Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Another orgasm, I can do it.” His grin is almost evil as he presses a hand against my thigh and says. “I want to make you drip.”
I squeeze my thighs tighter. “Um, actually you can’t because now that playtime is over, you know things don’t work like that—”
Both hands move between my thighs and jerk them apart, and then his fingers are working me in a way that’s insane; he almost goes too deep with one before pulling back, squeezing; his breath is hot on my neck. “You want it?”
No. Yes. What the hell is happening?
I moan. “King…”
I try to sound annoyed.
He takes it as a challenge.
And literally takes his hand from between my legs and rubs every sin I’ve ever committed with him on himself and on me. Why does this feel like a cleansing? Why does this feel okay? So real?
“Y-you are my husband,” I say.
“Yes.” He presses a deep kiss to my mouth; he tastes so good like champagne and coffee and all the dark secrets we’ll never be allowed to tell. His body moves across mine; slides is more like it. He grips me by the hips then pulls me to a sitting position. “Stay with me.”
“Wh-what?”
He picks me up with him as he rises from the bed and walks toward the outside balcony with me in his arms. Oh no.
“King,” I try to hit his chest.
He just chuckles. “Let them see.”
“King!”
“Let them see us,” he says again, and then I’m getting pressed against the balcony, and he shoves his cock inside me again so hard I let out such a loud scream he has to cup his hand over my mouth as he moves.
Don’t stop, I think, don’t, he can’t, will he? Would he?
His hips jerk while my body presses painfully against the balcony, while my head lolls to the side as his lips tug my ear.
And that’s when I see it.
Roman.
Downstairs, looking out, only to look up and see my husband take what’s his to take.
And me as I enjoy it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Do not borrow tomorrow’s troubles today.”— King Arthur
Roman
My heart drops to my knees, my feet, it collapses onto the concrete and just lays there, dying while I watch them, and I can’t look away because I’m pissed—scratch that, livid that he would do that knowing full well I was on the perimeter.
His eyes meet mine.
Then hers.
She shoves him away. Good girl. And then he has her again in this weird angry sexual thing that should have me furious but has me watching instead like some sick pervert, as if he’s telling me, watch, it’s your job, right?
I don’t think I blink in all the time it takes for her to fall apart in his arms or for me to see the tears in her eyes because she knew the entire time I was there waiting, always waiting.
I look down at my phone and sigh, quite honestly this guy terrifies me, I shouldn’t even be this familiar with him, but here we are. Here we fucking are. He’s scary but he’s fair and he wants eyes and ears everywhere..
Godfather Tex, my own funny joke with him that clearly doesn’t go over well—ever—pops up on my screen.
Godfather Tex: Are they safe?
Me: Yes. We have enough men. Tiffany and I just arrived. He’s safe. She’s safe.
Godfather Tex: Anything suspicious? Anyone we should worry about?
I almost say yes, me, because I’m going through hell. Instead, I type back quickly.
Me: We’re in the all-clear. We’ll stay, I assume, until they come back from the honeymoon.
Godfather Tex: It might be sooner from the looks of things—it’s not good. It’s… worrisome.
I may want to throw King off a bridge, but even I don’t want him to die from something like this, where someone he loves and knows betrays him. I wouldn’t even betray him, and he’s currently naked with the woman I love.
Me: Any ideas who it is?
He takes time to type, then I can tell he deletes only to type again.
Godfather Tex: Does it really matter? I mean, does it? Someone wants what he has, so he will have to step up and keep what’s his. End of story.
I frown at my phone.
Me: He was born into it. He shouldn’t have to fight for it.
Godfather Tex: You always fight in the Families, no matter what, because at the end of the day, you have to fucking want it.
I have nothing to say to that other than the truth.
Me: He wants it.
Godfather Tex: Not so sure about that… keep an eye on him, keep them both safe, and we’ll see you soon.
Great! No pressure.
He doesn’t text anymore, so I shove my phone into my pocket, angry, confused as hell, and ready to walk away.
Because how do you come back from this? And how do you love someone who’s clearly being loved by someone else in a way that makes sense yet doesn’t?