Chapter Text
I'm a couple minutes out from relapsing
Do you remember the last time this happened?
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Lydia broke off her engagement with Stephen it seemed.
Bree wanted to laugh. An inappropriate response to some, but Stephen didn’t deserve any sympathy from her.
Bree clasped Lucy’s forearms. “I am so glad that is not your life.”
Reeling herself in, Lucy chuckled shakily, “Yeah…”
“Okay.” Bree took a look around and brightened herself with a smile. “I’m going to find my husband.”
Lucy giggled, letting the newly married Bree go. “Okay.”
Gathering her heels, Bree searched the ballroom with no sign of Evan. She sat at the head table to wait for him, rubbing at her feet when a shadow hovered.
“Were you looking for someone?”
Bree looked up to see Pippa, her arms crossed a little unsurely. “Hi.” Bree blinked, then realized she was asked a question. “Uh, yeah, I was looking for my husband.”
Staring at the empty chair next to Bree, Pippa nodded, chewing on her tongue in thought. Finally, she met her eyes and said, “Good.”
A frown tightened her brow as Pippa sat in the empty seat. To break the uncomfortable silence, Bree began, “Having a good t—”
“You don’t deserve him.”
Bree examined their surroundings, straightening herself from the discomfort. “Uh, maybe—”
“No, we can have this conversation here,” Pippa ordered. “I saw Evan chatting with some of his friends across the room, so this will only take a minute.”
“Pippa, you don’t understand—”
“Oh I understand perfectly.” She got closer in Bree’s face. “I’ve been in your shoes and trust me, it took me a long time to realize that I didn’t deserve Diana either.” Pippa glanced across the floor to see Diana smiling away with Lucy and Wrigley. “I wanted her to drop her life for me, to give up her future for our relationship. When truthfully, what saved us was letting her go out there and be who she is and finding her place in this world.” Her eyes snapped back to Bree’s. “You have a chance to do that for him. Let him go.”
Shaken, Bree shifted in her seat, her skin sweating more than when she was dancing on the dancefloor. Palming at her clammy cheek, she spoke under her breath, “I did. I told him it was over. Then last night he drunk-called me and told me he’d leave me alone. But this morning he kept calling…and I…” her words fell off, unsure of what suddenly changed his mind—he didn't leave a message.
Pippa watched a forlorn Wrigley pick food onto his plate. She exhaled in irritation, “I think it’s too late. At first he didn’t want to spook you and kept you however he could keep you. He thought you would break off the wedding. You had the reins, Bree.” She glared at Bree strongly. “You still do.”
Her palm slid to her chest, pacifying her pulsating heart. She shook herself. “S–so, what do I do?”
“Enjoy your honeymoon.” Pippa shrugged. “And I guess, give it time…”
Rays of sun streamed through the beige drapes. The balcony doors unlatched overnight, letting the drapes move simultaneously with the cool breeze and forcing the sunbeams to bathe her face. Bloodshot eyes blinked warily at the flow of the delicate fabric, at the golden light that burned her retinas. Bree craved the afflicting pain.
She didn't sleep a wink. Hadn’t, for days…
Lips traveled up her shoulder. “Morning, Mrs. Donovan.” Evan noisily kissed the spot where her shoulder and neck met.
Bree rolled onto her back and smiled. “Morning, Mr. Donovan.”
“Mmm, I don’t think I’ll get used to the sound of that.”
An uneasy smile crossed her lips. “Me too.”
Choosing to be ignorant of her wistfulness, Evan was throwing off the blanket, and jumped out of bed in all his naked glory. “I was thinking of ordering room service! Maybe after we can finally visit the Eiffel Tower?”
Bree sat against the pillows, comforter to her chest. “Uh, actually, I was thinking of taking a walk.”
Evan frowned, but shrugged, putting on his boxers he threw on the floor last night. “Okay, we can take a walk, we can hit the shops again. I saw you eyeing that sapphire necklace—”
“No, I mean, I want to take a walk. Alone.”
Evan froze. “It’s our honeymoon.”
Bree picked at the loose thread from the comforter. “I know. I’m sorry. I just, I think I’m coming down with something, maybe like a bug, I feel like I need some fresh air…”
He put his hands on his hips, shifting on his feet before directing his deep scowl at her. “Bree, what’s going on?”
