My insides are spiraling, my chest tightening around my heart. I’m so close.
His gravelly chuckle adds to the pleasure. “Oh, goddamn. I think your pussy likes it when I talk like this. Are you about to come? You’re already soaking my cock, but there’s nothing I want more than to feel you shatter around me.”
He releases my hair, bracketing his hands on my waist to pull me against him and thrust against that spot that has a smattering of stars dotting the blue sky.
Preston is ravenously sucking every ounce of strength out of my body. My chest falls to the bench, my shaky arms unable to hold me up any longer, but my ass is still in the air, letting him claim me.
It sounds more like a plea from my lips. “Yes.”
“Come for me, mo ghrá.” His Gaelic words somehow hold the power to launch me upward, letting me float with clouds as my orgasm crashes down on me.
My pussy pulses around him. I cry through the aftershocks, about ready to pass out from the intensity, when he wraps his hand around my throat and tugs my body back up to the position I was in before. I’m still coming as he snatches the hair at the base of my skull, tilting my head back to meet his stern gaze, mixed with amazement.
“My eyes are back here, darling. I want your full and undivided attention while I pump all my cum into your pussy. You’ll keep it nice and warm for me, won't you?”
It’s like he pulled a trigger inside me. How can his words alone make a second orgasm build? While my eyes are on his, he slaps my ass again, my mouth opening on an O.
Preston’s cock starts to pulse inside me. “I feel that you’re there again, baby. Does knowing I’m filling you right now get you off, you dirty little slut?”
The shock that I love him degrading me hits as hard as my second orgasm. My walls tighten again, feeling him throb as his warmth coats my walls.
Tears swell in my eyes, but they don’t part from his when he slows. I’m panting, my limbs shaking as he pulls out, letting me adjust to the loss of him. He tucks himself back into his shorts, then takes my panties from around my knees and pulls them back up over my satiated core.
He gives my clit a small smack, and I jump. “What was that for?” I whine.
“My room, now. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Again?” My sigh is a blend of nerves and interest. “Don’t you need a break or something?” I push myself up onto my trembling legs, nearly tumbling from the wild ache that shoots through them.
Preston steps forward, letting me grab onto him for support before he hauls me into his arms to cradle me.
He presses his lips to my temple before his mouth curves into an arrogant smile, with that darkness swirling in his eyes. “It will take a few minutes to get up to my room. That’s all I need before I lay you on my bed, spread your legs, and admire the mess I’ve made of your pussy with my cock.”
The obscurity in his gaze has a sensation of soft wings batting around in my stomach, instead of frightening me like it used to. His promise courses through my body like molten sugar, sticking in all places I know I’ll never get rid of it.
Preston Lachlan is going to break me, and for some reason, I want to let him. Because if he cares enough to carry me all the way there when I’m too weak before he breaks me again, I know he won't hesitate to put me back together after.
TWENTY-SEVEN | PRESTON
As the future boss, I used to take pride in being an overachiever. Drowning myself in work was the only thing that muted my demons. I say muted because they’re relentless little fuckers that have thrived and rotted corners of my soul that are unreachable. An infestation that I began to ignore because I didn’t deserve to feel better.
Not when Luciano should’ve drained the life from my eyes instead.
I’ve kept myself busy ever since the weight of Tayla and Mom’s deaths crashed onto my shoulders like an anchor that can’t keep a ship at bay in stormy waters. Wave after wave of grief slammed into me with the force of a hurricane, determined to splinter and crush my stability and the world I had worked to keep up with.
The one that I’m prepared to take over.
Dedicating myself to the Megalley Syndicate was easy when sleep evaded me. When I’d get swallowed into that place that had those voices echoing in the darkness, telling me it was my fault they died. That their final breaths taken in violence should’ve been mine.
After all these years, I’m still not sure I’ve come to terms with the fact that it isn’t my fault. And it isn’t my father’s.
Marco Giovanni’s—the late don of the Calco Cartel—death isn’t written on our souls like the countless others we’ve stolen over our lifetime.
No. That one we are clean of.
Yet it’s somehow worse knowing that my mother and sister died for a war that isn’t ours.
Tayla always told me I was too protective. It wasn’t until my father and I ran back to the Ferris wheel to find their guards’ lifeless eyes staring blankly into the night that I realized I wasn’t protective enough. At the time, I agreed with her, but I didn’t care, knowing the kind of monsters we coexist with. Men whose hands were once clean and were conditioned to inflict the type of agony and malice that’s demanded if you want to survive and earn respect.
