Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

I nod slowly, wishing I knew him well enough to ask what’s wrong right now and get an honest answer.

His brows lift. “You disapprove?”

“No—I’m... surprised. Impressed, I guess.” I stroke a fingertip over the nugget in my hand. “I used to want to be a nurse, but I was afraid hospitals would remind me too much of my dad and sister.”

I watch his shoulders lift with one deep breath. He lets it out—and then his hands curl into fists.

“Let’s get out of here, Cleo.”

His voice is bitter.

I have no idea why.

THIS IS NOT GOING AS PLANNED.

It’s not Cleo’s fault. It’s mine.

I’m not doing this right. Maybe I can’t.

I can.

I just have to focus. Like now. I’m driving. She’s beside me. I don’t need to talk to her. I haven’t since we left Pecan, and why should I? The only way Cleo is different than the last girl hanging from my ropes is that there are more rules—for me. She’s not one of my submissives, but I think I could work her into that role. As a stand-in, anyway.

I would love to break her down and make her mine. I would love to see her tanned skin marked. I’m hard just picturing her round ass in the air, her blushing cheeks against my sheets. The way her shoulder blades would draw together when I pull her arms behind her back and bind them at the wrists.

I want my cock to live inside her throat. Inside her cunt. Inside her ass. I bet she would feel good from behind. She’s not a virgin but I’m guessing no one’s been inside her ass. These Southern girls don’t always go for that. Something about the Bible and sodomy, I think. Fucking literal interpretation if you ask me, but who would?

Cleo shifts in her seat. Can she feel my dirty thoughts? I almost hope she can.

But there’s the rub. I need to refrain from lusting after her until it’s time to get my rope out. I need to think of her as Cleo, possible business partner, until the need for her body becomes too great. I won’t let myself think of her sweet pussy until we’re walking up the stairs. Every other moment, it’s just business.

I don’t need her to be funny. I don’t need her to be kind. I don’t even need her to learn the logistics of stock and delivery—not really. When I go, I’ll shut down the import part of my little supply chain, as well as the smaller grow house on LaMont. The Pecan house is all she and Manning will need to continue turning enough profit to supply my VIP clients—the ones with medical needs—and pay themselves enough to make it worth their while. I know it won’t go on forever. I’ve got a plan for checking in on things, for discerning when Manning is ready to stop without asking him directly.

My hope for Cleo is that she can be the face of my enterprise for the VIPs and help Manning when he needs her—while padding her pocket book, of course. I’ll put Matt in charge of all the dealers. I’ve already started laying groundwork for that, although I haven’t told him. I won’t until it’s almost time for me to leave.

Cleo starts to hum.

My fingers twitch over the volume key on my steering wheel. This girl is all about the questions. I don’t want to answer any, so I let her hum “Friend of the Devil” without mentioning it’s one of my favorite Dead songs.

I think of Truman back at the Pecan house and I grit my teeth. I should have brought him with us. Manning doesn’t want a dog, and Cleo was ready to write songs about him. Tomorrow maybe. I couldn’t do it today. I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter.

I inhale deeply, working hard to keep my chest from rising with the effort. I may be unraveling, but I can fix it so Cleo never knows. I can keep my thirsts and all my pains a secret.

Three weeks. We said three weeks, but I may make it less. I may leave early. It wouldn’t hurt her. Nothing about my situation will touch her. I make that promise to myself as I park the Escalade beside a pear tree and kill the engine. Midday sunlight streaks in through the windshield, playing over Cleo’s heart-shaped face. After a minute of sitting there in silence, she casts her eyes to mine.

“Are you going to be this way the whole time I’m here?”

“What way?”

She lifts her brows. “A moody prick.”

My mouth twitches. It wants to bloom into a smile. I clamp my lips down, giving her a stern look. “You think I’m a moody prick?”

She shrugs. “I think you’re hot and cold. You say you’re going to protect me, we get high and mess around, and then you just ignore me? That’s annoying. I don’t want a boyfriend, Kellan, but if we’re going to mess around, you’ve gotta at least be cordial. I’m not that hard up for money, you know?”

So if I keep being “hot and cold,” she’ll leave. That’s what she’s saying.

I suck air in. Blow it out. “Fine.”