“Bad news Katy, Nathaniel isn’t allowing you to attend the ball. You will need a new plan to get in,” I explain as I stretch out on the couch. Slamming the door closed, she grows in frustration, “You know I have to be there. It’s the only way for this to work.” Nodding I click on the television, “I know. I’ll figure something out, even if we have to get you in as a server.”
Making a face, she starts the coffee pot, “No, I can’t do that. Quinn wouldn’t let me live that one down and she would make it known who I was before I got what I needed.” The door to the bedroom opens and I hear her feet stomping her way into the kitchen, “What the fuck Katy? Who the hell is he?” Looking back at him over my shoulder, I wave and grin which only pisses the girl off more, “Sebastian Johnson.” I can feel her stare and I wink at her as I go back to the television. Once Katy’s calmed her down, the woman leaves the door slamming behind her. Guess it wasn’t calm enough.
“Should have eaten her out, she’d have been in a better mood then,” I offer as she sits on the couch next to me with her cat mug. Rolling her eyes at me, she places the cup down and leans back. Her robe falling open when she does. “I guess. You could have offered too.”
Shaking my head at her, I groan as she licks her lip and fingers, “You know my dick only knows the feel and taste of Quinn.” Her name is like acid on Katy’s lust filled body, snapping her out of her haze, “Heaven forbid you do anything that doesn’t make little miss prissy bitch happy.” My hand acts on its own, her words mixed with the anger I felt earlier have me acting out, “Watch it. I would hate to ruin everything about you just because you want to be jealous.”
My phone chirps with a text from Quinn at that moment, a picture loads and I stare as her image fills my screen. Quinn and Harlyn in ball gowns, grins on their faces, and it makes me feel like the asshole everyone makes me out to be knowing her ball night will be ruined.
Chapter Three
Quinn
The smile on my face drops as I wait for Sebastian to respond, the three dots dancing on my screen and then disappearing. Glancing down at the dress, it fuels the anger building inside of me at his brush off. Taking off the gown, I stalk through the store until I find the more risque choices. There’s a black and red gown that grabs my attention, pulling the hanger off the rack, I snap at the woman who’s taken it upon herself to follow me, “This one, have it fitted and ready to go by the weekend.”
She huffs and stalks away as I begin to step into the puddle of gown at my feet. The fabric plunges in the middle, the cups barely holding my breasts from being uncovered. Spinning in the dress, I smirk when I see the other women staring. The silk fabric feels wonderful against my legs as the skirt swooshes revealing the red underneath. “Ma’am, I’m sorry but that dress won’t be ready by the weekend, the designer makes all of them custom.” I hear Harlyn whisper, oh shit as I turn to the store worker.
“Who’s the designer?” I question, my stare never faltering. Rattling off a name I know, I reach for my phone already dialing her home phone. “Giselle, darling, your black and red silk number down at Vinnik’s, I want it. Tomorrow? Sure thing, I’ll swing by for a fitting,” throwing my phone to Harlyn, I look at the ladies staring at me. “We will be going now, pleasure doing business with you.” Handing over my credit card, I ignore them as they set about packaging my dress once the store manager comes over to say Giselle will have my dress fitted and ready for me.
Changing back into my clothes, I swipe a coat of gloss on my lips, Sebastian still hasn’t replied, and it pisses me off. I know he wasn’t a fan of our union when it was forced on us, but I thought we had grown since then. The conversation replays in my head from that night five years ago. We were barely old enough to know what sex was and here were our parents setting our lives and dreams on fire.
It was written in the stars, stamped with the family crest, and set into motion long before either of us had any idea what marriage even was. I remember the day I met him, Sebastian Clay Johnson. He would grow up to be every bit of a wet dream. At least until he spoke and acted like he was better than me. That was five years ago, now he knew every inch of my body and every sound I made when I came now. He also knew my every weakness. Sebastian was a fucking prick, a bad boy with an even worse fuck everyone attitude, at 5’8” he towered over me. That didn’t stop me from licking every tattoo that covered his arms when we
