Page 93 of Bishop

“It isn’t already?” she gasps.

“Barely. You’re not even naked yet. Imagine what I could do with a blank canvas.”

“That sounds like an incentive to remain quiet.”

“Are you sure?” I sink my teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to make her squeal.

“Okay,” she cries. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good girl.”

“Oh, God.”

And there it is—the fucking orgasm I wring from her in exquisitely feminine whimpers. The one that will haunt my dreams. The one I already regret with every thunderous beat of my pulse.

Her pussy flutters around my fingers, her head pulled back as her tits rise and fall with her rapid breaths.

I itch to fist her hair, to force her gaze to the first man to make her come. To cement the memory in her mind. But I don’t need that potency fucking with my head later.

Jerking off in the shower tonight will be quick enough without the recollection of staring into her lust-drunk baby blues, making the time trial pitiful.

Instead, I let her finish in silence, the controlled movement of my fingers matching the rhythm of her hips, over and over, until she finally begins to recede from the peak.

I’m a fucking prick for touching her. For pretending it was okay to indulge in Lorenzo’s niece because she needed a distraction.

But that’s all it was. Pretend. Make-believe.

I’m no better than every other fucker who’s been tempted by her. I couldn’t keep my hands off when she was clearly suffering.

She relaxes against the wall, her lips curving in a dreamy smile, her hands sliding from my neck to drift down my chest while I wallow in self-loathing.

My fingers remain inside her, soaked as I stand rigid, a captured beast entirely ensnared in the bear trap I’d willingly walked into.

She lifts my shirt at the hem, her soft knuckles brushing my stomach. I clench my teeth so fucking tight I might crack a molar. And still I can’t back away.

I’m thrumming.

Drowning in lust.

She grabs my belt, tugging at the clasp.

“What are you doing?” I growl.

“Returning the favor.”

I yank my hands from her pants and clasp her wrist. “No. We’re done here.”

She freezes, all that blissed-out lust vanishing with a hard blink. “But—”

“You wanted a distraction and I gave you one.” I step back, my limbs tense, my dick aching for relief. “Now, go eat your dinner.”

18

ABRI

The house is deathly quiet as we eat.

Bishop hasn’t spoken a word since he marched from my bedroom fifteen minutes ago. Hasn’t even dared to raise his scowl in my direction.

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