Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour
CHAPTER 24
Roman
After a long hot shower, I still feel like shit. I’ve got the hangover from hell. A headache the size of Texas that not even three Advil can cure. And I’m fucking exhausted, having come home at some wee hour in the morning.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I swipe at the steamed-up mirror and take a glimpse of myself. I’m sorry I did. I still look as bad as I feel. My face is pasty and in need of a shave. Adjusting my patch over my right eye, I stare at the crescent-shape, purple bruise under my swollen left one. Rage shoots through my veins. That fucking twerp could have blinded me. I run my forefinger over the contusion and grimace. It hurts like hell. I should have iced it when I got home, but I was in no shape or mood. I was furious as fuck. Dumping the Beamer somewhere around the Connecticut/New York border, I took an Uber back after being pulled over for reckless driving. At least, I wasn’t drunk—yet—and didn’t get a DUI. But the speeding ticket was bad enough. Blickdick cost me five hundred bucks, and I’ve got to schlep back up to Connecticut to pay the fricking fine in court. I should make him go.
But Blickdick was not the main reason I was a raving lunatic about to go over the deep end. The real reason was Sofi. The second I saw her in that dress, I lost it. For a brief moment of déjà vu, I thought I saw a ghost. I froze at the illusion, the glacial ache in my heart numbing every atom of my being. Then, reality stabbed me like an ice pick. At the sight of her floating in my gown like a heavenly black cloud, I had to have her. Make her mine. And mine alone.
When I saw her with another, my blood heated like lava, and I sprang into action. Rage coursed through my veins like a testosterone-induced tornado, taking with it any trace of remorse and sadness. How dare she dance with him? Set my balls on fire? My cock thrashed against my pants while I swayed her in my arms. When Blickdick butt in—the nerve of him!—I should have kicked him where it hurts. Broken his bones, not his camera. Yeah, that’s what I should have done.
Then, she stood up for him. Abandoned me.
When I finally got home, my blood still bubbling with rage, my emotions—and hormones—spinning out of control, I guzzled an entire bottle of bourbon and then, drunk as a sailor, I staggered to her room to teach her a lesson. To remind her who she belongs to. With a slap on the ass and a punishing fuck. Except her door was locked and no matter how loud I pounded and shouted, she wouldn’t open it. I almost kicked it in had not Madame DuBois stopped me and forced me to go to bed. In my sorry state, I couldn’t even masturbate myself to sleep.
As much as my black eye aches, my cock aches more, my hard wood straining against the towel. Impetuously, I tear it off and curl my fingers around the base of my colossal shaft. With one hard, swift yank, I make myself come. Hot splotches of semen coat my palm and fingers. I rinse off my hand and clean up my cock. At least, I feel better. And slightly calmed down. Calm enough to face the world. And face Sofi.
From my en suite bedroom, I hear a phone drone. Rewrapping the towel around me, I clamber out of the bathroom. Except it’s not my phone. It’s Sofi’s. I totally forgot I have her purse, which she left behind in the car. The phone keeps ringing. Snapping open the little beaded bag, I slip out the vibrating phone and regrettably recognize who’s calling. Her blabbermouth friend, Harper. The little harpie. I hate her. She’s the reason Sofi crashed into my life like a nuclear bomb. And if she hadn’t gotten married to that twerp, last night would have never happened. I’d be the in-control man I used to be. The one who couldn’t feel anything but guilt and sorrow. Not all these unwanted feelings that are wreaking havoc on my body.
The goddamn phone won’t stop ringing. It’s giving me a bigger headache than the one I already have. Then ping after ping. Text after text. Call me! Where are you? Why aren’t you picking up? With a sharp jab, I turn off the phone and jam it back in the purse. I throw on some clothes. It’s time to pay my butterfly a visit.
I jiggle the old brass knob. Dammit. The door to Sofi’s door is still locked. But that means she’s got to be inside. I rap on the hard slab of wood three times and shout her name. No response. Nada.
I knock again and wince, my bruised knuckles still sore from last night. “Sofi, open up! I know you’re in there. I’ve got your phone. If you want it, you’ve got to come to the door.”
A long beat of silence. Then, “Go away! I’m not talking to you.”
I grit my teeth. “You already are.”
“Well, I’m never talking to you ever again until—”
“Until what?”
“Until you apologize to Vincent.”
What!!?? She wants me to apologize to Blickdick? That asswipe who turned my world on its axis last night. Sent my emotions into a frenzy. And almost cost me my good eye. As well as my life! He should be apologizing to me! Except I never want to see the douchebag again.
“Sofi, are you kidding?”
No response. Dead silence.
Fuck. She’s not.
I give the door an angry kick before hurling her purse against it. Thunk.
My blood simmering, I stalk off before it lands on the hardwood.
Fuck this waif of a girl. And the power she has over me.
Fuck me.