All Yours, Daddies

SARAH

“I want an open marriage, Sarah.”

My eyes drift from Aaron to the sly bitch sprawled on the bed behind him. I hope she knows she’s fired. I hope she knows I’ll do anything to make sure she’s never hired by any of the big 40s in our country. I am not a petty woman, but I trusted my personal assistant enough not to crawl into my husband’s bed.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

I swallow hard and return my gaze to my husband of six years. He stands tall, wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs. Bile forms in my throat when I realize that I bought that for him.

“Why?” I ask, fighting my tears.

“I told you I want a divorce, Aaron. Not an open marriage. I refuse to bring myself down to your level.”

He throws his head back and laughs. I recognize the sound. There was a time it made me blush and look away, but that was so many years ago. Now, I just want to stick my heel in his throat and stop that laughter forever.

I don’t do that. I stand still and look straight into those menacing green eyes of his.

“You must be joking, Sarah. If you do that, I’ll walk away with all of Wellspring. I’ll reduce you to nothing, woman. You know me.” He begins walking in circles around me.

“We built that company from the ground up together. Six years of my sweat, money, and brain are in Wellspring. You are only the face. If you dare to threaten me with divorce again,” he places his hand on my shoulder, and I contemplate my chances of a “not guilty” verdict for involuntary…or voluntary manslaughter.

I tilt my head to look at him. His lips spread into a thin smile.

“I’ll take it all, Sarah. Every single bit of it, and toss you into the streets. Let’s see if your darling brother will be able to save you from the ruins.”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my brother. If Kevin knew what Aaron had done to me, to the sacred bond of our marriage, my darling husband would have been in a body bag on his way to his own funeral.

I take another look at the blonde bitch on my bed and force a smile.

“Fine then. You want an open marriage,” I turn to Aaron. The man whom I have spent six years of my life loving, supporting, encouraging. The only man I have ever trusted enough to give my heart and body too. None of it means anything to him.

Why should I fight for the respect of someone who has done nothing but disrespect me? Sleeping with more than half of my female staff? Lord.

“I’ll give you an open marriage. But I promise I’ll make you regret it.”

“Regret?” He asks as amusement lights up in his eyes.

That annoying laughter slips out of his throat again.

“What do you think you are? Why would I regret this decision? I have been craving for this day all through our marriage. You…” he points right his index finger at me.

“…are a lame vanilla pillow loving fuck. What am I supposed to regret? The back shots you can’t give? The positions you’re too fucking lazy to stay in? My dick you’re too dumb to suck properly?”

I can’t stop it now. The tears flow from my eyes and run down my cheeks. I grip the sides of my suit pants, digging my manicured fingers into my skin.

“No man will want you. I only did because you looked so hot six years ago, and I thought you were going to be a menace in bed. Me, a commoner, got to fuck the little sister of Kevin Wellspring? My friends worshipped the ground I walked on. But you turned out to be so…”

“Leave her, darling.” His mistress cuts in. For a brief moment, I wonder if she feels sorry listening to the man she has just fucked address his wife like that.

He scoffs and turns his back to me.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Sarah. Now leave. Find someone else to bother with your sorry face.”

Right in front of me, he returns to the bed and continues kissing her. I quickly look away and drag myself out of the room. At least he has the decency not to take her to our bedroom…right?

Damn it.

I stomp up the stairs to the master bedroom and find my way to my walk in closet. There is no way I’m staying in this house tonight with Aaron and his little miss downstairs. My chances of going to prison are too high.

Frantically, I search for a dress “sexy” enough to wear to a club, or a bar, or anywhere I was guaranteed to get looked at.

NO MAN WILL LOOK AT YOU.

Aaron’s words echo in my ears, but I shake my head hard enough to force it out. I pick out a red dress I haven’t worn in quite a while, and put it against my body.

I look up at the mirror. It’s barely covering my thighs. I stopped dressing so slutty after I got married because Aaron didn’t like it. Yet, he’s cheating on me with girls who wear worse. I laugh at the irony of it all and move into the room.

In an hour, I am dressed in a thigh high red body con mesh dress with a V-shaped neckline that accentuates the fullness of my breast. I put on my pearl necklace and matching studs, and black heeled sandals. I let my red hair fall in full waves down to my shoulders, and adorn my lips with red lipstick.

I look hot. I feel hot. But not hot enough to keep my husband.

Then again, could you ever keep a man that didn’t want to be kept?

It’s a thirty minute drive to Vincent’s. A club that was rumored to host the one percent of the one percent. If I was going to get a good revenge fuck, it had to be here.

I sit across a table of three girls and find them smiling and pointing in my direction. Confused, I look around me. Down at my dress, at my makeup. I don’t look like a clown, do I?

It’s only when the brunette winks that I know they aren’t looking at me. I turn to the table behind me and find what…no, WHO they’re looking at.

Three men on a table, exuding wealth, power, and class.

I narrow my eyes on the first man. A deep familiar feeling crawls into the pit of my stomach. Dressed in a navy blue suit and a white undershirt, his dark brown hair is slicked back, and he has a little scar on his jaw I can make out even in the poor light. When electric blue eyes suddenly locate mine, my breath hitches in my throat.

He raises a brow on seeing me, while my eyes widen. I look at the two men beside him. The next wears a grey shirt with three buttons undone, and a pair of matching grey pants. The clothes match the grey hue of his eyes. The last is in a black leather jacket and ripped blue jeans. He waves at me.

My heart skips a million beats at once.

Ronan, Malachi, and Jaxon HawkThorne. My brother’s best friends, and the most brutal, feared, and successful businessmen in the city are here! In the same club as me!

Heat rises to my cheeks when Malachi smiles.

Fuck. When did they get so hot?