Page 44 of King of War

“You think?” he snarls.

“I know.”

He slaps my ass again, but he doesn’t stop railing into me, each thrust more punishing than the last. This is different from the other night in the hallway. That was raw and primal and frenetic, like we just couldn’t hold back. Driven by our desire. This feels like so much more. It’s intentional.

“Your cunt loves my cock, baby. She’s soaking for me. Can you hear her?”

It’s hard not to when the wet sounds of him fucking me are so obnoxiously loud. God, I’m so damn obvious. I hate that he knows how much I want him. “You’re so damn sure of yourself.”

Another hard slap. My eyes roll back in my head. “Where you’re concerned, yeah, I am.” He leans over me, mouth at my ear. He catches my earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently. “But nobody makes me as hard as you do.” He slams into me again. “Nobody.”

I’m thrilled that’s true and squeeze my pussy muscles around his shaft as his reward.

“Fuck, Rayne,” he groans in my ear, as close to coming undone as I am. This might be messed up, but there’s no denying our bodies have remained firmly in tune with each other even after all these years.

“God, I hate you,” I pant out the words, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

“You too,” he growls as he drives into me again.

He fucks me hard. Relentless and unforgiving, and I relish every single second of it, basking in the way I’m able to make him lose control. “Such a tight fucking pussy. You gonna come on my cock? Soak my pants for me again?”

“Yes!” I cry out.

“That’s my fucking girl.” He wraps my hair around his fist, uses it to pull me up so that my back is flat to his chest. Then his hand coasts over my hip and he squeezes my throbbing clit between his fingers. I go off like a nuclear warhead, stars blinding in my vision and my entire body shaking as euphoria lights up my veins. He grinds his hips, emptying his own release into me. We stay like that for a moment, his arms wrapped around me and us both panting for breath. That was intense. Incredible.

His arms fall from around me and he staggers back a step, fastening up his pants and belt. But I’m determined not to feel bad about what we did this time. We’re both adults, and we’re not hurting anyone—well, except for each other.

I fix my clothes and turn to face him.

He looks so guilty that it makes my heart ache a little. He has nothing to feel guilty for, not about this anyway. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure we did that. And you don’t have to apologize. There’s nothing wrong with what we did. We’re two consenting adults. Besides, there’s not much that’s hotter than some good old hate sex, right?”

I say that to lighten the mood, but it seems to have the opposite effect. He steps closer, his entire being invading my personal space and making heat coil low in my belly. “And exactly how much hate sex have you had, Rayne?”

I always loved my jealous, possessive Enzo—until he took it way too far. Part of me still craves that kind of obsession, and I never found it with anyone else. Never wanted to. I run my fingertip over the buttons of his shirt, feel his breathing quicken at my touch. I stand on my tiptoes, leaning close to his ear, feeling my breath fan across his skin. “I promise you that I’ve never had sex with anyone I hate quite as much as you.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

ENZO

Vinny’s funeral is like a who’s who of the criminal underworld. Every crook from the state of Nevada is in attendance, but I’m focused primarily on the heads of the six other families that make up the upper echelons of our organization. I need to sound them all out and figure out what exactly the don has been telling them.

I find Ilario Viscusi on the first floor, standing alone, staring out over the balcony and into the expansive gardens below. I offer him my usual greeting, a nod.

He does the same in return, but it’s stiff. Like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than the fact we’re colleagues. We’re not friends by any stretch, but we’ve always respected each other. “Everything okay?” I ask.

His nostrils flare. “It’s a sad day.”

Is it? I want to ask. Nobody here particularly liked Vinny. I don’t speak, and instead we sip our brandy in silence until his wife joins us and starts asking me when I’m going to get myself married. I quickly excuse myself but can’t help feeling rattled. Ilario is always hard to read, always cool headed, but he was definitely off today.

I grab a fresh drink, extricate myself from at least a dozen conversations, and find a spot on my own where I can observe. Seems everyone wants to speak to me except the family heads, and I have a sinking feeling I know why.

Rocky Benedetti, probably my oldest and closest ally outside of my brothers, sidles up beside me. He sips his glass of Scotch, smooths back his slick hair, his gold wedding ring glinting in the sun. “Haven’t seen so many crooks since I did a year in the pen. Who’d have thought so many people would turn out for that little prick, huh?” He flashes me a grin.

“I’m sure they’re all here to support the don.”