, I hear a noise from either the side or the back of the house. That’s funny. I stand, walking back through the kitchen and tiny mudroom to the garage entrance, opening the door to peek inside. Eric’s car is inside just as it should be. Shrugging, I close the door, but freeze and frown when I see two pairs of shoes kicked off on the mud rug. One of them is Eric’s, but the blue strappy stilettos are most definitely not mine. My blood runs cold, and I feel like I could puke. I make my way back through the kitchen, this time noticing a shirt against the baseboard of the hallway leading toward the back of the house. A rustling sound comes from the back bedrooms, and as I near, an unmistakable sigh and low moan comes from a woman. My blood boils. I stand there, frozen in place, not knowing how I want to face this.
The moans increase in volume, and I can’t just stand here and take it anymore. When she calls out Eric’s name, I’m no longer stuck in place. Cold fury moves my feet for me. I grab the knob and push the door open, not ready for what I am about to see.
On my bed, holding onto my headboard is a fiery, redheaded beauty riding my fiancé’s face. Eric lies beneath her with one hand gripping her ass and the other stroking himself, her head thrown back in ecstasy as whimpers escape her lips.
“What the actual fuck am I seeing right now?!” I screech.
When the wanton stranger in my bed shrieks and jumps off Eric’s face, trying to cover herself, she turns just enough that I see she’s not a stranger at all, but is, in fact, his secretary, who just so happened to go on the trip with him. Eric scrambles up in the bed, glancing a look between the two of us while wiping his filthy mouth off, pure panic flashing across his face.
“How long?!” I demand.
“Ava, thi–” he begins, but I cut him off with my hand, looking over at Blaire pulling up her panties and grasping at her shirt.
“Is not what it looks like? Yeah, don’t even bother with that stupid fucking farce of a line. She was just riding your fucking face! It’s exactly what it looks like! How? Long?!”
He glances over at Blaire, and I let out a throaty snarl that demands he better fucking look back at me and answer the damn question. He lets out a deep breath, sits back against the headboard, and runs a hand down his face in defeat before he looks back up at me.
“Almost a year.”
“In MY house?! In MY bed?!”
I take a step toward the bed, and he grimaces at the shrillness of my voice. Blaire opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“Get. Out.” I grit angrily through my teeth. She nods, glancing at Eric before grabbing the rest of her things and bolting for the bedroom door. I slam it behind her, turning to glare at the piece of shit rising from the bed.
“Baby,” Eric starts.
“Don’t you ever call me that again. You’ve effectively lost that right. How could you? And in my house?!”
Indignation rolls across his face, which for the life of me takes me by surprise. Who the fuck did I agree to marry? He’s just pissed he got caught.
“Maybe if you’d loosen up a bit, I wouldn’t have felt the need to look elsewhere!”
“What the actual fuck?!” I bellow.
“You’re a boring prude in bed.” He shrugs, like what he just said to me was a passing greeting to someone in the grocery store. Like it’s a valid excuse for his behavior. It disgusts me. It cuts me.
“Excuse me?! It’s not like you’ve ever voiced that you wanted anything different! You’ve most certainly never asked me to ride your fucking face! You’ve made it clear that you’re the boss in the bedroom, so I’ve never felt I was able to ask for anything new! Communication in that arena would’ve been nice!”
“You should’ve asked, or taken the initiative!”
“Like I said, you made it CLEAR that YOU were the boss in the bedroom!”
