Page 190 of Bishop

He bites my shoulder. “You’ll wait.”

I mewl. In pain. In pleasure. In mindlessness. “I can’t. You feel so good. It’s right there.” I keep grinding, searching for the peak, almost finding it.

He clutches my breast tighter, his grip sure to leave marks. And that hand on my clit… I moan. He squeezes the bundle of nerves between two fingers and I begin to gush. “Bishop,” I pant. “Bishop, I’m coming.”

He keeps his rhythm, not deviating from the perfect pleasure. His fingers still on my clit. His mouth on my neck. “God, you undo me.”

He groans, coming with me, his touch everywhere. His lips, too.

I close my eyes to the euphoria, the two of us the only people in existence, our fulfillment all that’s right and good in this world as my core slows its rampant pulse and I fall into a chasm of boneless bliss.

He holds me in the aftermath, his chest plastered to my back, his head pressed to my shoulder. Slowly, his hands lose their possessive grip, falling from my body to leave me frantic for their return.

When he pulls out of me, I feel the loss on more than a physical level. The grate of his zipper is a sterile end to the heated passion.

Something in the air changes.

It skitters over my skin like a bad omen.

Regret.

Not mine. I sense it emanating from him.

“Give me a sec,” he mutters while I remain frozen, unsure how to act. “Here.” He places something between my thighs. Something soft. A material of some sort. “A clean handkerchief is all I’ve got unless you want my shirt.”

“Thank you.” I slide my hand between my thighs, cleaning the mess we created, before righting my pants.

When I turn to face him, he doesn’t look at me.

There’s no lingering pleasure in his features. No post-orgasm superiority.

All I see is remorse. And of course that’s how he should feel. He abstained for over a decade only to succumb to my selfishness.

“I need to get you to Hudson.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m assuming you want to go there straight away.”

I nod through the shame, wanting to talk to him, needing to apologize… But words fail me.

He snatches my scarf and top from the floor and hands them over. “You might want to get dressed before we walk outside.”

Shit. “Are my brothers here?”

He nods. “Among others.”

Oh, God.

I tug my top over my head, then wrap my scarf around my neck, the euphoria well and truly evaporated. I want to rewind and start over. To crawl into a hole and die.

“I’ll get your shoes.” He turns and walks from the room.

I follow, watching as he stops to scoop up my bra and blazer, then holds them out for me to take.

“You might want to put these on, too.” He hands over the lace underwear first and I make quick work of dragging it on beneath my top, my gaze straying toward Geppet.

“Don’t look,” Bishop warns, his eyes pinning me. “You can forget a lot of things in life, but the sight of death isn’t one of them.”

“What will happen to him?”

Bishop steps closer, helping me into my blazer. “My men will take care of it.”

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