Playing a game they don’t understand while they wait to finally make their move.
I found Arden in the garden one evening last week, sitting in the same spot we met. He apologized for using Preston against me, and I felt every word, seeing it in the glaze of his eyes. Then, something inside me cracked for the man, and I asked about her. Lynn, Preston's mother, was apparently as beautiful as her soul was, and Tayla, his daughter, took after her, whereas Preston is like him. He told me stories through the tears clogging his throat, telling me that they plan to end it—get their revenge—at Luciano’s fiftieth birthday celebration in April.
As for the mole, they’re still lurking out there somewhere. The last few shipments have been untouched. Haven’t been missing product like the few others before.
One would think they’ve given up, but we know that’s far from the truth. They're just in the shadows, waiting for orders.
Preston and Arden’s revenge plan is set in stone to take down the leader of the Calco Cartel, but that’s still seven months from now.
I tighten the straps of my garters, giving myself a once-over in the dim light of the en suite bathroom mirror. Moonlight is starting to peek through the window, spilling across the floor like silver paint. There still may be faint bruises on my neck and a healing bullet wound in my thigh, but I’ve never admired myself as much as I am now. The baby-pink strapless lingeriefrom our first date and that night at the park has been stripped of bloodstains thanks to Gretta.
I never got to show it to him since it was under my dress, and it finally feels like the right time. I miss the heat of his touch. Don’t get me wrong, he keeps me tucked into his side every night and peppers me with kisses when his tongue isn’t in my mouth, but that’s the extent of our physical contact. Last week, I kept trying to push it further since his hot, nearly naked body is pressed against mine every night, but he just growls my name. A warning because he knows I’m still physically healing. But I’m out of the weeds with my concussion and only have these damn stitches still in my leg.
But I can’t take it anymore.
Is wearing this a form of manipulation? Probably.
Something tells me once he sees me in this, he’ll lose his control. I’m his one weakness, and I’m learning not to take it for granted now.
I do one last check, taking in the way the stockings crawl up my long legs and how the silk-and-mesh body of the fabric hugs my curves. There’s an ugly bandage around my thigh, but I don’t care. Because I know he won't. He finds the beauty in my scars, like I see the beauty in his.
Running my fingers through my long, curled hair, I blow out a breath and exit the bathroom. The soft light of the bedside lamp cascades across the hard planes of his tattooed chest, which my fingertips yearn to trace and memorize more.
Every line. Every vein. Every stroke of ink.
Preston’s bourbon eyes lift from the laptop on his lap, his eyes expanding when they land on me stalking toward him. I ignore the slight limp in my leg as a blush creeps up his chest and floods into his cheeks. He lifts a hand to his bearded jaw, taking me in and taking his time like he always does.
“Fuck,” he exhales, the one word covering me from head to toe in goosebumps. “You’re really testing my control here, darling.”
My tone is sweet. “Then let it go.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, stopping in front of the bed.
His hand drifts further up his face as he rubs his eyes. When he drops his arm, I see the cracked web in his resolve. He’s hanging on by a thread, and I want him to shatter. “I don’t want to hurt you. Your leg is still healing.”
My fingertips drift over my collarbones and down my stomach, tauntingly. “I don’t care. I want you. I want to feel everything.” I place a knee on the bed, crawling to him slowly. “That’s why I’m wearing the same lingerie that was under my dress that got ruined the night of our date.”
He curses under his breath, placing the laptop on the bedside table, hungrily observing the way I carefully crawl on top of him. Luckily, he’s propped on top of the comforter, so I have a view of how badly he wants me. His massive cock is straining against his boxers. A low thrum circulates in my belly, drifting to my clit as I settle on top of him.
“Goddamn, Kate. You’re stunning, looking all ready for me.”
I bit my lip, nodding as my hands fondle my breasts in the strapless top that gives them enough lift to drive him mad. “Are you going to break for me now and fuck me the way I want you to?”
“Holy fuck. That dirty mouth is begging for my cock, too, isn’t it?”
Another nod. “Mhmm.”
He sits up, wrapping his arms around me to tenderly pull my center flush against his erection and his warm, hard chest. There’s way too much fabric between us as his lips slam against mine. His tongue demands entrance, and I part them for him to let his flavor invade my senses and drive me wild.
My pulse is hammering as he gently picks me up, flipping me onto my back so he’s on top. Keeping my eyes on him, I slowly part my legs, letting him see the mess I’m already making of my lace panties.
His fingers press into my center, rubbing circles on my clit. I whimper, pleasure wracking through me. Our gazes hold firm, his fingers pulling me closer to an edge I want to fall over with him.
His husky voice floods through my ears, making me wetter. “Fucking hell, you are soaked for me. We’re about to see just how much this tight cunt missed me.”
My heart drops into my stomach, a bomb making the wings take flight when he shoves my panties to the side, making me shiver. Our desperation for each other is evident when he doesn’t waste time taking my lingerie off. He reaches into his boxers, pulling out his rock-hard cock. Preparing himself, he pumps it from base to tip a few times. His thumb swipes over the bead of precum on his tip before he aligns himself with my entrance. Catching me off guard, he takes that thumb, pressing it between my lips at the exact moment he slips every inch of himself inside of me like it’s where he belongs.
He does.
He was meant to consume me.
