"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
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Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to MarCafeWrites whose ONC entry Miss Otis Regrets just captured a spot in my all-time ONC favorite list after the first couple of chapters. Her story, based on the song with the same name, is set in the early 1950s and features a perfect blend of mean socialites, delicious gossip, intriguing secrets and lies, all spiced up with a murder mystery and a down-to-earth character to keep the plot honest. As Mar so wonderfully puts it: this tongue-in-cheek "whodunit" (in reverse) will leave you wondering just what a scorned woman *wouldn't* do for sweet, sweet revenge.
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Warning: This chapter includes a 🌶️🌶️🌶️ scene which will be marked within the text. Feel free to skip.
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Drogheda, Ireland
February 2024
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🌶️🌶️🌶️
Bastian drops me on the bed and slides off my panties. Pulling my nipple into his mouth, he draws out a moan. My needy body quivers under his gentle strokes. The heat is building so fast that his exploring fingers in my folds drive me close to the edge. When his cock pushes inside me, all those feelings I fought against for so long come rushing back.
Passion.
Fire.
Craving.
Pulsing energy to heal and forget. A temporary bandage to cover the scabs left by my husband's treachery. Giving myself to another man closes a door that can never be reopened.
Bastian's thrusts are hard and fast and my muscles squeeze around his hard shaft. He's an amazing lover who knows when to slow down to stop the building heat from exploding. I buck my hips to force him deeper inside me. My skin hums with so much pleasure that I won't be able to hold on much longer. His sucking lips around my nipple seal the deal. Waves of lust rush through me with such force that my muscles in my lower region contract; his hot cum shooting inside me releases another burst of pleasure. He keeps me locked in a tight embrace with his cock still inside me; the warmth of his body radiates against me like a protective shield. When he finally pulls out, I'm exposed to the cold and my heart shatters all over again.
A good fuck, nothing more.
No emotional entanglement.
Not that I could use that right now.
🌶️🌶️🌶️
It still hurts all the same. I'm the abandoned wife Marcel discarded. His love was never sincere or he wouldn't have left Sean and me in Hong Kong to die.
Bastian spoons me from behind and nozzles his nose into my hair. No lame small talk about how amazing the sex was. It's fine by me; otherwise, my voice might reveal that a few tears escape and burn on my cheeks.
His breaths become even after a while and his arms loosen around me. It's easy to free myself without disturbing him. I slide off the bed and watch him sleep; his face is relaxed and he looks content. Chances are he won't wake up as long as I'm quiet.
Heading for the bathroom to attend to pressing matters, I gaze around as I relieve myself. His toiletry bag stands wide open on the ledge of the sink and allows for a quick peek while I wash my hands. No medication of any kind other than a couple of vitamin supplements and a bottle of Advil.
I tiptoe back into the bedroom and rummage through his bag. A Glock is at the top and an array of different drugs is hidden between the various layers of clothes. With my back to the wall the way Marcel taught me, I keep an eye on the bed. Bastian's chest is rising and falling at steady intervals and he hasn't moved an inch. Opening the side pockets of his duffel, I finally strike gold. Two passports are stuck in the compartment.
Let's see who you truly are.
I open the US passport first. His first name is in fact Bastian, last name Artino. The date of birth puts him at thirty-one. Birthplace New York—the whole document looks legit. The second passport is from the Republic of Cyprus with matching information, which makes him either a dual citizen or he has a top-notch forger. I return the passports to their proper place and open the zipper pocket. An envelope filled with photographs sorted by packs that are held together by paperclips. One batch shows me in different settings: at the tea shop, leaving my house, taking Mam to Tesco.
How long have those fuckers spied on me?
A second set of photographs caught up with Jackson Pierce, although there are fewer pictures of him taken from a much greater distance. I glance at the bed; Bastian is still in the same position, breathing evenly. I stuff the photos back in the envelope and return it to the bag. About to pull out another envelope, a click-clack behind me has me freeze. I slowly turn around and find myself staring into the barrel of a gun.
Note to self: don't trust walls with connecting doors.
The man's imposing body takes up the entire doorway, as if the frame were made for him to compliment his massive build. With his muscled arms that are the same size as my legs, he gives me bodyguard vibes. Modern crew-cut hairstyle, a little goatee; surprisingly fine features; all in all, he is not a bad looking chap if it weren't for his dark blue eyes that are as cold as the deepest waters of Bantry Bay in the middle of winter. As his glare roams over me in scrutinizing assessment, I drop my hand to cover my nakedness and wrap my other arm around my chest.
He smirks. "No need to hide your assets, sweetheart. I'm not interested in women by any means." His gaze flicks to the bed. "Hey, Bastian, wake up. You got yourself a bed bug."
Total WP word count: 6,401
Sorry for the cliffhanger (*evil laugh), but I had to keep the tension up after the spice at the start of the chapter. Hope this installment didn't disappoint and please let me know your thoughts in the comments. Also, a vote would make my day. Thanks for reading!
