Page 3 of Tormented Heir

“No. I’d have cut off his balls.” She juts her chin.

I laugh. “I still might.”

“I just want to get the house paid off, sell it, and go live near my sister in Alabama. Do you know the kind of house I could buy out in rural Alabama with the money from a three bed, three bath in San Francisco?”

I don’t, but I can guess.

“I’ll kill him and let you go.” I pour her another drink, and she sips at this one. “You don’t have to do the sex thing.” I keep reiterating this, giving her that out, but hoping she doesn’t take it.

“Spoilsport,” she purrs.

“You really do hate him, don’t you?”

Her ability to feel hatred as deep as a well is charming.

“I hate him with every part of my being. He makes me sick. He’s screwed every cheap bit of pussy he can get his hands on. I’ve been faithful all these years because he always said he’d throw me out if I wasn’t. He makes the money, not me. Then he blew it all on hookers.”

Her arms wrap around my neck as she blows hot vodka breath across my cheek. Her gaze isn’t on me but locked on her husband. “I’d love to make him scream before you put him out of his misery.”

I spin us around and lift her onto the makeshift bar. “How about I make you scream? But in the best way.”

Her lips part. “You don’t want me on my knees?”

“No, darling. This will hurt him a lot more; trust me.”

Negotiations done with, I walk over to turn the music down. After all, there’s no point in doing this if word of it isn’t spread far and wide. My men are outside that door. They’ll talk, and what I do now in this room will soon become legend out there on the streets.

Walking leisurely back to Lizzie, I smile as she leans back, her legs parting a little. I lift the hem of her dress slowly, my hands brushing it ever higher. A strangled cry of rage behind me has my lips twitching into a smirk.

Yeah, motherfucker, you just watch. I push Lizzie’s panties to one side, and she sits back propped on her elbows. She gasps when my tongue traces a line right over her slit.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you Russian piece of shit.” He shouts loud enough to be heard in the hallway.

The strangled threats make me laugh softly against Lizzie’s core, and she likes that because she moans. I use my fingers to part her. She’s already wet, and I flick my tongue over her.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers as I work a finger inside.

“There’s no god in here, darling,” I reply, kissing her thigh. “Just us sinners, and the devil sitting on your shoulder.”

“The devil won, and the angel lost.” She doesn’t sound too sad about it.

Her core is clenching in waves, so I add a second finger and work my tongue faster.

“Oh, God. I can’t, not with him looking at me. So close.”

I break off. “I thought you wanted him to see this?”

“I do, but his judgment is putting me off.”

“Close your eyes,” I order the bastard, without even turning around. “Your wife needs to come, and if you do one more thing to mess up her life, I’ll cut your right ball off with the rusty knife in the corner of the bar. Then I’ll leave you tied up to slowly die of tetanus.”

“You’re sick and fucked up. Your momma dropped you on your head.” He throws himself around so hard in the chair I hear it rocking against the floor.

I crook my finger inside Lizzie. “Eyes on me, Lizzie. Don’t look at him; he doesn’t even exist anymore. In a few days, you’re going to be a rich widow.”

“Well, a comfortable one,” she says with a small inhale.

“I’ve decided to give you two hundred thousand dollars to start over with.” I flick my tongue gently against her and keep on pressing inside her.

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