True North (Compass series Book 4) Read Online Free Page B

Frustration tugs at the corners of my mouth because I’m so rarely at a loss for words. I hate that she’s seeing me like this.
    She rolls her eyes and mutters, “First rule of Fight Club.” Then she starts down the hall, tossing words over her shoulder. “You coming or what?”
    I scramble after her, marveling not for the first time how she can walk in those heels, never mind strut. But she does. She so does. I let myself admire her swinging hips because looking is allowed, and from my interactions with Cris, I don’t think he’d give a shit that I lust after his wife. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’d be more likely to sit next to me and stare, offer me a beer bottleneck to clink, and say, “ Inorite? ” Fucker.
    She lets us into her room, and it’s dark, no cocky brute of a spouse in sight.
    “Where’s your husband?”
    I didn’t mean for it to come out as a sneer, but it does.
    She sighs and grabs a bottle of water off the table, opening it to take a swig before offering me an unopened one. “You’ve got to learn how to be less of an asshole. I’m willing to talk to you, but not if you’re going to be a dick. If you must know, he’s got a meeting with one of his editors and then he was going to play tourist. He’s never been to DC before.”
    I feel chastised. And embarrassed because she’s so cool whereas I’m such a mess. “Sorry.”
    “I get it. It’s hard. But you can trust me. I’m not going to fuck with you. Too much. Probably. So what do you want to know?”
    She sits in a chair, kicking off her shoes and tucking up her feet. It makes it easier, somehow, her looking human and vulnerable, like someone whose feet actually hurt instead of some valkyrie.
    “When we…” My jaw clenches because I shouldn’t say fuck.
    “Fucked, Slade. You can say it. We fucked. And it was good. Nothing to be ashamed of.” She’s so matter-of-fact about it, but then I guess she would be. She clearly enjoys sex and has had a lot of it. Some people probably have some not-so-nice names for that, but if anything, I’m jealous of her embracing her appetites, something I’m fundamentally incapable of doing. But hell if I’m going to admit it.
    “That’s not what your husband seemed to think when he was strangling me.”
    “He didn’t hurt you,” she says, dismissing my sullen tone. I guess he told her. “But if it makes you feel any better, I got lectured for that too. He was right to be angry, though. I did tell him it was my fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged you, told you it was okay. It wasn’t, and I know better even if you don’t. So I apologize. I hope you haven’t—”
    Alarm widens her eyes. Even when I broke her down to tears, she didn’t look afraid, but she looks scared now.
    “You haven’t done that to anyone else, have you? Tell me you haven’t.”
    I don’t like her face contorted in panic, so I rush to reassure her. “No, I swear. I haven’t.”
    I leave off the part about not having been with anyone else in any capacity because I doubt she’d understand. Let her think I fuck everything with tits in the District. God knows that’s what most people think.
    “Okay. Good. Don’t.” She takes a long draught of her water and then looks at me. “But you want to?”
    “Yeah. And you told me. You said there are people who are into that shit. That’s what you said. That’s what I want. Where do I find them?”
    I’d wanted to. With Pressly. Hit her, hurt her. But most of all, I’d wanted to fling insults in her face until tears were streaking down her reddened cheeks. But I couldn’t because she was too gentle, too pretty, too sweet. She deserved someone who could treat her like a princess because that’s what she was. My beautiful, polished, descended-from-American-royalty wife. I couldn’t fling filth at her like the sick fuck I really am. I was lucky she never figured out exactly how disgusting and black my soul is. But the slow, painful drift had been excruciating.
    I