Page 37 of His Pretty Little Duet

Panic drains the blood from his cheeks as he nods violently. I release him. Lowering the Glock, I watch him bolt across the grass and disappear into the trees in the direction of the staff parking bays. There is only silence surrounding me, but I can feel her close. I stare at the tree he vanished behind, a tension-releasing shiver rushing along my skin.

That's better.

Holstering my Glock, I retrieve my phone and text Que.

Butcher: Get Lee. He needs to sign an NDA before he can leave the grounds.

I slide my phone into my pocket.

Turning around, I narrow my eyes at the most beautifully stunned dual-coloured gaze—my deer in headlights.

"Youwilllet me buy you anything I soplease, little deer," I state smoothly. "Part of resilience is not secretly rotting behind your bullshit pride, my girl. Accept opportunities. Grab them by the balls despite how they arise." I hear Jimmy Storm in my words, in my tone and realize how much of my deceased boss has rubbed off on me.

Stepping towards her, I reach up and grab her jaw with one hand, puckering her lips, holding her startled mouth open, the pink of her tongue flashing at me deliciously. "Now be a good girl, and let me see these lovely lips say, 'Yes, Sir.'"

My gaze drops from the pink insides of her mouth to watch her rub her thighs together. She's turned on by what just happened, at least her body is screaming such a truth. And I'm too tired, too horny, to think straight.

Fuck.

"Yes,Sir,"she mutters, a whisper of a growl weaving through the wordSir,surprising me, exciting me too. Her eyes find mine, awash with a hint of a challenge. My little deer, daring and determined, having listened and obeyed me, now reaches up and wraps her hand around my wrist, pulling my grasp from her face.

I don't let her.

"Please," she begs, fighting against my hold. I let go of her jaw. "You're not just a politician," she mutters, steppingbackwards, putting space between us. That's a good move, but not hers to make. As her throat rolls, she takes another step away before whispering, seemingly to herself, "My mum was right."

I step towards her, closing the gap she just made, my body hovering over hers, my narrowed gaze anchoring in beautiful uncertain eyes. "Put your clothes on or I will do it for you," I order, the threat forcing more blood to my cock.

She does as I asked, sliding her tiny denim shorts on and pulling her shirt over her head as I watch her closely. My hands twitch with the desire to do it myself.

As soon as she is clothed, I tear my gaze away from her and walk inside with one thought in my mind—bending Lorna over my mattress.

I have denied myself a lot to get to the position of power I now hold. Denied myself the search for a marriage based on love. Yielded to serving theCosa Nostra. I continuously give up the luxury of time to control every aspect of my legacy, but I have never denied myself the soft, warm body of my choosing.

Until now.

Fawn

Hours later,I huddle in the shower, cuddling my knees to my chest, staring blankly at the large marble tiles opposite me. The entire bathroom is royal. A gilded space for the dumb pregnant girl who willingly stepped into a household of corruption. Willing and thankful.

This is it, Benji.

Politicians don’t carry guns, don’t draw them on gardeners, don’t—I squeeze my knees, feeling wet from the perfectly warm spray of the shower faucet, and between my legs as the possessive grasp of his fingers lingers on my cheeks. I think about his searing blue eyes tunnelling deep into my cells, making my body his home.

I want desperately to ease the pressure rolling through me, but I’ve never been able to do it. Not once.

“Am I afraid?” I whisper to myself, the echo of my voice bouncing off the walls. “This is what you're looking for.”

I’m not afraid of him. I want my dad to help me with the baby, but I also want a dangerous man and all that entails. A man who may feel he owes me something for his absence, forhis part in putting me on this Earth to barely get by. Owes me a small favour.

I squeeze my eyes shut under the warm sensual spray...Mine.Many misguided feelings spar inside me, making me question my reality.“Mine.”He said that loud and clear, but for what purpose?

The word is an elixir, dousing me with a burning neediness. Dropping my legs to the tiles, the water pooling around my body, creating a rippling, fluid outline, I spread my thighs and feel a blush hit my cheek. I press my palm between my legs to ebb the ache. Rolling my hips off the floor, I grind myself against my palm, hearing that word.

Mine.

Mine.

God, it sounds so good.A moan vibrates in my throat. Rocking wantonly onto my hand, I whimper again, louder this time. It just isn’t enough pressure, not right, not deep enough. I need so much more.

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