Using her hands, she pulls herself up to sit on it, crossing her legs and letting her dress slide up her thigh. “Come here,” she croons.
Reluctantly I move to her, my fists clenching at my sides as I watch her squirm on the polished wood. I don’t like the feeling growing inside me at seeing her on my mother’s piano.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I grasp her tight. She unfolds her legs, lifting them to lock around my waist, and then I lift her from it. “You don’t touch this,” I warn.
“No? I was hoping you’d fuck me on it.” She pops a brow.
Does she think that’s going to turn me on? Fucking her on my mother’s piano? I’ve never been so soft in my life.
“You don’t fucking touch it. Got it?” I spit out, making her face drop.
Not wanting her anywhere near my personal things or feelings, I take her lips, hoping it will get me going again. I already know I am going to have to work for it. Maybe I’m an asshole, but girls like…
“What’s your name again?”
“Cara.” She giggles into my neck as I carry her up the stairs.
Girls like Cara are only after one thing. Money. They can smell it from a mile off, and if I didn’t take her home tonight, El would have. That’s how I sleep at night, knowing she is only after a notch on her millionaire tally. I’m just something to brag about come Monday morning.
Four hours later…
I pace the kitchen as sweat forms on my brow. “Well, where the fuck is he now?”
“I don’t know, Mase, you need to calm down. Vin will deal with this.” Lance tells me from his spot at my kitchen island.
“Calm down? Fucking murder, Sullivan, that’s what this is!”
Everything is fucked.
He screws his face up. “No, it’s not. It’s a lesson, and he fucking deserved it.”
My hands rake through my hair. He deserved it. Fuck. He deserved it.
“How long is he going to be? I can’t wait around like this.” I snap.
“Give it an hour and we’ll call.”
“Fuck that?—”
Lance lifts a hand to stop me, his face tight. I follow his gaze which is trained on the closed kitchen door. “You hear that?” he mouths.
I walk to the door and rip it open.
The redhead gasps, and I try to remember her name, but my mind is already processing the conversation I had moments ago and how much of it she may have heard. “I was just leaving. I came to say goodbye.”
She heard us.
She heard what we said.
Murder.
“Thank you for this evening, my friend is expecting me home.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I spit.
FUCK.
“What did you hear?” Lance asks from behind me.