“Nothing—”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve been absent throughout this whole wedding planning and now you want to be absent during our honeymoon?”
She argued prematurely, “I haven’t been absent.”
“You’ve been absent,” he snapped. Evan tamed himself upon seeing her saddened eyes. She didn’t look like how a newlywed should after having a perfect, expensive wedding. He took her to Milan and now Paris for god sake. What more could she ask for?
Instead, she looked like a woman who’s lost a part of her life.
He tried his best to keep her close, to make sure she had everything she needed, everything she ever wanted. Now suddenly, it seemed this wasn’t it.
Evan loved her so much, and he tried at anything to make her happy. He got her so far in life. Without him, she wouldn’t have all the luxury she had now.
Evan sat next to her and kissed the tip of her shoulder. “These last two nights have been…” Every kiss was followed by each syllable, “Ah–” Cheek. “Maze–” Jaw. “Ing.” Neck.
Her stomach twisted. Bree granted him a smile.
“Let’s not ruin it. I missed you. These are supposed to be the happiest days of our lives and I feel like there’s times you’re not here with me.”
“I’m happy.”
He cupped her cheek. “Show me.”
Glistening eyes stared back at him, and she choked, “Okay. How about you order for us and I'll freshen up?”
“Sounds like a plan.” His easy smile came back, kissing her on the lips, he left the bed to get the hotel’s phone across the room.
Bree put on the robe from the chair and took her cell from her purse; locking the bathroom door behind her, she stepped into the grandiose tub. Scrolling through her voicemails, she pressed play on the last one he gave her and held it close to her ear.
‘Okay. Okay—’
His broken voice had her clutching at her stomach—the pain rolling inside her like a ton of bricks. Her knees closed into her chest, gluing herself into a fetal position.
‘I get it. I’ll, uh…I’ll leave you alone.’
Her face warped into sheer agony.
‘Okay. Okay, I get it—’
Quietly, the tears drifted, dripping to the floor of the tub.
“Cheers!” Wrigley roared, raising his glass of champagne.
Alcohol flowed through his system.
The group of business men, investors and brokers that worked with Evan happily shared his enthusiasm. He got along with Evan’s colleagues; some were stuck up, others justifiably humbled in the ritzy environment—those are the ones who don’t stay long. They were at Evan’s parents celebrating Evan’s big promotion. Others in attendance were Evan’s family and friends to Evan’s father.
“Congratulations, man! So proud of you.” Wrigley clapped Evan on the back as he chugged the bubbly drink down his throat.
Truthfully, before Evan’s wedding, Wrigley and him were not always in touch. They hung out here and there, but Wrigley reasonably kept his distance from him…and Stephen.
The only reason he stuck around nowadays was because of…
Bree.
Evan’s face was smeared in joy. “Thanks, Wrigley. Thanks.”
“You’re now, what? A CFO? That shits high-class, man.”
Evan chuckled lightly, “Yeah, it did not come easy.”
Bullshit.
Evan’s father was best friends with an investment banker at the company. Evan didn’t have to work for anything in his life, much less moving upwards in a huge business. Nepotism.
“I’m sure. I think the bar is calling my name for another drink.”
Evan bidded him farewell with a nod, chatting to his colleagues as soon as Wrigley sprinted away.
He didn’t make it far. At the grand stairs he saw the bright trail of her train, her heels alerting people in the ballroom she was here. He dreaded this moment, he knew she would be hard to miss. Sparkling gold in her evening gown, the flimsy material embraced her like a fitted glove, the expanded V-neck extended to her belly button, revealing the curve of her breasts.
As soon as she stepped off the last stair, she walked over to a group of gentlemen and their wives, animatedly speaking; they listened, intrigued. The men laughed and smiled with her, sneaking suggestive glances her way. The women eyed her in jealousy but Bree kept up appearances.
Wrigley hid in a dark secluded corner overlooked by the high window; unseen. A tall, empty table sat and he placed his empty champagne glass there as he observed her from afar. Minutes later, she strolled away from the group with a roll of her eyes.
It has been a month since he saw her.
