LOVE GAME BY EMMA RAE EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: EMMA RAE
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.6 MB
- Price: Free
I’m faking another orgasm because I’m late for a job interview.
I made a vow to myself not to do this again. And yet, it’s so easily done.
Some well-timed murmurs, heavy panting, a dramatic moan and my
boyfriend’s none the wiser. I’d go so far as to say that I’ve honed my
performance.
Jamie’s been sleeping around for months. He thinks I haven’t worked that
out by now, but three weeks ago I caved. I looked at his phone whilst he
was asleep, only to discover several different message threads confirming
my all-too-real suspicions.
Two of the girls I knew personally. Granted, I didn’t know what their
naked body parts looked like. I do now.
I don’t know which hurts more: that I know the truth, or that it took me
so long to realise what was going on, or, worse, that I’m still here, my
simulated efforts serving only to massage my boyfriend’s already inflated
ego, creating an illusion of sexual satisfaction. They say people can get too
comfortable in relationships. The truth is, I feel like I don’t have anywhere
else to go. Jamie’s paid my rent for the last three months, and I’m flat
broke. So, here I am, breaking my vow, too afraid to walk away. It’s true to
say that my self-esteem at this moment – as it generally is in my current life
– is at rock bottom.
Today, Jamie’s working from home. In our bedroom, at our shared flat in
Earlsfield, in south-west London, once he’s finished having sex with me, he
collapses onto our bed sheets with a grunt. I shoot up off the mattress,
whilst he’s doubtless congratulating himself on another job well done.
‘Oi, what’s the hurry?’ he raises his voice after me.
‘I’ve got to be in Wimbledon Village in less than an hour, remember?’ I
squeak back, switching on the hot water for the shower in the en-suite
bathroom, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. I try not to be
disappointed in the person I see looking back at me: brown eyes, dark
brown shoulder-length hair, average build. Most days I feel like the
embodiment of average. ‘For the interview. I haven’t even looked up which
bus I need to take from the station.’
He’s quiet for a moment, his brows drawing together. ‘Jump on the 93
towards Putney Bridge. Get out at Parkside Avenue; you’ll be round the
corner. Only take you a few minutes.’
Okay, so he’s not faithful. Neither does he excel at the art of giving
pleasure, nor indulge in any foreplay for that matter. But the man is an
encyclopaedia of London’s bus routes.
So at least he’s good for something.
Sixty minutes later, and barely on time, I’m standing outside a pair of castiron gates on leafy Parkside Gardens in Wimbledon Village. Most of the
properties on this road are behind walls. The house I’m looking at is grand,
with three grossly expensive cars parked in neat formation on the driveway.
I breathe in. Even the air is better in this part of the city.
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