Page 110 of Bona Fide

? Killing Me Softly — Bad Wolves ?

Over a year later…

My back hitsher bedroom door, which immediately follows with her plush lips crashing into mine.

It’s been forever since we’ve fucked.

That I’ve gotten to feel the tightness between her legs and how amazing she smells and tastes. To get lost and out of my world for just a moment where I didn’t have to think about anything else but this—us. My little piece of euphoria that understands me and my life.

Stepping into her space, she counters back, and I yank her Nirvana shirt over her head, prompting me to feel the soft skin at her ribs before roaming down to unbutton her jeans.

“Seems like you missed me,” she breathes.

“Ever since you moved, yeah.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “I have to keep reminding myself why I let you do it in the first place.”

She smiles. “Because you wanted me to succeed.”

Yeah, that.

I chastise myself every time since she’s not within a few hours driving distance from me.

Her eyes beam up at me like I’m everything to her, like she is to me.

She has to be.

Because Demi is still my so-called wife, and I can’t find a way to pry her claws out of my back. She watches her moves too heavily, knows that I’ll be standing there waiting on her to fuck up. I’m on standby so I can destroy her life like she did mine and my family’s.

“Just remember I’m still making the mortgage payment on your house so you can come home whenever you want,” I assert before I slide the denim material down her hips. “In case you can’t stand being away from me for longer than a month.”

She frowns. “Wade, you don’t have to—” I silence her with my lips because we’ve had this conversation before—a million fucking times.

But if it means keeping a place where she feels comfortable and where she’s safe, I’ll pay whatever it is that she needs.

"That's not fair," she mutters into my mouth, pressing her forehead to mine. "You can't silence me with your mouth, then pretend this conversation is over."

“It is over,” I counter. “I already told you that I’d keep whatever to make you come back to me. New York is too far from D.C.”

“Not that far.”

I perk a brow. “I don’t see you coming to see me.”

Her hands run down the length of my suit. “Because I’ve been trying to open up my business here.”

“Mhm.” My fingers brush beneath her red lace panties. The ones I know she put on specially for me because she knows they drive me fucking wild.

It was the first color I saw her in.

The contrast to my political party and baseball team. The light to my darkness and sanity to the insane life of being president.

The moment my index finger grazes her clit, she urgently starts to work at the buttons of my shirt as her breathing hitches, and her fingers begin to tremble with need.

“Lose the bra,” I order. “And I’ll take my cock out for you.” Her arms promptly reach around to undo the garment that some idiot decided would be “suitable” for women to wear.

It falls to the ground at record speed, and with my free hand, I undo my belt with her impatient help.

She urgently falls to her haunches, her lips wrap around my hardness before she even levels with it, and I don't stop the groan that escapes my lips.

My hands thread through her dark hair as she pumps me slowly with her mouth. She feels like heaven and hell, an addiction that is too real and unhealthy that it overcomes most of my senses.

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