I’m not sure I would care to stop even if he could.
He licks and sucks me through my panties, making me wet. Or maybe I already was.
Who is this girl?
And where did she come from?
Is this considered cheating?
I’m about to push him off me when he slips a finger in, and I lose track of breathing. Like, how is that even possible, to lose track of breathing?
Gosh, it’s been a long time since I’ve been loved down there. Touched down there.
My head is filled with fluff, and I’m unable to see through the sweet sensations he’s giving me.
Lord help me.
I know I can’t stop him now.
I’m not even sure I want to.
My legs open even farther, and my head drops back as they do. I manage to look out the window as he moves my panties to the side and his hot tongue touches my clit. I jump, but he’s ready for that and holds me down with a hand on my hips.
He tastes me.
He eats me.
He makes me scream like I have never screamed before in my life.
And I’m not shy about it at all.
His finger pumps in and out, and his tongue never stops, even when I grab his hair, pulling it through my fingers to try to slow the sensations that won’t stop building and building.
I’m having oral sex with a man I don’t even know.
A man who shot my husband.
Oh. My. God.
Literally, all at the same time, when I think I should pull away, he flicks something, and I lose it completely. My toes curl, my body falls back further into the seat, and I’m unable to move.
Breathe.
Think coherently.
Then the car stops, and he is off me. Keir pulls my skirt down but doesn’t move me from half-lying across the seat. He opens his door, gets out, and looks back down at me. “You have two minutes to get your ass out of that car and into the restaurant.” Then he slams the door shut.
I sit up and pull my skirt farther down and pull my panties back into position.
I’ve just let a man from the mafia taste a part of me that hasn’t been touched in a long time.
Better yet, I just had sex with a man who shot my husband.
Or, should I say, ex-husband.
Shit.
Shit.
Double shit.
Variety Gossip
Variety Gossip
* * *
The King of the Underworld
* * *
You know it, him again. Spotted at his restaurant. But ladies, he was not alone. I’ve even heard rumors he has seen this one more than once.
Will it finally be time for the king of the underworld to settle down?
Will this little honey-brunette he has been seen with, be the one to do that for him?
Or is she simply another notch on his bedpost?
Time will tell …
Chapter Eleven
Keir
I shouldn’t have.
It was my mistake.
And I don’t make many mistakes.
But this was one of them.
I should have fucked someone else before I got in the car with her.
It would have solved all my fucking problems.
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I lick my lips as she walks in. She took longer than two minutes, and for that she deserves a spanking.
The problem with that? I have a feeling she’d like it, though.
Fuck. I shake my head as she makes her way over to us. Everyone is quiet, all eyes on her, as she approaches the only available seat—right next to me—and sets her hand on the back of it.
“Can I sit here?” Her question is directed at me, and I feel all eyes at the table locked on me, waiting for confirmation. “Hello?” She looks about, nodding her head at the men seated around the table, and then directs her sight back on me. “Can I sit here?” she reiterates with a bit more of a bite.
“Sit,” I reply finally, and she does just that, pulling out the chair and sitting down, delicately placing a napkin on her lap.
“I didn’t realize it was so dressy. I apologize for the way I’m dressed.” Her words are directed at all of us who are seated at the table. I choose not to answer her because, despite what I want to think, she looks fucking hot. And better than every single woman in this five-star restaurant.
“No need to apologize here, you look divine,” Romarc says from across the table. He has his new fling with him, dressed as you would expect someone to be at this type of establishment. Her beady eyes fall to Sailor, and they pin her with a stare of pure unadulterated hatred.
“Thank you, so does your wife.” Sailor’s eyes turn to the new fling, whose name I forgot the minute it was introduced. “Is your dress Chanel? It looks divine.”
I almost smirk at her response. She’s clever.
The fling’s eyes change to shy, and a smile touches her lips as she lays her hand on Romarc’s shoulder, clearly happy about her being called his wife.