Her hair was loose and it grew, no longer stopping at her jawline, but touched a little past her shoulders. She glowed in the dim room, catching every eye. Her eyes though gave away what her smile could not—even from his place he glimpsed the shadows underneath.
Wrigley entertained a grin at her look of indignation. Like he said, the majority of the people in this party were snobs. Dirty, rich old men, their wives who prayed for the day their husbands dropped dead, or young business executives that invest more than they can payout.
She was going to move past his table, when he shouted, “Doesn’t look like that conversation went well!”
Bree staggered mid-stride, ice sliding to the pit of her stomach.
Wrigley awkwardly shifted on his feet as he waited for her to turn around. He observed her fist the fabric of her dress to make it easier to circle back to him. Bree smiled tentatively. “I think one of them pinched my ass.”
Seeing her up close devastated him. Not in the ‘she broke my heart and it’s hard seeing her again’ way a minute ago, but ‘she looked so broken and sad’ way that he wanted to hold her.
What she said caught up to him. That devastated him in a wrathful way. “Which one?”
“Don’t get all protective,” Bree dismissed, followed by a not-so-persuasive strained press of her lips. “Evan tells me to let them. Gotta keep the higher ups happy.”
Wrigley clenched his fist. The slight quiver of her head and the begging of her eyes told him not to take any action. So instead he asked, “Speaking of Evan, how was your honeymoon?”
She leaned into him, whispering dolefully, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
She should have known.
Evan liked showing off to old friends; Wrigley and Stephen. It came to no surprise that he invited Wrigley. Wrigley was also the closest one, besides Lucy and Pippa, to live in New York.
“That bad?” he deflected.
Bree tapped her nails on the table, heaving a deep sigh. “It was fine.”
“Good.” Wrigley nodded to himself, eyes wandering to the crowd of people in attendance.
“How was your…” she hesitated.
He arched his brow.
“Um. How are you?”
Wrigley twisted his flute on the table, shrugging nonchalantly. “Had better days.”
“I’m sorry.”
He was kind of exhausted of I’m sorry’s.
He called her five times the morning of her wedding—each one ignored. Of course, he remembered the voicemail he sent her the night before, but he regretted it. Wrigley wanted to tell her he would wait for her, that he would reassure her of his love if that was what she needed and he wasn’t going anywhere and okay, he would leave her alone if she told him to again. But right now, looking into her eyes, he wasn’t sure that would be the case.
“No, you’re not,” he said, straightening his back.
“Wrigley—”
In a swift crouch to her ear, he seductively whispered, “I think you like me like this.” Her stomach lit up like a fire; dumbstruck and warning her of an unsatisfied hunger. Not the food hunger.
The other hunger.
Bree reared back, fixating on the smug smile he possessed. “Admit it, Bree. You like seeing me on my knees for you, pleading with you, or is it the thrill of toying with me?” She ducked her head. “String me along to see how much I’ll break. I won’t.” Astounded eyes dashed to him. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
She was so confused, but not mad. “You said you’d leave me alone.”
“Is that what you want—”
“No.” No thoughts, head empty.
…Don’t judge her.
That one side of his lips curved higher. “You like going behind your husband's back. That thrills you. Don't worry, Bree, it thrills me too.” Her hair wisped at his breath, her eyelids shuddered shut. “Imagine his reaction at seeing your head thrown back in ecstasy as I eat out your wet hot pu—“
“Hey, Bree!”
In a split second he was gone, leaving her breathless.
Containing herself, Bree brightened Lucy with a smile. “Lucy! Hi, you’re here!?”
She was partially thankful for the interruption. Bree was three seconds away from jumping Wrigley’s bones in front of all these guests; including her husband.
Damn the consequences.
“You asked me to be here! You said it was gonna be a boring engagement with Evan’s boring finance colleagues.” She chuckled, but glimpsed Bree’s red cheeks. Her long bangs curtained her face so Lucy tucked some hairs behind Bree’s ear. “Everything okay? You’re looking kind of flustered.”
“Oh—”
“Bree was just talking about her honeymoon,” Wrigley mentioned.
“Oh…” Lucy winked, as though she realized what had made Bree all fired up—she has no idea. Lucy bumped her elbow against Bree’s. “Evan tired you out?”
