The Perfect Wrong Read Online Nicole Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Suspense Tags Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement1

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Back in the present, I’m seeing that night like it was yesterday, clear as day.

It’s so tempting to remind her how she tried to frame me then, but why fucking bother?

If I thought there was any last flicker of kindness or remorse left in her heart—any mirror in the soul that would show her how psycho she is—I’d wait.

But there isn’t.

Whatever goodness Evie Triton may have ever had in her died years ago.

Now, she’s a dependent shadow person, exiled to a pitch-black pool of pain, regret, and pathetic control attempts.

I know what’s coming next.

I stop at the door with my hand on it for a long second, waiting for the final explosion.

“You stupid shit! I know about you, Christopher. I know about her,” she screams, every word cut by shrill sobs. “I swear to God, I’ll cut your dick off before I let you stick it in Bruce’s little slut again! You’re not using that girl and tossing her away like a soggy condom. I won’t let you hurt this family. You go and ruin your life—not hers. Not mine. So if...if you think I’ll just sit tight while you’re screwing her, right under our noses, I’m telling you I won’t even hesitate. I’ll call the police and you’ll—”

Rolling my eyes, I step through the door and slide it tight behind me.

The thick glass chokes off her ongoing threats to peel my face off, or whatever else.

Unfortunately, I already have a decent idea what she’ll actually do.

I walk toward the main entrance and its soaring staircase, stopping along the way to flag down one of the house staff.

I tell the maid to keep an eye on Evie. Make sure somebody keeps her in their sight. Purely to make sure she doesn’t do something incredibly stupid in the pool, or with one of those broken glass fragments that needs to be swept up ASAP.

Then the race begins.

I feel the clock ticking with every booming beat of my heart.

Sooner or later, she’ll tell Bruce what’s going on, her distorted version of the truth.

Part of me wants her to blab.

Maybe he’ll finally man up and punch me square in the face like he should.

It might take the edge off the way I’m about to hurt Delia, even with everything in me revolting against it.

I stop at the base of the stairs, raking a hand over my clammy face.

My heart is a hammer now, every beat pounding through me until it drowns my ears in thick silence.

All I want to do is skip what’s coming next.

I want to fly upstairs and kiss her, get her under me, take my fill of her again and again, leaving us hot and spent and healed.

Robot.

It tore your heart out.

I fucking hate every vile word Evie said that drifts back to me.

If there wasn’t a little shred of truth, it wouldn’t sting like this.

My mother always had an uncanny ability to tap into my deepest fears, and right now, I’m scared shitless she could be right.

I am a human robot.

A heartless machine so hellbent on getting my dick wet without attachments that now I’ve butchered Delia’s innocence. I’ve mangled her heart on a hope that can’t be.

Fuck, I’m going to break her, shatter myself in the process, and leave a smoking pile of debris behind us.

God Almighty.

I should just forget the heart-to-heart. Walk the hell out of this house forever while I still can.

If only ghosting or sending her a limpdick letter didn’t feel so much worse.

All my options are hideous.

Toxic.

Wrong.

Everything, everything, including what she feels for me.

But I can taste Delia on my lips. I see her mahogany eyes shimmering with an innocence I wish I could keep intact.

Ma may be right in her own sadistic way about how fucked up I am—after all, she made me that way—but she doesn’t have a clue.

I won’t cut the last chord of my humanity and walk away without a word.

I’ll just sever the accidental thread tying my fate to a woman who’ll always be too pure for my tarnished soul.

* * *

She looks up in surprise when I barge into her room.

For a second, I’m just punch-drunk.

There she is.

The perfect portrait of brains and beauty and sensitivity, hunched over her easel, a brush in her hand that’s been hard at work bringing a field of brilliant violet-blue flowers to life.

“Chris?”

I sweep toward her without waiting for a second word, haul her out of her chair, and pin her against the wall.

My lips find hers, starving, silencing her questions and smothering every sane thing I came here to do.

What the hell are you doing, idiot? I ask myself.

But she knows better than I do.

Delia must feel the heat in my lips and the frustration in my blood.

My dick finds the softness of her belly, her pussy, and I grind hard, reliving our first liaison on the beach.


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