Chapter 5
Sheryl's POV
I knew Rhett was obsessed with racing cars. Just like everything else in his life—expensive, dangerous, and completely irresponsible. It was all part of his image: the playboy who never grew up, always surrounded by enablers and party companions.
I'd seen photos on social media: Rhett Hayes, adrenaline junkie, flashing a crazy smile as he gripped a steering wheel. But I'd never experienced his driving skills firsthand.
Until today.
"What the hell are you trying to prove?" My knuckles turned white as I clutched the seat belt.
No response. Just that slight upturn of his lips—that dangerous smile I knew too well. The one that appeared whenever he was about to do something reckless, something designed to make my heart race.
The car hugged the asphalt, engine roaring as we weaved through traffic. The world outside blurred into streaks of color, buildings and trees melting together as we flew past.
"Rhett! Slow down!" I screamed, but my voice drowned in the engine's thunder. My mind went blank, consumed by fear and the deafening sound of my own heartbeat. Each sharp turn, each car we passed, sent my stomach lurching.
This maniac.
When Oakridge Estate finally appeared in the distance, I nearly sobbed with relief. Rhett pulled into our driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence felt oppressive, almost wrong. I remained frozen, fingers trembling, vision unfocused as I tried to process what had just happened.
As I struggled to steady my breathing, darkness fell across my face. Rhett had unclipped his seatbelt and leaned over, his mouth crashing against mine with bruising force. This wasn't his usual calculated kiss—the kind he'd perfected through years of practice. This was raw, punishing, demanding.
My heart accelerated again, and I couldn't tell if it was leftover terror from the drive or a response to his assault on my senses. His tongue forced its way between my lips, claiming my mouth as if it belonged to him. Despite myself, I kissed him back, matching his intensity with my own. I hated his arrogance, his control—but goddamn it, the man knew how to kiss, even when he was being rough.
Then came the sharp pain as his teeth clamped down on my lower lip.
I shoved him away, glaring into those dark eyes. "What are you, a rabid dog?"
Rhett's mouth twisted into a smirk as he ran his tongue across his lips, looking every bit the predator who'd just tasted blood. "Takes one to know one, sweetheart."
That response ignited my anger, but before I could retaliate, his expression hardened. He cupped my face between his hands, holding me in place. He leaned close, his voice a dangerous whisper: "Mention divorce one more fucking time, and I'll kiss you until your mouth is too swollen to speak."
I froze, stunned. He was upset about... the divorce I'd threatened? Not about that girl he cherished? Did that mean he actually wanted this marriage to continue? That he cared?
While my thoughts raced, he captured my mouth again. This kiss was different—deeper, more seductive, designed to make me surrender. My resistance crumbled embarrassingly fast, and I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
"Rhett..." His name escaped between kisses, sounding more like a plea than a protest.
His eyes darkened with intent. Before I could react, he was out of the car, pulling open my door, and lifting me into his arms.
"What are you—" I didn't finish my question before he was striding through the front garden, pushing open the heavy oak doors of our home. Martha Brown, our housekeeper, appeared briefly in the foyer before wisely making herself scarce.
Rhett carried me straight to the master bedroom, our lips barely separating. He kicked the door shut behind us and we fell onto the king-sized bed, continuing where we'd left off.
This man was insane. He kissed like he was waging war—just like everything else he did: merciless, dominating, leaving no escape route. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, my face burning.
Rhett's hawk-like eyes locked onto mine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His thumb traced my swollen lip, his voice dropping to that low register that always sent shivers down my spine. "Had enough? Still want that divorce?"
I glared up at him, torn between anger and surrender. This was how he always solved problems—with force, with control, with the physical connection he knew I couldn't resist. The worst part? Despite knowing his tactics, I fell for them every time.
"You think this fixes anything?" I panted, hating how weak my voice sounded.
"No," his lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smile I both loved and hated. "But it'll make you forget that stupid idea for a while."
Then he lowered his head again, his mouth tracing a path along my collarbone as his hands worked at the buttons of his shirt. And then mine.
And despite everything, I let him.
As Rhett's mouth traced a burning path down my neck, my mind drifted to our wedding night two years ago. The penthouse suite, champagne glasses abandoned on marble countertops, and Rhett's uncharacteristic nervousness as he'd lifted me onto the king-sized bed.
"You're mine now," he'd whispered then, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as they slid beneath my wedding gown. For a man who always appeared so reckless and arrogant, his vulnerability that night had been surprising.
We'd spent hours learning each other's bodies, his methodical exploration belying the hunger in his eyes. By dawn, we were both exhausted, covered in sweat, and utterly satisfied. How naive I'd been to think this was the perfect start to our marriage.
A sharp pinch to my inner thigh snapped me back to the present.
"I'm losing you," Rhett growled, his fingers digging possessively into my flesh. "What's so fascinating in that head of yours?"
I looked up at him, taking in the moonlight that carved shadows across his sculpted chest. The Rhett Hayes above me now was different from that wedding night—more confident in his claim on my body, more demanding.
"Just imagining," I replied with deliberate provocation.
His eyebrow arched. "Imagining what exactly?"
I ran my fingertips down his chest, enjoying the way his muscles tensed under my touch. "Imagining a man more devoted and skilled than you."
His face darkened, jaw clenching. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
I realized I'd pushed too far and fell silent, giving him a crooked smile before leaning up to kiss him. He responded hungrily, his anger transforming into something more primal.
He lowered his head, mouth replacing fingers as he parted my thighs wider. His tongue traced deliberate patterns, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks that made my hips buck involuntarily. Just when the pleasure started building toward release, he pulled back.
"Bastard," I gasped.
"Patience was never your virtue," he murmured against my inner thigh, his breath teasing my sensitive skin. His thumb circled my clit with maddening lightness while two fingers pressed inside me, curving upward to find the spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Stop teasing," I demanded, grasping at his shoulders.
"Not until you admit something." His movements slowed to an agonizing pace.
"What?" I panted.
His fingers stilled completely. "That no one else can make you feel this way. You can never leave me!"
I glared at him, refusing to surrender so easily. "That's your insecurity talking."
In response, he pressed his thumb directly against my clit, applying firm circular pressure while his fingers resumed their rhythm inside me. The dual sensation was overwhelming.
"Say it," he commanded, increasing the intensity.
My back arched as pleasure coiled tighter. "Rhett, please—"
"Say it, Sheryl." His thumb moved faster, the pressure perfectly calibrated.
When my orgasm finally crashed through me, the confession tumbled from my lips unbidden: "Only you—God—only you!"
He entered me while I was still shuddering, driving deep with a groan that seemed torn from his soul. His movements were powerful, possessive, each thrust punctuated by his hands pinning mine above my head.
As we moved together, I saw the damn heartless man replaced by something raw and primal. When he finally tensed above me, his release triggering a second, unexpected wave of pleasure through my body, I glimpsed something vulnerable in his expression.
Afterward, he gathered me against his chest, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear.