Balto bought my bullshit. “Alright. But the two of us will have to take a trip soon. Maybe in the fall when the tourists return home.”
“Yes, that would be nice.” No, that would be terrible. Just spending the day with him in Siena was too much. Now I feared he wasn’t screwing whores on these business trips anymore. He seemed horny the second he came home, like he couldn’t fuck me quick enough because his dick had been dry for too long.
“How about Mykonos?”
I’d never been to Greece. “That sounds lovely.”
“We’ll take my yacht and stay there for a while.”
“Quite a vacation.”
He smiled whenever he thought I was impressed by him. “I’ll plan it out.”
“Sounds good.”
He turned back to his breakfast then scrolled through emails on his phone.
I took a bite of the pancake, finally getting a carb into my system. But the taste was bitter because of my situation with Lucian. My husband actually liked me, actually wanted me. And this was entirely Balto’s fault.
If only I hadn’t eye-fucked him in that bar.
If I hadn’t sucked that olive into my mouth like it was one of his balls.
If I hadn’t fucked his enormous cock and screamed at the top of my lungs.
15
Balto
I sat on the couch with Heath beside me. We were in his living room because I’d stopped by for a visit. The biggest commonality my brother and I shared was our love of booze. We skipped the beer and went straight to the good stuff—scotch, gin, vodka, and rum.
Our glasses were on the coffee table while the football game was on the TV.
“How’d it go with Purple Dress?” I asked, my eyes on the screen without really watching it.
“Very good,” he said with a grin. “She could barely walk the next day.”
“She didn’t have a good time, but at least you did.”
“What are you talking about?” He turned to me, leaning against the cushion of the couch. “A woman wants to be sore the next day. That’s how she knows she got fucked right. And she was here all night long…and didn’t want to leave the next morning.”
“Then you must still be good in bed because you’re definitely poor company.”
“I am definitely poor company—but I know how to fuck. It’s something you’re born with sometimes.”
No, I didn’t know how to fuck when I was two. It was decades of experience that made me understand a woman’s body, all of her hidden buttons and the correct pressure it took to ignite them. Each woman was unique, but at their core, they were all the same. Same was true of Cassini, except she was a woman on a spiritual journey as she reconnected with her sexuality.
I hadn’t heard from her since I sent that dirty picture. I’d better hear from her soon. Otherwise, I would track her down and shoot her husband between the eyes for hogging her too much.
Knowing she was sleeping with someone else during the week before she came to me should bother me, but it didn’t. She didn’t want to be with him, only submitted because she had to. And every time she opened her legs for him, she was thinking of me. I was just her dirty secret, the man bedding another man’s wife because I didn’t give damn. I got to have all the fun, and he got to play the fool. He would find out eventually because these things never stayed a secret, and I looked forward to the day he confronted me.
We’d have a good time.
My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket—to see the number I’d been hoping to see.
Cassini.
I took the call and stepped away from the couch. “Took you long enough, baby.”
“He took forever to leave.” She sighed into the phone. “Tried to convince me to come with him to Turkey. Had to make an excuse to get out of it.”
“Does he usually take you along to places?”
“No…but he’s becoming more obsessed with me.”
“Can’t blame him.” I stood next to the dining room table and looked out the window. The sun was going down earlier because the end of summer was approaching. I looked at the mixture of colors along the skyline while the phone stayed pressed to my ear.
“I miss his indifference. I’m afraid he’s going to forget his whores and focus on me…and that really will be torture.”
“Then you need to stop thinking about me when you fuck him.”
“Easier said than done.” Her deep voice was sexy, even when she was irritated and talking about screwing her husband. “You’re the only thing that makes it bearable.”
I grinned at the compliment to my ego. “Come over.”
“I was planning on it—if you don’t already have plans.”
I spent most of my nights at the Underground and my afternoons keeping all my clients in line. For a man in charge, I worked a lot. I handled everything, a lot of situations that people knew nothing about. But that was the sign of a great leader—he made everything look easy. “For you, I’m free.”