Hard As Stone (Beautiful Betrayal Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

could’ve prepared me for the sight of Spencer, buck-naked and bent over the custom Stickley chair delivered last week.
    Oh my God. He’s being raped! Terrified for our lives, I’ve got to call 9-1-1, and drop the take-out bags, fumbling for my cell.
    “Dude, that’s it,” the man assaulting Spencer groans. “Lift up your ass so I can go deeper. Show me what you learned in class.”
    Without missing a beat, my fiancé grips the leather cushion, and does a downward dog proud. Through my haze of confusion, I recognize Lance, and then I understand. The yoga teacher from the rec center is deep drilling Spence. The shock of betrayal races from the pit of my belly as if jettisoned. I’m rooted to the spot, openmouthed to the nightmare before me.
    X, stop gawking! I order but the pumping motion of the yogi-boy-toy and Spencer’s garbled moans for more have warped all my good sense. The man I’m engaged to… the man whom I’ve known since high school and am going to marry, spend the rest of my life with until we’re old and gray, is getting pommeled. And not just pommeled, he’s bound by the wrist and there’s some kind of metal bar between his spindly legs.
    Spencer arches upward with a grunt. In denial, I tell myself this can’t be happening as I continue to stare in disbelief, recognizing the tattoo on his neck, trailing what looks like a studded leather dog collar. Taking it hard from behind, this collared jerk is my fiancé. A lying sack of manure who refused to have sex before marriage. Who wanted our wedding night to be special, even though Spence knew I wasn’t a virgin.
    Absurd and I can’t absorb this new gestalt, except it dawns on me that he’s also wearing a mask and is gagged.
    The guy doing him, pumps so violently that the chair rocks precariously. Each slam of their hips forces me to the edge of sanity. The chair legs thud-thud-thud , reverberating off the living room walls as my universe rips apart. In seconds, the kitchen floor will drop, my world will end, and I back up, trying to escape the darkness that creeps closer, threatening to take over.
    I squeeze my eyes shut, willing to negotiate, plead, holler—anything except admit that this is real. It’s some form of a test. A Boston College challenge offered up like those at the rope course we’d visited on campus last weekend.
    Then I hear Brooke behind me shout, “Surprise! Happy… What the puck!”
    As I peel apart my eyelids, Lance rams full force into Spencer. He even glances over to us on his down stroke and grins. Leers. And I lose it!
    Gone is a lifetime of control. As if I’m on fire, I race toward them, grabbing a vintage fruit bowl in my raze of indignation that Spencer is nailing—no, correction. He’s getting nailed, grunting like a greedy pig in my house, defiling my home.
    “Get out!” I heave the bowl of organic apples, pears, peaches at them.
    Spencer in his Tommy impression doesn’t see me, doesn’t hear me, but that fool feels me. I pelt him with his precious fruit from Whole Foods, clocking him in the cheek with a Granny Smith. The Murano glass bowl crashes to the floor. It splinters into blue shards as the torrent of fruit roll across the tiger bamboo planks.
    Lance hoists Spencer upright and uses him like a shield. They’re still connected, reminiscent of cats that can’t unhinge. Spencer haphazardly with his bound wrists, claws off the blindfold, and our eyes lock. His bright blue eyes widen and he mumbles behind his gag, his fingers outstretched as if pleading.
    “Save it,” I sob, surprised that tears are gushing down my cheeks. “Get your stuff and get out!” I choke on the bubble of fear and rage stuck in my windpipe.
    He yanks on the straps of the gag and shrieks, “Don’t think so! I own half of this place. Half, Ms. High and Mighty.”
    I’m mortified by Spencer’s tone and more so by his erection. His wiener sticks out like an accusatory appendage, mimicking his finger pointing in my