Page 231 of Deceit

“You’re serious?”

I nod and glance down at her outfit. “How much do you like this dress?”

Emmy’s arms cross along her chest protectively. “I like it.”

“They say to ask for forgiveness later, you know?” I pull back and receive a bratty little lift of her chin.

“Kace Bishop,” Emmy warns. “You’re getting off track here.”

“How?” I circle her wet clit through her lace panties. “I know how to get to the finish line, baby.”

“This is a big responsibility,” she retorts. “You haven’t even spent a night with them.Ihaven’t even spent a damn night with them, and I’m fucking terrified.”

“Why?” I move the material aside and insert my middle finger inside her and my body calms because it’s home. “You’re gonna do great. You made sure all us boys on B723 didn’t die.”

“You’re grown-ass adults.”

I perk a brow. “Since when? We’re boys who like to play with knives, guns, and fire. We’re all juvenile delinquents.”

“This is different.” Her eyes grow heavy as I slowly thrust in and out of her. “You can’t walk out of a room…or punch them.” My cock steels as her pussy clamps around my digit, and suddenly my mouth is watering. “Bishop…”

“Mhm?” I drift closer to her. “Can we fuck and talk, then fuck again? We get much more done that way.”

“You’re seriously a pain in the ass.”

A cocky smirk illuminates off my face. “Not yet.”

Being across the table from Alexander while I attempt to act normal with that constant chills and goosebumps lining my arms is probably one of the most uncomfortable places I’ve ever been. I can barely look him in the face without seeing how it was the night he hovered over me while the edges of my vision blurred into black.

I didn’t think this would be hard.

I thought my anger and the revenge I wanted to inflict on him would make this easy and rewarding. That seeing him would only ignite it and blaze it so violently that I could move past this without an issue.

I can’t.

My twins are with Mills while Alexander believes he has a chance of seeing him, and that’s what Bishop wants me to ensure.

It makes sense.

If Alexander thinks I’m going to forgive him and we’re working to move on as a family, he won’t push so heavily.

But I can’t focus on anything but the butter knife lying next to my spoon near my plate.

I’m not able to move past what he did to me and still walk out of here thinking that after all of this, I’m going to be just fine.

I handle other people’s problems, so why am I not able to shove away mine?

“Is there too much pepper?” Alexander asks me, drawing me back to our lunch. “Last time you got it, there was too much on the shrimp.”

No, I’m not eating it because I’m afraid you poisoned it.

“I haven’t been feeling well,” I half-ass lie. “Stress.”

“Have you been working a lot?” I nod, and he sets down his fork as if it’s his main focus—my stress. Stupid dummy, he should know it’s primarily because of him. “We’ve had a difficult few weeks.”

I must give him a look at how I’m feeling because he adjusts himself in his chair, looking all pious and handsome in his Tom Ford suit. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was breathtaking and not of this world.

But he painfully is.

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