The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)

“If you trust me? Because you don’t?”

“Why should I give you that power? Why, Harper?”

“Because,” she whispers, her voice a rasp of emotion, “if you don’t, then it’s too much. My too much is just that—too much and I can’t do this.”

Her words radiate through me and shift something inside me. I need this woman and damn it, I know she could destroy me, but the bottom line is I don’t fucking care. “And if too much isn’t enough?” I demand, twining her hair around my hand.

“Stop pushing me away.”

“Does this feel like I’m pushing you away?” I cover her mouth with mine, and I don’t just kiss her. I demand more, because I finally understand the way Grayson craves his woman, the way he will do anything for her, risk anything for her. There is no such thing as too much with this woman; even if she does destroy me in the end.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Harper

With the banister at my back and Eric in front of me, kissing me, his hands all over my body, it’s like something has snapped between us. It’s a matter of seconds, it seems, before my pants are off and his are open, a condom in his hand. It’s the condom that gets to me again, driving home how much I need to talk to him about certain things I haven’t yet, but now doesn’t feel like the time. Now really isn’t the time because he’s already kissing me again, lifting my knee to his hip and pressing inside me.

Another few seconds and he’s lifting me instead of my leg, cupping my backside. My legs wrap around his hips, and he’s holding my weight, thrusting into me even as he kisses me. His tongue thrusting deep like his cock, and this is no gentle encounter between us. It’s wild, fast and hard and we’re both shuddering to release far too quickly, and yet it’s somehow perfect. I come back to reality with my face in his neck and he’s carrying me to the bathroom. He sits me on the sink and presses his hands on the counter on either side of me, anger burning in his eyes that sex clearly did nothing to tame. In fact, if anything, the opposite. He’s angrier now, like he’s pissed that he wanted and needed to fuck me. “Eric—”

“Me or Gigi,” he says roughly, his face all hard lines and shadows.

“You. You, Eric. You can read the messages. All of them.”

“I will. Don’t tell her anything without talking to me first.”

“I won’t.”

He pulls out of me and tosses the condom in a trashcan, scrubbing his jaw before he looks at me. “You do know she could be setting you up, right?”

“I know what she’s capable of,” I say. “I was going to tell you what she said.” I hop off the counter. “I want you to read the messages.” I start walking and he shackles my wrist and pulls me back to him.

“I need to be able to trust you, Harper. There is no in between for us.”

“You can. I swear to you, Eric, on my father’s life, on all that I am, that you can trust me. I’m sorry. You went downstairs and she texted me to see if we had any news and I just—I asked her about the number.”

“How long have you known about the wire transfers?”

“Just read the messages, Eric. I want to get you my phone.”

He reaches into his pocket and produces my phone. “I have it, remember?”

“Right. Good. Read the messages. Read any of my messages.”

His stares at me, ignoring the messages, searching my face, and I don’t look away. I want him to see the truth in my eyes. “I will not ever go to Gigi or anyone without talking to you first. I know what she did to you and your mom. I should have thought—”

“Yes. You should have.” He releases me and walks into the bedroom. I grab my pink silk robe from behind the door and quickly slip it on, entering the bedroom as he sits on one of the chairs and starts reading through my messages.

I cross to sit in the chair angled his direction, right across from him. He finishes the thread with Gigi and then hands me my phone and reaches for his. He punches in an auto-dial and then it starts ringing on speakerphone. “Blake,” he says when a man answers. “Meet Harper.”

“How the fuck are you, Harper?”

I laugh. “Well you made me laugh, but otherwise”—my eyes meet Eric’s—“I’m not very fucking good, actually.”

“Talk to me,” he says. “I’m everyone’s therapist. Well, my wife’s at least, or maybe she’s mine.”

Eric leans toward me, his elbows on his knees. “Gigi freaked out when Harper told her about the message we got tonight. She thought it was a wire transfer number. Seems she’s been getting some large wires and then pulling the cash for Isaac.”

“Indeed she has,” he says. “I sent you proof of those transactions. As for her pulling the cash and giving it to Isaac, I reserve judgment on that idea. If I can’t prove it, I don’t believe it.”