Page 54 of Dirty Legacy

He drags me against him and kisses me forcefully, hungry, dominant, and I go limp against him, unable to help myself. God, he’s beautiful, his seed coating the wall, his dick still stiff. His tongue slips into my mouth⁠—

“We should dry off.” I step away. He looks at me with pure lust and hunger.

“Who said I’m finished with you?”

“I did.” I slip from the shower and grab a towel.

“Why are you stopping?”

“You needed a release, that’s all.”

He turns off the water. “So all I need to do is feel stressed and get covered in blood and you’ll want to touch me?”

“Seems easy when you put it that way.”

I disappear into the bedroom. I’m not sure what I was thinking back there, but it nearly got out of control. I wanted to help him, and I thought making him feel good would ease some of his tension, and it did.

But now he wants more. And what’s worse⁠—

I do too.

That can’t happen. This is complicated enough already. If we start sleeping together, it’ll only spiral.

Once we begin, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.

I dress and get back into bed. He joins me a few minutes later, smelling like soap and oil. His big body is shockingly warm. I curl toward him instinctively in the darkness, thinking about his shudders and moans of pleasure, of how fast he came only from my hands.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper, not sure if he’s still awake.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

He’s quiet for a long time. I start to think he drifted off, before I hear four words, echoes in the dark.

“Yes, angel. Much worse.”

15

CONNOR

Idream of Angie’s breasts pressed against my back, of her hand wrapped around my cock. I know it happened. I want to live in that moment forever. The way she touched me, washed me, gently and carefully like she truly gave a shit about me.

I’ve never experienced that before.

My men respect me. My friends treat me well. But always I’m the boss. The responsibility sits on my shoulders alone, and no matter what, I’m always separate from them.

Power is mine alone.

But in the shower, Angie treated me like a man. Not like the king of a crime family, not like a cold-blooded killer, but like her husband.

It was intoxicating.

I didn’t know I needed that—until she gave it to me.

Light streams in through the window. It’s early, around six thirty, and I turn to watch my wife sleep.

Except she’s not there.