Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

I laughed at that. I had to agree. “But you chose mergers and acquisitions, hardly a fast-paced, dramatic way to practice that skill,” I argued.

He picked an olive and brought it to my lips. “Open,” he said darkly.

I did.

“Now swallow.”

I smiled with the olive between my teeth, daring him. He dipped down and kissed me hard, shoving the olive into my mouth with his tongue. It was either choke or swallow. I chose swallow.

He pulled back from me, but his gaze remained on my lips. “Now that’s good practice. As for law, I have no desire to cover up for other people’s fuck-ups. I’d much rather see how my clients double and triple their investments…and mine. People don’t pay me because of my law-school pedigree. I went to a shit college in LA and graduated with people who went to work doing house closings and chasing ambulances. People pay me to make money, and I make a ton of it.”

“What’s your fascination with money? You have so much.”

He leaned forward, picking up a lock of my lavender hair. “Money is like pussy, sweetheart. You can’t ever get enough.”

“Yeah, and it’s made you so happy. You realize you sound like a walking, talking cliché?”

His eyes sparked with something devilish. “I am happy. I’ve never been happier. It’s seven o’clock, so Rosie should be long gone by now. Let’s go before I take you up on that offer about third base right here on the table.”

“I have one more place I want to stop first,” I said.

“Fucking Christ,” he gritted. “How about you keep your side of the deal, Miss LeBlanc?”

“I will. Eventually. Patience is a virtue.”

“Patience can go fuck itself. Wherever we’re stopping, it better be comfortable, because I’m tasting you there.”

ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT was getting into bed with her. I didn’t want to talk to her about life. I didn’t want to get to know her better. Already, I was breaking approximately five thousand different rules by spending the day with her. Every minute spent outside of bed was risky. But it seemed like the more I acted like a blunt, disgusting pig, the more she asked about my profession, my hobbies, my preferences.

People had never given a shit about those things. Ever. Her interest in me didn’t make me feel good. It made me feel weird.

We were headed to Broadway next. I prayed she didn’t really plan for us to go see a play. I had nothing against Broadway shows, but when one was standing in the way of me and her long-awaited pussy, I was just about willing to burn the whole fucking street down. I’d already started doing the math in my head. Calculating the sentence for setting an occupied building on fire. Arson, possibly attempted murder. Those were heavy felonies. What was I looking at here? Hard time. Fifteen years, minimum. Different states varied, but New York was hard on its criminals.

Fifteen years.

Still fucking worth it.

“Vicious!” Emilia snapped me out of my reverie. I walked faster than her even though I had no idea where we were going. I just knew I wanted to get it over with.

“What?” I hissed.

“Did you listen to anything I just said to you?”

Of course not.

“Absolutely.”

“Really?” She stopped in her tracks, folding her arms across her chest. “What did I say? Where are we going next?”

It was already past six o’clock and tomorrow was the last day of work before Christmas. I wasn’t in the mood for quizzes.

I looked above her head at the flashing neon sign for a tattoo parlor and blinked once. “You want to get a tattoo,” I said flatly.

By the surprised look on her face, I knew I got it right.

“Of what?” she insisted.

“Of…” I gave myself some time to think about it, even though I didn’t need any. I knew her. Better than most people, actually. “A cherry blossom tree.”

“Screw you.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do here all day. Where are you getting this tattoo? I don’t want it to get in the way of our fuck session.”

“Nape of my neck,” she replied. “Don’t worry, it’ll be pretty small.”

I nodded, my dick twitching twice. Apparently, she got its approval too. “Let’s get you inked.”

I really was a lucky bastard because the parlor was mostly empty, despite it being one of the best places in the City. I didn’t know why Emilia chose to take me with her for her first tattoo, but hell if I cared.

She sketched her tattoo on the stencil paper over the counter, the tip of her tongue peeking out of her red mouth as she scrunched her nose and drew. There was a heavily made-up Goth girl leaning against a barstool. She looked at us like most people did. Like Emilia had kidnapped me or like I was her sensible brother. We were so different it was borderline comical. Me with my custom suit, expensive coat, and rich asshole air about me and her with her burgundy-wine sweater, beanie, Christmas leggings, and army boots.