Cold Hearted Casanova (Cruel Castaways) by L.J. Shen

Author:L.J. Shen [Shen, L.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2024-04-09T00:00:00+00:00

Since I didn’t have room for cutlery, let alone an ironing board, whenever I steamed my clothes, I’d do it on my bed, using a piece of tile as a buffer so as not to burn my duvet. It made ironing quite the operation, seeing as I had to bend over in an R shape to ensure my clothes were crisp and wrinkle-free. Strangely enough, I did not derive my usual pleasure from doing something that would make me appear upper class.

I kept running the hot iron over the same crease on my cherry-red blouse distractedly. I managed not to think about what had happened with Riggs out there, instead refocusing on my newly found hatred toward BJ.

I wondered if he’d always been a rubbish person, or if he’d sprouted privilege and brattiness in recent years, when he realized I’d stick around for the perks? My guess was he’d always been a twat, and I simply looked the other way. Well, it was safe to say my nose was now deeply shoved in BJ’s bad behavior. And that no amount of wealth in the world was worth sticking to a terrible partner.

I was running the iron over the crinkle in the sleeve again when I felt something hard and hot pressing between my thighs from behind. Oh, no. Did I wee myself? I could swear I wasn’t drunk anymore.

Wait, no. It was a palm. A human palm. Riggs’s palm?

Ohmigod.

I clenched involuntarily around his hand, ribbons of warm tension uncurling beneath my navel. He cupped me from behind, and I wasn’t sure if I was more confused or more hot and bothered by this surprising turn of events.

I wanted to ride his hand to a climax but stayed perfectly still, afraid it was some sort of a game or payback for my utterly selfish behavior.

“We’ll be breaking the house rules.” His voice was so deep and thick it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of the ocean.

I licked my lips, remembering the silly contract on our stupid fridge. “We don’t even live in a house, do we? It’s a flat, and really, rules are born so we could break them like an artist. Or so Picasso—”

“This doesn’t mean we’re a couple,” he continued, his voice rough. His middle finger traveled up, skimming my slit through my underwear and trousers teasingly.

“I know,” I said, my voice breaking.

His finger pressed into me, bunching the fabric of my knickers between my folds. I let out a growl, dumping the iron and straightening my back. He pressed his free hand to the base of my spine, keeping me bent.

“I like the view better from here,” he whispered into the shell of my ear.

“Riggs! How dare you?” I huffed prudishly, trying to preserve the minuscule pieces of my pride.

“Easily. You’re objectifying me and using me as a revenge fuck to dangle in front of your little boyfriend for when he comes back. I’ve seen that movie a hundred times, Poppins. I’ll be your leverage. Your eye for an eye.

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