Page 112 of Bishop

“You really like playing with fire, don’t you?”

No, I just like playing with him. Not as a game. Not because I see him as bait.

The sole reason is because he’s the only human on this earth to have ever made me feel good. “Get me out of your system, Bishop. Let’s get this over and done—”

His mouth swoops forward without warning, his lips descending toward mine.

I suck in a breath, so painfully ready for his kiss, but at the last second his path pivots, the contact I long for blistering along the scar at my neck.

I ignore the disappointment and focus on the savagery of his tongue against the sensitive skin, his mouth devouring the brutal memories of how I schemed with Cole Torian to betray my father.

My fingers scramble to undo Bishop’s shirt, his kisses unending as he hauls me off my feet to plant my ass on the kitchen counter.

My pants are roughly undone, my waistband tugged down to my ankles.

Then he goes down on me again. It’s the second time I’ve experienced the finer workings of a man’s tongue on my sex and both instances have come from Bishop.

He jerks himself off as I orgasm, afterward grabbing a clean dishcloth to silently help mop up the mess.

I’m not surprised when he walks away without a word to close himself into his bedroom.

I try not to fixate on how much he must regret every time he succumbs to me as I busy myself responding to work emails. But once midday hits, he strides into the kitchen and gets in my face with a brief update on my mother’s location, then spins me around to face the dining table before bending me over with a rough hand on my back. He pins my chest to the wood as he yanks down my pants, his fingers coaxing me to come all over again.

I orgasm so fast I laugh through the bliss, the shock of such easy euphoria confusing the hell out of me.

We eat lunch in silence. Then he escapes to the back porch to make calls while chain smoking.

I hate being the reason he’s killing himself with those cancer sticks. That his inability to deny the chemistry between us is what drives him to the subtle punishment. And still I don’t have the decency to look at him with anything other than wild hunger when he comes back inside hours later and we succumb all over again on the living room sofa.

After dinner we shower together, one of his hands in my hair to hold me hostage while the other delves between my thighs.

He glowers as his fingers pump inside me, the harshness of his expression doing nothing to stop me craving the kiss he withholds. But never do his lips brush mine. Never does his cock fill me where I need it most. And always, without fail, his brooding regret shadows the aftermath of every savage coupling.

When he finally retires to his bedroom for the night, I don’t wait hours to intrude.

I’m at his door within minutes, silently pushing my way into the darkness, gently climbing into his bed without permission.

He growls his annoyance but his touch finds me under the covers, his strong arm pulling me backward to spoon into his body where I feel most at home.

“Are you close to getting me out of your system?” I whisper.

“It’s only a matter of time, belladonna.” He grinds his cock against my ass. “Who knows what the next twenty minutes will bring.”

21

BISHOP

I wake to the single vibration of my cell on the bedside table and grab it while Abri remains asleep beside me.

Langston

We’re on our way.

Shit.

I slump back against the pillows and run a hand through my hair.

Of course he’s coming now that I’ve succumbed to his sister enough times that her taste permanently lingers on my tongue.

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