Bree bowed her head to hide the pink in her cheeks.
“And Wrigley! How are you? It’s been a month but it’s good to see you again!”
Lucy went in for a hug that Wrigley surely accepted. “Great, Lucy. How are you?”
She sighed. “Just work. I like my job, but sometimes you stop and think…what could have been…”
Bree’s smile became crooked, body going taut beside him. He wondered what changed within her, before voicing his thoughts, “I know what you mean. I like my job sometimes and sometimes I wish life didn’t tear me down so much.”
Lucy smiled tightly, then changed her demeanor to something more jubilant. “So, Bree! Milan and Paris?!”
Wrigley had been holding onto his empty flute for far too long. He displayed his glass and said, “Uh, I think I’m gonna grab another drink.”
Wrigley hadn’t changed much since her wedding a month ago. His eyes were still sad—her fault, she knows. His hair was longer like he didn’t keep up with it—it was enough to comb her fingers through. His tall figure was still muscular and big like a fucking giant—enough to overpower her. Was it getting hot in here? She remembered how his body felt against hers, how his cock would feel dragging against her walls…God and what he said to her about his mouth on her cunt; bringing that high she craved for weeks since they were separated. It was a mistake to have the affair with him, but it was a bigger mistake to end said affair.
Bree didn’t realize she was staring at Wrigley’s back until she heard a faraway sound of her name…
“Earth to Bree.” Lucy waved in Bree’s face.
“What? What did you say?”
“I was asking about your trip to Milan and Paris. Must have been so romantic and extravagant. I’m sure Evan invested a lot into it,” she finished with an indicative wink.
She still didn’t hear a fucking word.
She loves Lucy. She does, but Bree took it back, this girl had horrible timing.
Bree was hot and bothered; trapped in the vulgar words he whispered. His ass in those pants was not helping the throbbing between her thighs…
“Uh, huh, I’m so happy for you, um…” Bree licked her dry lips, flinching when she could taste the waxy flavor of her lipstick. “I think I’m going to get a drink too.”
She brushed past, leaving a bewildered Lucy alone.
At the bar, Bree came right next to him and whispered, “I'll see you in the bathroom upstairs, past the first door on your left. Wait five minutes.”
He smirked, leaning over the bar to steal a bottle of liquor and pour it into his flute—these waiters were too slow for his liking. “Thought it was ten?”
Over Wrigley’s shoulder, she spotted Evan laughing with his coworkers.
“Five.”
Smirk lingering on his lips, he downed the whole shot, feeling her dash to the stairs behind him.
It was the worst five minutes of her life.
The rapping of the door finally came and she leapt to open it. Bree clasped the sleeve of his blazer and pulled him in. Wrigley chuckled at her impatience, “Someone’s in a hurry.”
Bree thumped her back against the door, the sounding of the lock taking up the short silence. “No kissing, no marks.”
His brow cutely puckered, his lips quirked at the corners of his mouth. “No kissing?”
“I can’t ruin my lipstick, um, Evan is doing a speech later and I won’t have time to fix my makeup.”
Wrigley raised his shoulders, and accepted nonchalantly, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
A mischievous laugh blew from between his lips. “Yeah, Bree, it’s okay.” He buried his fingers in her hair—she can brush that back down—and moved in to kiss her neck, but fingertips pressured his lips away. “What?” he questioned, his muffled voice vibrating her hand.
“You’re way too calm about this.” Her fingers slowly slipped back to her side.
Another indifferent shrug. “Maybe I miss you.”
“You’re not expecting anything from me?”
“Like leaving your husband?”
“Wrigley…”
“I don’t expect it,” he answered, unemotionally, monotone. It disturbed her how he could do a complete one eighty. It was only a month ago Bree told him she saw them as a mistake. “I don’t care if you’re married to him. Do you?”
Hell, he’ll have her however he can have her. And if this was what she wanted?
So be it.
Bree blinked, reflecting. During the months with him and between partially planning the wedding—thanks to Evan’s mom—she had felt guilty and ashamed, but it was the most thrilling and exciting time in her life. This last month without him had been harrowing, like her body was put on autopilot, no feeling, no care—just longing. “I did.”
