Page 51 of Guilty as Sin

Brady

When I show her which book to tilt off the shelf, the delight on Cora’s face is so beautiful I want to kiss her. But she’s turning away, stepping through the hidden door to explore my office’s bathroom and closet. The connected rooms are as large and well-appointed as any of my hotels’ luxury suites.

I show her how to lock the bookshelf from inside. Just in case.

With a turn of the vault handle, this place becomes a safe room. This particular door also features a hidden lock from the outside. But I decide against telling her that for now.

Only I know about that little detail.

As she steps into the shower, I give her reddened ass another slap. She yelps. Then, hungry for me again, she turns to beckon me with a crook of her finger.

“Not just yet,” I tell her. “Take your time.”

I pick up her clothes from my office and set them on the bathroom counter. Her lacy panties are damp from her mouth and slick with her pussy juices. Fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever been a part of. I’m shocked that my strong-willed Cora let me do that.

Yet I’m not at all surprised she enjoyed every second of it.

I change my suit, then return to my office to wait for her. We used my chair and the desk. But there’s still the couch and the armchairs. Plus the chaise in the back closet. And the shower. And the bathroom counter.

I like the idea of the mirror. Of my wife watching me fuck her from behind. But I’ll give her all the time she needs in the shower first. I smile to myself and pull out my phone as I wait.

Liam texted me an hour ago.

Liam: Call

And again half an hour ago.

Liam: Fucking call

Shit. As I unlock my phone, my older brother calls me first.

“Are you coming to the basement?” he asks.

Fuck. I rub my eyes. My wife’s attacker needs to be dealt with. Soon. Liam’s impatience is understandable.

“Yes,” I tell him. I went against his direct order last night, and now it’s time for me to atone.

We hang up, then I call Finn, who’s loitering in his office down the hall. I give him my instructions and jot a quick note for my wife.

Part of me wants to kiss her goodbye. But if I see her in the shower, her hair in wet tangles as water cascades down her naked body, I’ll be too tempted to join her.

Family duty calls for me to leave. So I go.

* * *

I descend the basement stairs. Surrounded by the chill of concrete, I pull the heavy lever to close the trap door above me.

Down in the soundproofed bunker, Liam’s at the card table playing solitaire. He’s facing the one-way mirror into the interrogation room. But it’s not as if the prisoner inside is a flight risk.

My brother and I greet each other with curt nods.

“Sorry for the delay,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows at me. It’s not like me to apologize. But it’s not like me to keep my responsibilities waiting, either.

I hang up my suit in my locker and change into burnable clothes. Untreated cotton sweats. Pulling them on feels like a ritual. A precursor to violence.

In the interrogation room, the metallic ammonia scent of blood and piss fills the subterranean space. Liam follows me inside.