Page 106 of Sins of Arrogance

“He al­ways has.”

I nod. “But now I know it.”

“Will that make it eas­ier for you to let him out of your sight?”

I give a self-dep­re­cat­ing laugh. “I’ve been kind of a he­li­copter par­ent since Róise’s kid­nap­ping, haven’t I?”

“You’re a car­ing mam, Kara. Our son is lucky to have you.”

“You’re a pretty great dad, your­self.”

Mick nods in easy agree­ment, no short­age of mob­ster ar­ro­gance in my hus­band.

My thoughts about his ar­ro­gance and ev­ery­thing else scat­ter as he un­does his black cargo pants and shoves them along with his silk knit box­ers down his hips.

Some days, my hus­band goes to work in a tai­lored suit and tie. Oth­ers he wears an out­fit like this one. I asked once why the dif­fer­ent clothes, but he told me it wasn’t some­thing for me to worry about.

Since he’s come home with blood on his shirts as of­ten as when he was wear­ing a suit as not, I don’t take the tac­ti­cal gear as an in­di­ca­tor it was any more of a dan­ger­ous day than nor­mal.

He’s a mob un­der­boss. His whole life is dan­ger­ous.

The dan­ger of his job is the least thing on my mind when his heavy erec­tion bobs in front of me.

My mouth wa­ters. I know what I want, but I’ve never done it.

He’s never asked for it. Not even when we couldn’t en­gage in in­ter­course.

I want to suck him.

But I’m afraid of do­ing it wrong, so I reach out to grasp him with my hand. Hot vel­vet cov­ered steel fills my palm and my knees go weak.

Mick grabs me and backs me to­ward the bed. It’s like he knows what my body is go­ing to do be­fore I do.

My knees hit the edge of the bed and Mick is al­ready press­ing me down onto it, his body a wall of heat and mus­cle above me.

I’m still dressed. Not for long though.

“Off,” he grits.

I have to let go of his hardon so I can lift my arms. He rips the hal­ter top over my head and flings it across the room, his pupils di­lat­ing at the sight of my breasts.

“Such gor­geous baps.” He cups them and squeezes, thumbs flick­ing my nip­ples un­til they ache with en­gorged blood.

I cling to his strain­ing bi­ceps, my breaths com­ing in short pants and cant my hips up­ward.

But my palazzo pants are in the way and I whine with frus­tra­tion. He rips them from my body along with my panties, ev­ery move­ment filled with im­pa­tient power.

I’m so wet I can feel my arousal slip­ping down to­ward my bot­tom. More like soaked and he hasn’t even touched me there yet.

“Feckin’ hell, Kara.” His voice is a rasp at my ear as the head of his erec­tion presses against the open­ing to my body. “You feel that?”

“Yes!” It’s all I feel.

And when he pushes in­side me in one sharp, glo­ri­ous thrust, I cry out, my fin­gers fist­ing the com­forter.

He’s thick and deep and he doesn’t give me time to catch my breath or get my bear­ings.

He just pis­tons into me.