"I'd have to find out sooner or later." I shrugged, the handcuffs clinking. "I guess you plan on keeping me locked away forever, huh? Don't you think locking your house up like a zombie apocalypse is about to happen is a little insane?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "If your president-elect gets another term, it might be. I think ahead. Plan for the future. All thehouses on this compound are like this. It was Roxx's idea. I followed suit. You never know what might pop off."
"I guess you got some common sense floating around in that noggin after all."
We reached his Benz—sleek, black, expensive—and I stopped, staring at our cuffed hands.
"How is this supposed to work, Romelo?" I held up our wrists and dangled them. "You gonna drive with one hand?"
"Nah. You know how to drive. You'll sit in my lap."
"I swear you think of the craziest shit."
But he was right. It wasn't that hard.
He opened the door, positioned me in his lap, and I gripped the steering wheel while he worked the pedals. Following his directions, I drove us through winding roads until we pulled up to another house—just as big, just as nice—and parked behind a car that looked identical to his.
I took my foot off the gas and tried to catch my breath.
That's when I felt it.
His hand slid around my stomach, gripping me gently, possessively. Shivers ran up my spine.
"Juicy," he whispered in my ear, his voice low and rough. "Do you feel how hard you got my dick right now, baby?"
I did. I felt every inch of it pressing against my ass through my thin leggings.
His voice—that deep, raspy, southern drawl—made me want to melt. It was therapeutic and dangerous all at once. My mind and my pussy were at war, and I didn't know which side was winning.
I should've never taken that ride home with him.
That was my only regret. That one decision had led to this—to me sitting in a car, handcuffed to my cousin's boyfriend, his dick hard against me, my body betraying every logical thought in my head.
Would Trecee fight for him? Or would she fold?
It didn't matter. Romelo wasn't going to let me go. He'd made that clear when he put a bullet in his own head just to prove a point.
I didn't give a fuck about the money anymore.
But temptation was knocking at my door, and if I didn't answer, she'd kick it down.
I was already in too deep to turn back now.
CHAPTER TWO
ROMELO “ROME” JONES
"Do you feel how hard you got me, baby?" I whispered into her ear.
I needed her to understand—truly understand—how hard she had my dick. The sight of her wasn't enough anymore. I'm a stingy ass, greedy ass nigga, and somewhat of a pervert when it comes to what I have a taste for. The matter at hand—why we pulled up to Roxx's house in the first place—could wait. The bleeding from my head could wait. Everything could wait.
I was fiending for some good shit, and if she was willing to give it up, cool. If not, I might have to take it.
"No" don't mean "no" to me. It means "yes."
"Romelo," Synthia scoffed, stirring her plump ass on my dick. She was trying to ease away, scooting forward in my lap, but she wasn't making it easier for herself. Every move she made, every shift of her hips, only made my dick harder.
"Your forehead needs stitches and you're trying to fuck. The answer is no, nigga."
