Falling For The Wrong Twin

Difficult

Gia

Maverick wrapped his hand around my hair, yanking my head back until his dark hooded gaze held mine. He speared me with his c**k, every deep thrust shoved me forward over the sink that overflowed with water cascading from the sides to the bathroom floor.

A sharp crack landed on my ass and my face dipped into the water.

I kept rocking back onto that thick c**k, chasing that high until—

Water filled my nose, lungs, and ears. I couldn't breathe.

‘I couldn't breathe’

He was still pounding, still f*****g me through it. I was drowning, lungs burning, orgasm almost crashing through me but I couldn't actually breathe. Panic crawled through me and—

My eyes flew open, and for a minute, all I did was stare into the ceiling above me, numb—too stunned to speak or even move. Something had to be broken in my head. This would make it the second time.

Not only had my body betrayed me, it felt like my subconscious had signed a deal with the devil—Maverick to torture me until I finally sank to my knees and uttered the words he wanted to hear.

'Please f**k Me'

Unfortunately, he would never get to hear those words from me. There had to be a way to release all this s****l frustration and tension.

I turned, groaning into this plush and soft surface. Thankfully, it was a pillow this time. And not something solid and something entirely Maverick.

Maverick?

I cracked an eye open, staring at the side of his bed that was empty, sheets slightly rumpled where his body had been.

Where was he?

I slowly lifted my head, and before his name could slip past my tongue, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit my nose, followed by something that made my stomach do this small roll out of hunger.

I swiveled my gaze until it landed on the tray on the bedside table. A strange feeling unfurled in my chest. Maverick made me breakfast?

Scrambled eggs. Four thick slices of golden brown sourdough toast with a ricotta spread on them. A side of bacon and a steaming mug of dark roast coffee.

My mouth was already watering. This looked good. I bet it tasted even better.

Was it mine?

Or Maverick’s? The idea of someone bringing me breakfast in bed was entirely foreign to me. More importantly, from a fake boyfriend. The closest I’d ever come to breakfast in bed was waking up to find a glass of water and a few pills that Dad had left by my bedside whenever I was sick.

I was already sitting at the edge, reaching for the note beside the tray.

‘I went running. I didn’t want to interrupt whatever dream you were having about me, but you moaned my name three times. You’re giving me all the details when I get back. For now, enjoy your breakfast.’

The note dropped from my hand as if it burned. I did what?!

My cheeks burned. I was sure they were a blotchy red now. Did I really do that? I would actually lose my mind if I did. Or could this be his attempt to mess with me and throw me off balance?

I didn't know and that even made it scarier.

If I could have a dream as vivid as that, still feel the heat tingling between my legs, then the chances that I moaned out his name and he heard it were high.

Oh God. I was going to die. Maverick would never let me hear the end of it! By the time I was done, I’d probably find the nearest cliff—if there was even one around—and jump off it.

But for now, I had to eat and save my suicide plans for later.

After I finished eating, I tried to do the dishes. I had expected to run into Barbara but aside from the housekeeper, no one seemed to be up yet. After the whole drama Vivienne pulled last night, wasting everyone’s time because of a ring, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone slept in.

I stood right in front of the sink, my thoughts circling back to Maverick.

For someone who should be clearing her thoughts of anything that had to do with him, I kept feeding these dirty thoughts to the monster that was my mind.

What was Maverick like in bed?

Was he gentle? Soft? Did he like being dominated? No. A cocky and arrogant man like him definitely loved being in control. He had to be the domineering type. The type who wasn't used to asking. He simply took and devoured.

The soft–familiar kiss on my cheeks yanked me out of my thoughts, my heart almost leaping into my throat as I swung my head and the light brown eyes that immediately held mine made me freeze. Momentarily.

Mitch.

His hair was slightly tousled, that heart–melting smile creeping through his face as he waved directly in my face.

I swallowed, putting a jarring stop to whatever flutter that was about to resurface in my stomach. This had to end. He was engaged to Vivienne!

I smacked his hand away from my face. “Stop,” I whispered.

Mitch did this slow tilt of his head, dipped his hand under the running water, and sprinkled a little amount on my face. I closed my eyes. Every part of me wanted to break into a laugh, turn to him, and smile while he would tuck my hair behind my ear like he always did.

Instead, my jaw remained tight as I heaved a sigh and turned off the faucet.

“What do you want Mitch?”

His expression faltered. “You’ve been avoiding me. It’s like I can't even get a hold of you. You also blocked me, Gia,”

I stared him in the eye. “You blocked me first,”

“I unblocked you,”

“Well…it’s my turn now. And as for what you did right now. I mean, the kiss on the cheek. Please don't do it again. You’ll be getting married in three months,” The words soured in my mouth, a sudden weight pressing hard on my chest. “I’m with your brother,”

Mitch’s face slowly hardened. “Gia, it’s just a kiss on the cheek! Vivienne doesn't have any problem with it,”

The problem with Mitch was that everything was always ‘just’ to him. But it wasn't to me. I read deep meaning into every little thing that he dismissed as nothing. The kisses on my face. A hug that lingered for far too long and cocooned me in his warmth. A stare that he wouldn't break off until I did.

It all meant something to me.

I was tired. Deeply tired.

“Maverick does,”

A scoff left his mouth. “Maverick now matters to you more than I do?”

I held my breath, trying not to falter. “He is my boyfriend so of course, he comes first,”

Mitch looked at me in pure disbelief. “Wow, so you are serious about getting married to him?”

“Yes,”

“Gia, Maverick is the last person you should be getting married to. He is not a good man and he would hurt you,” Mitch gripped my shoulders. “Men like him are wired to hurt women, break hearts,”

Coming from the same man who broke my heart first.

“You deserve better and he is not it. End whatever this is between you two while there's still time,”

“Why?”

Frustration swirled in his eyes. “Because I’m looking out for you. I know what's good for you and Maverick isn't it,”

Annoyance hazed my vision as I yanked his hands off my shoulder. “Mitch, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old adult woman with a developed frontal lobe. I’m well capable of thinking for myself and I know what's good for me and not,”

His brows furrowed. “Why are you being so difficult? You can tell me what to do and I can't?”

I spun towards him. “Mitch Delwanosky. How much of my advice have you taken?”

“A lot,”

“I am talking about the one that has to do with Vivienne and your relationship life. How many of them have you actually listened to?”

Mitch opened his mouth but no words came out.

I waited for it.

But it didn't come.

“Exactly. If I can't tell you what to do, then you have no right to tell me what to do. I could decide to get married to your brother right now, f**k him in your presence. And no one will stop me. Not even you.”