The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(69)

Them.

The women I’d paid.

The women I was going to continue paying because Persephone wasn’t born, prepped, and meant to fulfill my dark fantasies. That was out of the question.

She was too good.

Too innocent.

Too precious.

And besides, I had to be the dumbest man on planet Earth to deliberately tangle my life with hers any more than it already was.

I moved to her other nipple, lapping, pulling, and biting. Teasing her with my mouth, I brought her to the brink of an orgasm, to a point she was humping my leg shamelessly. I knew she was close. The tremors in her thighs told me so.

I chose that moment to rip my mouth from hers and step away.

She nearly fell on the desk. I clutched her waist and tugged her back to me, tilting her chin up. “Do I still kiss like a hungry Rottweiler?”

I was pleased to find my voice was the same dry, bored rumble.

She cleared her throat, boneless against me.

“You’re improving. This one was better.”

“Better, but not perfect?” I arched an eyebrow, amused.

She shook her head, grinning mischievously while working my zipper. “Sadly, we still have to practice. Often.”

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed into our kiss.

It was the first time I’d laughed in years.

Maybe decades.

And it felt…new. Good.

“Now show me why you put a continent between you and your mistresses. What could you do to them that is so kinky?”

She didn’t give me time to answer. With my zipper undone, she tugged at my hand and dragged me to the hallway, glancing around, waiting for me to lead the way to my bedroom. I did even though I knew she knew.

Knew she took a tour of my house when I wasn’t home. I saw her in the cameras when Petar showed it to her.

I shut the door behind us, locking it for good measure, and she stepped in front of me. Wiggling out of her dress, she let it pool on the floor around her like a frosted lake.

She snatched my hand, wrapping it around the front of her snowy neck.

“Is this your jam?” Her chest rose and fell to the rhythm of her frantic heartbeats, her eyes zinging with exhilaration. “You did it the day…that time…”

I kicked her out screaming.

“Or…” She trailed off, sliding my hand down her body, all the way to the curve of her ass until I reached the crack. “Maybe this? I don’t mind doing things to you, either. I don’t mind anything, Cillian. As long as it’s with me.”

My resolve was dissolving faster than edible thongs in a seedy bachelor’s party in Vegas.

The devil on my shoulder told me it wasn’t my job to warn her off sleeping with me.

The angel on my shoulder was…well, currently duct-taped and gagged in the devil’s trunk.

“I don’t fuck fair,” I warned.

My hand was still in her palm. She moved my fingers into the folds between her legs, spreading her thighs for me. I dipped my index finger inside her. She took my finger and sucked it clean.

I died. The end.

Fine. I did not die. But I was getting close to it, and all the reasons I shouldn’t sleep with her—my control, my condition, how she was entirely too good for me—were starting to sound like more of the same BS.

“Show me your true colors,” she croaked, her voice breaking with emotions.

“They’re ugly,” I said flatly.

She shook her head. “Not to me. You’ll never be ugly to me.”

That was all it took to melt my determination into a puddle of nothing. Grabbing her hair from behind, I brought her lips to mine in a punishing kiss.

“Do I need a safe word?” She sucked in a breath.

“Your mouth will be too occupied for talking. Tap any surface twice, and I’ll stop.”

I thrust her against the window overlooking my garden, butt naked, tits and pussy smashed against the glass, shoving my dress pants down my hips and freeing my cock. She whimpered, wiggling her ass in my direction, arching, begging, pleading. She was so wet her juices made her thighs stick together. I kicked her legs open and kneaded her ass so rough, I left pink marks all over it. I watched down on my wife’s angelic face from behind as reality sank its claws into her.

She was pressed against a window overlooking my yard—but also someone else’s private garden. She was naked as the day she was born, about to get fucked so hard women in neighboring zip codes were about to get secondhand orgasms. Persephone gulped but didn’t stop me when I leaned down, picked up her drenched panties, rolled them into a ball, and stuffed them into her mouth.

Flower Girl gagged on her sensible cotton underwear, her eyes watering. I stayed still, waiting to see her fist rising in the air, tapping it out. Sensing I was testing the water, she splayed her fingers over the window, giving me a nod.

Bring it on.

I plowed into her in one go.

She cried out, her panties muffling her moan. My neighbor came trotting out to his patio holding a beer, wearing a wifebeater and smart dress pants as I knew he would. Every night at ten sharp, Armie Guzman, a Wells Fargo banker, came out to water his rosebushes.

Persephone’s eyes widened as I began to move inside her. He was standing directly in front of us with a full view of her being hammered against a window.

She whimpered when I drove into her again, smacking her ass, leaving an imprint.