Page 79 of Bishop

“Do you satisfy them?”

I glare, hoping to intimidate her into a topic change. “Only because it satisfies me.”

Her brows rise. I can’t tell if it’s in interest or condemnation.

“You don’t approve of my exploits, belladonna?” I scoff. “That’s rich.”

“I didn’t say that. You can get lucky however you want. I was actually going to say that I think it’s sad.”

“In that case, you might need to dial your imagination up a notch because there’s nothing remotely sad about sliding my dick between the lips of some of the highest paid escorts in the industry. Maybe next time I could record it for you.” I wink, the gesture far from friendly. “Just to set your mind at ease.”

“That’s not necessary. What you do with your dick isn’t what I was referring to.” She takes another step, moving within reach as my pulse runs rampant in my throat. “What I think is sad is the lack of intimacy. No kissing. No connection. How long have you lived without love?”

“You ask as if it’s a bad thing,” I sneer. “Let me assure you, it’s not.”

“Why?”

“Love is a weakness. So is attraction, to a lesser extent.”

“But you’ve taken care of me at my lowest, with kindness and compassion. Don’t you hunger for the same in return?”

“I’ve taken care of you out of duty and with respect.”

“I know that.” She raises her chin as if I’ve wounded her. “But don’t you miss being touched? Not even a little?” She places her glass on the counter near my side and inches in front of me. “Don’t you crave contact for reasons other than sexual gratification?”

“You can’t miss something you’ve never had.”

She flinches, acknowledging the insight I didn’t want to give. “Then can I also assume you won’t mind if I show you what you’re missing?”

My muscles turn rigid, each limb tightening to the point of pain. “You’re playing games, belladonna. They won’t end well for you.”

“It’s not a game.” She reaches out, gliding her palm over my jaw. Gentle. Excruciating in its softness. “You’re missing out on the best of what life has to give.”

Her gaze follows her hand while mine follows her face, my eyes eating up the dash of pink in her cheeks, the light sweep of her lashes.

I ignore the swell of my dick. The increased burn in my veins.

I shut it all down. Become sterile. A void. Nothing but breath and thunderous heartbeats.

There’s no lust. No attraction. No craving. Only existence as I clamp my jaw and clench every muscle.

“How would you know?” I ask with cruelty, hoping to gain some emotional space. “Your sex life is as toxic as mine.”

“I know what my heart craves.” Her fingertips whisper along my stubble down to my mouth, her thumb trailing over my bottom lip. “Have you never felt that way?”

“I feel nothing.”

Her hand travels to my ear and descends my neck like cascading water as my skin acts like it’s breaking out in a heated rash.

She’s so close I can taste the sweet wine on her breath, can feel each exhale against my mouth.

My dick throbs. Lengthens. I ignore it, feigning impatience with an aggressive huff as her palms glide over my chest. “You done yet?”

Her lips lift in a warm smile. “I could do this for hours.”

Like fuck she could.

She’s been at rock bottom for days. Straddling panic over her missing daughter. Why the hell would she want to pause the hysterics to finger fuck my goddamn face?

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