Page 24 of Worth Risking It

My palms slapped to his cheeks and shoved him up so I could stare into his eyes dumbfoundedly. Was that his way of telling me he cared about me? I always knew he wanted me, but…was there affection there?

My lids rounded and I choked on a gasp, my stomach bottoming out. I was in love with Wyatt. How the hell did this happen? Why would my heart let me do this? It was split right down the middle, madly in love with two men at the same time. What was I going to do?

His brows furrowed at my expression, but he didn’t stop moving. Our chins pressed together, his tongue snaked out and filled my mouth seconds before aggressively kissing me. Next thing I knew, he was lifting to his knees, pushing mine to my chest, and dominating.

The sweet, tingling, bonding sex was over, and he was my Daddy, taking what he knew he owned. His piercings rubbing me raw from how quickly he was thrusting, my wetness was dripping around us, filling the air with my scent and that sexy swishing sound I loved hearing so much.

Our bodies clapping, the frame knocking the wall, we were both too enraptured with one another to hear my cellphone chime with the text from Milo, giving the information about the flight in the morning. My jaw falling, my nails were clawing down his back, shredding his skin as my soul left my body with a surreal orgasm that had me screaming and blubbering, begging for more, more, more.

Wyatt followed right behind, his fist slamming into the headboard, his teeth grinding, his eyes glowing as he growled from deep in his gut and came inside me again, his cock deep, his hips grinding against mine roughly.

Gasping and coughing, his glare intense, he crawled from between my thighs and stood, hooking his finger to beckon. Without hesitation, I scrambled to my feet. Like in a trance, I followed him up the stairs to his apartment. I tingled with anticipation, knowing exactly what I was about to endure, and I couldn’t wait. I needed this! My soul needed what he was about to do to me. I couldn’t wait to bow down and submit to my Daddy. It had been far too long.

Chapter 10

Chastity Monroe

His hand on the small of my back, he ushered me through the crowded club. Milo was wearing a black, three piece suit that had a slight shimmer under the flashing blue and green lights, and black, imported leather shoes. His hair brushed away from his face, his chin held high with the arrogant confidence he oozed, I was swooning at the sight of him.

Apprehension cloaked my heart as I casually gazed at the man to my left. Wyatt was also wearing a black suit, though nowhere near as fancy. His hair fell over his brooding brow, his eyes constantly darting around the bustling crowd. For a second, his palm covered the back of my hand, his spine bristling. Whatever he must have seen must not have been a threat, after all, for he quickly removed his touch.

I was wearing an off the shoulder, black sequined dress that curved over my breasts and dipped into my cleavage. The bodice form fitting, the skirts flared out just a tad with a small slit on either side, falling right to my knees.

My waves were styled away from my face and over my shoulders, my makeup smokey with a slight gloss to my lips. Swapping my diamond studded earrings for black diamond chandeliers, I had added a simple choker.

Though Milo had not picked up on the significance of the necklace, Wyatt had. He had been absolutely flustered when he saw me step out of the bedroom, so much that Milo had noticed and made a comment.

A ring on my finger bound me to my fiancé, the choker to my Daddy. I was in love with two men, two men that had known one another on a daily basis their entire lives. Two men that were like brothers.

One of which would kill the other without batting a lash if he knew our secret.

At the back of the club, Milo went up a set of metal stairs with glass partitions instead of spindles under the railings. I followed, centering my weight on the balls of my stilettos, Wyatt behind me.

I peeked over my shoulder and found him staring at my ass, his head leaning so his sight could rake down my legs. Should I tell him I was in love with him? What would that accomplish? What if it scared him off and he ended us again? I couldn’t handle that.

So, what? I continue sleeping with him whenever Milo went out of town? What happened when he found the woman he was going to have a son with?

Sighing, I faced forward, my heart so ladened with grief, I struggled to breathe at times from the pressure. If Milo could have his affairs, why couldn’t I have mine?

At the top of the stairs, there was a narrow walkway to the other side of the opened area. I gazed down at the hundreds of people dancing and drinking below, the music blasting loudly. Opening a door, Milo held my hand to stop me from entering so Wyatt could go before.

Right. He had to check the area. Would I ever get used to this?

Standing to the side, he gripped his wrist in front of him and stared straight ahead. Milo urged me in and followed right behind, never taking his hand off my hip.

The room was like nothing I had ever seen before. The wall with the entrance was all glass that overlooked the club, but thick, dark purple, velvet curtains covered it at the moment. Even the walls were covered in purple velvet, decorated in gaudy black frames that either displayed a mirror or images of Russia. The ceilings were painted black, and the floor was black carpet.

The accent lighting was sparse, but bright, so there was enough to illuminate the black, velvet couches surrounding a black leather ottoman that was squared and almost as long as the couches.

On one of the sofas was an older man with short, black hair greased back, speckled with strands of silver. His bright blue eyes peered at us with a hint of suspicion as Milo and I sat on the sofa across from him.

Crossing my ankles and tucking them to the side, I folded my hands on my lap and plastered a smile.

A door opened in the back and a tall, slender blonde with ivory skin, plump red lips, and fake lashes so thick, I couldn’t see her eyes, strolled forward. Wearing a skimpy red dress that left very little to the imagination, she sashayed to the man and sat beside him, her long, shapely legs crossing elegantly.

In a thick, Russian accent, he stared at Milo and nodded his head with a curt greeting. “Mr. Pampinella.”

“Mr. Morozov. This is my fiancé, Ms. Chastity Monroe.”