Tacet a Mortuis (The Elite King's Club 3)

I shivered, a cool sweat breaking out over my skin, but cranked my neck, giving him more access. His hand traveled down lower until he was cupping my sex, his thumb pressing against my clit.

I bit down on my lip to try to contain my groan and the fireworks that were erupting inside my belly. Only Bishop could do this, only he had the power to completely disarm me while putting me on high alert all at the same time. He licked me across the back of my neck as his fingers continued to play with my clit. One finger slipped inside and circled, hitting something deep that had my toes curling and my back arching. His other hand traveled up my stomach, over my breast as he pinched roughly, biting the back of my neck at the same time. Both sensations unleashed waves of toxic euphoria flushing through my veins. I could feel I was on the edge of combustion, so I went to turn to face him, but his hand flew straight to my throat and his lips came to the back of my ear.

“No, Kitty. You won’t move unless instructed to and you won’t fucking speak unless I ask you to.” Bishop had always been dominant in bed, but something about his rough tone had me thinking this had to do with a lot of other reasons; not just his overbearing alpha male, domineering attitude. He clenched my throat. “Do we understand each other?”

I nodded, but my eyes were still closed and I continued grinding myself into his fingers. “Yes.” Then he let go, pushing me out of the way. All the tightened pleasure I was feeling, snatched from me instantly. It was as though his touch was a distant memory, and like a fool, I instantly missed it.

“Good. Get changed, we’re taking Daemon to the airport.”

“Err...” I went to answer, but he was already getting out of the shower. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed up super fast, and angrily, considering he had worked me up that much only to leave me hanging. I had a feeling this had a lot to do with my punishment. And If I knew Bishop, which I did, this had only just begun and it was only going to get worse, but the joke will also be on him because he’s not getting any sex either.

Unless he does…

I hit the faucet off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself. Walking out to the bedroom, I headed straight into his closet and rummaged through what clothes I still had here—or Tatum’s clothes. Pulling out some cut-offs and a loose off-white shirt, I threw it on and slipped on my Vans before letting my hair back down my back.

I hit the bottom of the stairs and stilled when I saw Khales was on the sofa eating granola.

“Seriously,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Stomping into the kitchen, having about enough of her presence, I stopped when I saw Bishop. “Why is she still here?”

He barged past me, walking to the front door. I followed, flipping the slut off on my way. Bishop let me through the door. “She stayed in the house.”

Wait, what?

“Why?”

Bishop’s jaw ticked as we rounded his Maserati. “Because she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and because of my fucking dad.” Pulling open the passenger door, I slid in and clipped my belt on. Great, so Hector was keeping her around for some reason.

“I need food.”

He fired the car up and pulled out. “After we drop Daemon off at the airport.”

“Airport?” I asked, an eyebrow perched. “Why is my brother going to an airport?”

“Why do you still ask so many questions?” He retorted.

“Why do you still keep secrets?” I snapped back.

He grinned, seemingly pleased with my wit, then he sobered. “There’s something I’m going to tell you, but it cannot be known that you know about this place yet.” He dropped it into third, looking at me and then looking back to the road. “Am I clear?”

“I get it,” I deadpanned. I was used to secrets now, and regardless of the poor decisions I had made where Bishop and I were concerned, I had never spilled one of the many golden secrets I knew from this world.

“Daemon is from an island called Perdita, it’s Latin for—”

“—lost,” I interrupted, remembering that word from one of the many translation games I played with my phone.

His head dipped, as he turned down my street. For once, I was annoyed about how close we lived to one another. Obviously, Bishop was in the sharing mood, and that was something so rare, so unheard of, that I wanted to take it for complete granted.

He stopped at the entry to our high wired gates, waiting for them to open.

“This island is on the outskirts of the Bermuda Triangle, but remains completely off the radar, because of my dad.”