A gradual grin rose upon his lips. “Love the use of past tense.” Then he pressed a leisured kiss at her pulse point.
Her head lazed to the side, brows bunching together, eyes flickering close. Bree moaned, “I missed you too.”
His smile stretched against her skin, mumbling, “I want to kiss your lips so bad.” Suddenly, he was hoisting her up and spinning, settling her on the edge of the sink.
In rapid speed, Wrigley and Bree bundled her dress to her waist, shuffled off her panties, then unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants and underwear to the floor. Before she could wrap those nimble fingers around his shaft, Wrigley pushed her hand aside and slid two fingers up and down her slit, collecting the juices dripping from her. “Fuck, you’re already so wet.”
“You do that to me,” she whimpered, digging her fingers into the material of his suit.
Wrecked, Wrigley groaned, “You can’t be saying that to me.” Bree chuckled softly and he incapably laughed along with her. Laughter slowly turned into moans when two fingers pushed inside her. Her walls tightened, hips jerking from the invasion.
Wrigley took a handful of her ass and brought her higher and closer. “Oh fuck, Wrigley…” His mouth trailed down her neck, passionately kissing soft skin. “Mm, you can’t leave a mark.”
“I won’t, promise… I just miss the taste of you…” His fingers moved in and out at a steady pace. After a few thrusts, he curled, brushing the pad of his fingers over a ridged spot.
“Oh god, just like that.”
“I know.”
Just when sparks began to ignite behind her eyelids, his fingers retracted. “What the fuck?” she seethed furiously.
Wrigley snickered, sucking his wet fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste. Bree’s mouth dropped open. The room was heavy as he looked into her eyes and popped his fingers out. Bree took his hand, opened her mouth wider to drag those fingers down her tongue and carefully sucked them; tasting his spit with her juices. Wrigley ripped his fingers out and adjusted her bottom, hovering it in the air right before the counter. Bree groped for the end of the surface, the other held onto him for balance. He sheathed himself inside her, filling her inch by hard inch.
She let out a loud mewl that he nor she bothered suppressing. There should be no one upstairs, everyone should be on the first floor, laughing, drinking and having a good time. Her and Wrigley knew well enough that they wouldn't be heard over the classical music and chatting.
Hell if they cared if anyone did…
Smoothly holding her ass in place, Wrigley stretched her with each fast, powerful thrust. Overwhelmed, he cursed, shifting her, he hung her leg onto the crook of his arm. Bree cried out, holding onto his back for dear life as he pulled her closer in. His other hand smacked onto the mirror behind her. The change of angle had her loins drumming, the skin at her belly tensing—
His eyes blew wide to see her head thrown back. He thrusts hard. “Shit, you’re gonna cum…?”
It used to take her longer to come undone, but…
Her sight of the ceiling disappeared, replaced by the heavens. A ragged moan left her wide mouth. Wrigley cursed again, moving at lightning speed within her, recovering from the shock of her orgasm, “Fuck, Bree.” When she relaxed, he pulled back her face, patting her cheek lightly. “Look at me.” Bree tiredly opened her eyes.
Losing all care, his thumb smudged the red from her lower lip, and sunk the pad of his thumb onto her blunt teeth then dove it inside her mouth. Awakened, she sucked on his thumb greedily, enticing him to move his hips at the same quick tempo of her bobbing head. He jerked wildly inside her, panting greatly against her face.
A growl ripped out of his mouth, his teeth grazing at her temple as he released himself inside her, marking her as his.
Relieved, Bree dropped her head back, letting go of his thumb as a string of saliva connected them. Letting her leg go for her foot to rest on the surface’s edge, Wrigley vibrated in smug enjoyment, stirring himself inside her as his cock softened. She could feel his gleeful eyes on her while she gulped in air. “He doesn’t make you cum, does he?”
He held her face in his hand, her head slumping into his palm as her eyes of confirmation met his.
Thumb marked and painted with spit and crimson swept down her chin. Wrigley pinched it. Bree loosened her lips. He pulled her forward and sucked her tongue into his mouth.
Fuck it.
She’ll be lipstick free.
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You're a bad idea, but a real good time