Page 49 of Shattered Queens: Veronica
Me: Thanks.
Fuck, what do I do about Gemma? I pull up her contact information and press dial, but there’s no answer. I need to get out of here. Before I head out the door, I check the tracker and see that Veronica left her phone behind at her apartment, again. Next, I pull up the security feed from a couple of hours ago. I watch as she walks out of her building hours earlier, her stride purposeful as she heads straight for a familiar car waiting at the curb. There’s no doubt Berenice is inside. Jesus, I’m really dropping the ball.
When I arrive at home, I stand in front of my apartment door and stare at hers, tempted to knock, but I think better of it. We are scheduled to meet at the building site in a couple of days. The memory of her skin, the sound of her breath catching when I touched her, is etched into my brain. I need a cold shower. My body is still reacting, my pulse thrumming in response to the memory of being inside her just an hour ago. I step into the stall and turn the handle, but as the icy water hits me, I just look down at my aching cock. The cold isn't doing a damn thing. I lean my head against the tile, the water drumming against my shoulders, realizing that "business as usual" at the building site is going to be its own kind of hell.
I wrap my hand around my cock and start stroking it. I see the precum drip from the crown. An image of Veronica on her knees, licking the salty liquid, has me stroking myself. Her long blonde hair wrapped around my hand as I push her down my hard cock. Fuck, that woman is frustrating, but she has an effect on my body. Fuck, she always has. The way her bodyresponded to my touch. Her obedience when I told her to slap her perfect tits. She never obeys me, but tonight she did, in the best way. I pick up the pace and stroke myself faster. Fuck me. I come with so much force that I stumble. My cum paints the wall of my shower.
I’m exhausted. I exit the bathroom and lie on my bed, letting the darkness take me over.
The discarded bouquet of flowers feels like an ominous warning to stay away. To head back the way I came, but I can’t. The sense of dread is overpowering me. Not only did my mother not pick me up from the airport, but she isn’t answering her phone. I knew I shouldn’t have left, but she insisted that she and my father were fine. He was just having a bad day. He has a lot of bad days. The plan was that she would stay in Colombia while he traveled to Veridian Bay to finalize some things with the lawyer. Something about my grandfather’s will. I look at the petals on the floor, and I realize that "fine" was just another lie she used to protect me from the storm. Now, the quiet of the house feels less like peace and more like the aftermath of a disaster I’m too late to stop.
I can’t hear the rain over the sound of my heartbeat. I walk into the kitchen and see no signs of her. I walk to the living room, and still nothing. I approach the staircase and take a couple of steps. I hear the faint sound of mumbling. I continue up the staircase; the mumbling is getting louder as I approach my mother’s study. The door is slightly ajar; she always leaves it open when she’s working. I push it open.
I wake up in a sweat. Fuck, I have this dream every time I come home from Colombia. It’s the house; if my mother didn’t love it so much and if Tia Susana didn’t insist on keeping it, I would have torn it down. It’s a reminder of what happened that night.
I look at my clock; it’s six in the morning. I know I won’t be able to sleep, so I make my way to my office and get to work. I pull open thefolder Sebastain gave me a couple of weeks ago. The name he gave me has been harder to track than I thought it would be. Regardless, I’ll find them. I always do.
I bury myself in work, toggling between my family’s company and my job. It’s the best distraction.
I pull up to the construction site and see her waiting for me. She’s dressed more casually today than she has in the past. It’s another version of Veronica Kayde that only a few get to see. I exit my car and walk to her.
“Hola, Princesa. Como estas?”
She rolls her eyes, full of practiced disdain. “Before this goes any further,” she says, gesturing between us, “I need to clarify that what happened was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
Her dismissiveness grates on my nerves. I take a slow step into her personal space, watching her breath hitch. “Was it a mistake both times?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous edge. “Or did you just lose count?”
The mask she’s wearing shatters. A flush blooms on her neck and stains her cheeks a deep shade of pink. It reminds me of the color of her pussy that I buried myself in. Fuck, Miles, get it together. She’s the last person I should want, but looking at her now, I realize we’re both lying through our teeth. This isn't over, and we both know it.
“Fuck you, lapdog.”
I lean in closer, my lips inches from her ear, the air between us thick. “Woof woof, Princesa.”
“Regardless of what happened,” she snaps, her voice a mix of fury and something that looks suspiciously like hurt. “I won’t be just another addition to the countless women you take to a private room.”
I move my hand and tuck a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “Sounds to me like you’re jealous,” I whisper.
“You wish. You and I are nothing. I’m just a job, and pretty soon, I’ll be free of you.”
The "job" comment stings more than I care to admit. I don’t pull my hand away. Instead, I let my thumb graze the shell of her ear, watching her shiver. “A job,” I repeat, my voice low. “Is that what we were doing in the room? Working?”
The flush on her cheeks deepens to that scorching, familiar pink. It’s the color of her undoing. Fuck, this isn’t going as planned.
“I hate you,” she whispers, but her eyes are locked on my mouth, her resolve crumbling even as she says the words.
“I know,” I murmur, leaning in until our breaths mingle. “But you can still feel my cock between your legs, can’t you, Princesa?”
She pulls away from me. “Let’s do what we came here for. I have somewhere to be.”
I see her smile at someone behind me. It’s the contractor. I school my features and turn, my jaw tight as I look back at Veronica. Where the hell does she need to be?
We make it through the next couple of hours in a cold, suffocating silence. The few words we do exchange are strictly professional, stripped of the heat from earlier. She looks at her watch, the gesture sharp and final. She's counting the seconds until she's away from me.
The second we’re finished, she heads straight for her car, with Kai already waiting by the car door. Instinct takes over. I reach out and catch her wrist, the heat of her skin a sharp jolt through my system.
“Where are you in such a hurry to get to?”
She doesn't flinch. She just looks down at my hand and then back up at me with icy amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stop keeping tabs on me now, Miles? Why tell you when you can just figure it out on your own?”
