woman whom I’d allowed in my home. My heart questioned if she was my girl, my head convinced that the only woman I’d ever loved could not possibly be crazy enough to transform her body. For my hypothesis to be correct, Mia would’ve destroyed her life to save her brother’s—and used me in the process. I’d rather believe that I was being irrational.
I headed into my bedroom and bent over the bed, watched the rise and fall of Ksenya’s chest, swollen with implants, as my mind made a mental checklist of their similarities. Ksenya smelled like citrus, she bit her lip when nervous, her smile curled on the left side. Though a different color, Ksenya and Mia both had the same almond-shaped eyes and I could clearly see the outline of Ksenya’s contacts. Ksenya had to be Mia. Had to be. Why else would Hero react to her presence the way he had? Why did I hunger to inhale her intoxicating scent? Why did my body crave her touch? When she touched me, my pulse quickened, my heart raced. I almost felt at peace.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure yet; there were just as many differences between these two women as there were similarities. I met Ksenya at a strip club where she was writhing against a pole, spreading her legs for everyone to see. Mia was modest—she never even wore bikinis at the beach. Man, it couldn’t be her.
I was still at war with myself. Were the parallels really there, or were they just what I wanted to see? As a SEAL, we never conducted any operations without the intelligence to back our actions up. And fuck this chick, whoever she was, for making me doubt my abilities. Yes, they had similar features. They smelled exactly the same. Their skin felt identical when I ran my fingers over it.
But this was pretty fucking crazy. Was my Mia capable of such an insane plan? Undergo fucking plastic surgery? Mia, who used to pale at the sight of blood, cringed when we would watch gory movies. And why?
No question she did love Joaquín. They’d both do anything for each other. Anything. Maybe Mia was just as determined as her brother. There’s a saying in BUD/S training— The pain of failure MUST be greater than the pain of succeeding, otherwise you're destined to be defeated by your goal . And I was certain that for Mia, the pain of losing Joaquín would be worse than enduring any life without him.
But I wasn’t ready to accept my suspicions as truth just yet.
I was sure of this; if this stripper was Mia, my Mia, I’d never forgive her. First for abandoning me when I needed her most, second for destroying her beautiful body with plastic surgery, and finally for this deception. There would be no room for her excuses when we arrived at the end of this road—wherever it was about to lead us.
If this girl was really a Ukrainian immigrant, desperate for a new life in America, the country I risked my life to defend, then I was a completely delusional asshole. And I needed to spend some serious time confessing my sins on a sofa to a shrink.
Nah fuck that, I was always right.
I felt it in my bones. My instincts had never deceived me. I needed to draw her out—fool her into admitting the truth. Just as she was beginning to trust me. I felt my muscles tighten in anticipation as they did out in the field. This might even be a little fun.
Let the games begin.
***
I WOKE IN THE MORNING groggy from sleep. For a few seconds, I almost forgot who I’d become, my heart remembering a time when I slept in this bed almost nightly, when Grant had been mine. Back then I had been loved, whole, beautiful. Last night, though I enjoyed pleasuring him, being in control, taking him in my mouth, afterwards I felt cheap. I wanted to make love to Grant. No . . . I wanted Grant to fuck me. Raw, hard, rough. But I wanted him to fuck Mia, not Ksenya. No matter what I did with Grant as Ksenya, I still loved him. But he was probably just having fun playing house with his newest Barbie doll.
I slipped into the T-shirt
I headed into my bedroom and bent over the bed, watched the rise and fall of Ksenya’s chest, swollen with implants, as my mind made a mental checklist of their similarities. Ksenya smelled like citrus, she bit her lip when nervous, her smile curled on the left side. Though a different color, Ksenya and Mia both had the same almond-shaped eyes and I could clearly see the outline of Ksenya’s contacts. Ksenya had to be Mia. Had to be. Why else would Hero react to her presence the way he had? Why did I hunger to inhale her intoxicating scent? Why did my body crave her touch? When she touched me, my pulse quickened, my heart raced. I almost felt at peace.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure yet; there were just as many differences between these two women as there were similarities. I met Ksenya at a strip club where she was writhing against a pole, spreading her legs for everyone to see. Mia was modest—she never even wore bikinis at the beach. Man, it couldn’t be her.
I was still at war with myself. Were the parallels really there, or were they just what I wanted to see? As a SEAL, we never conducted any operations without the intelligence to back our actions up. And fuck this chick, whoever she was, for making me doubt my abilities. Yes, they had similar features. They smelled exactly the same. Their skin felt identical when I ran my fingers over it.
But this was pretty fucking crazy. Was my Mia capable of such an insane plan? Undergo fucking plastic surgery? Mia, who used to pale at the sight of blood, cringed when we would watch gory movies. And why?
No question she did love Joaquín. They’d both do anything for each other. Anything. Maybe Mia was just as determined as her brother. There’s a saying in BUD/S training— The pain of failure MUST be greater than the pain of succeeding, otherwise you're destined to be defeated by your goal . And I was certain that for Mia, the pain of losing Joaquín would be worse than enduring any life without him.
But I wasn’t ready to accept my suspicions as truth just yet.
I was sure of this; if this stripper was Mia, my Mia, I’d never forgive her. First for abandoning me when I needed her most, second for destroying her beautiful body with plastic surgery, and finally for this deception. There would be no room for her excuses when we arrived at the end of this road—wherever it was about to lead us.
If this girl was really a Ukrainian immigrant, desperate for a new life in America, the country I risked my life to defend, then I was a completely delusional asshole. And I needed to spend some serious time confessing my sins on a sofa to a shrink.
Nah fuck that, I was always right.
I felt it in my bones. My instincts had never deceived me. I needed to draw her out—fool her into admitting the truth. Just as she was beginning to trust me. I felt my muscles tighten in anticipation as they did out in the field. This might even be a little fun.
Let the games begin.
***
I WOKE IN THE MORNING groggy from sleep. For a few seconds, I almost forgot who I’d become, my heart remembering a time when I slept in this bed almost nightly, when Grant had been mine. Back then I had been loved, whole, beautiful. Last night, though I enjoyed pleasuring him, being in control, taking him in my mouth, afterwards I felt cheap. I wanted to make love to Grant. No . . . I wanted Grant to fuck me. Raw, hard, rough. But I wanted him to fuck Mia, not Ksenya. No matter what I did with Grant as Ksenya, I still loved him. But he was probably just having fun playing house with his newest Barbie doll.
I slipped into the T-shirt
Similar Books
