Page 88 of Keep Me

That guilt returns, stinging a little bit more.

An hour later, the rest of the crew starts piling in, and the drinking starts as it normally does.

Greg, Nick, and their ladies congregate on the couches in the parlor, and soon the room is filled with laughter. I stay off to the side, hanging by the bar with a drink in my hand as I watch the rest of them go on and on.

“You’ve been sipping that drink for a long time,” Sylvie whispers after she sidles up next to me.

I glance down at my half-empty glass of whisky. “Taking it easy tonight,” I reply.

Her eyebrows shoot upward, and I watch as she bites her lip as if she’s fighting the urge to respond with something sarcastic and quippy. Instead, she takes the glass from my hand and shoots back the drink in one quick gulp.

She coughs and sputters after it goes down, making me laugh. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“You might be taking it easy,” she replies through a strained voice. “But I’m getting drunk.”

I let out a low growl. “Easy, mo ghràidh.”

“Oh, relax, you big dumb oaf. What could possibly go wrong? I’ve got you to protect me.”

I watch as she pours herself another shot, but as she moves to shoot it again, I grab her arm to stop her. “Keep your wits about you, wife.”

She rolls her eyes before gulping down the next shot. “Relax, Killian.”

Then, I pin her against the bar and put my mouth down by her ear. She’s so much smaller than me I have to practically bend over to reach her. “I’m not a monster, you know. If you get too drunk, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out later, and I plan to. So, I’ll say it again…” I take the shot glass from her hand and set it on the bar. “Keep your wits about you.”

I watch as she gulps nervously before meeting my eyes. Then, to my surprise, she grabs me by the back of the neck and drags me down for a kiss.

The conversation behind us dies as they notice us practically making out by the bar. Then, of course, there is a round of whoops and whistles.

“The party is starting early!” someone shouts with excitement.

Everyone erupts with laughter as I pull away from Sylvie’s kiss. She’s beaming up at me as I stand upright and turn toward our friends with a smug grin.

That’s when I catch sight of the couple in the doorway, and my smile instantly fades. Standing there by the entryway are Angus and Claire. He’s wearing a wide expression of excitement, but she’s simply scowling at me and my wife.

That’s when Sylvie tightens her grip on my arm as if I’m being claimed. And I’m not going to lie, I sort of love it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sylvie is adorable when she’s drunk. Well, technically, I think she’s just tipsy, but it’s enough to have her telling hilarious stories at dinner, mostly about me and the idiotic things I’ve done. The group adores her. Well, all but the short-haired brunette across the table who is staring daggers at my wife.

I get the sneaking suspicion that something happened between Sylvie and Claire that I haven’t been told about. When we all sat around the table, Sylvie aggressively stole the seat beside me from Claire, who already had the chair pulled out and was about to sit.

Everyone at the table noticed. Even Angus, who has been silent ever since.

Guilt pierces my chest again. It’s like a blade stuck between my ribs that I can’t seem to remove.

Sylvie, in her usual commanding style, completely saved the dinner from debilitating awkwardness and had everyone laughing in seconds. By the time we finished our meal, her hand was resting on my stiffening cock, and I had to fight the urge to drag her up to our room right then and there.

I’ve barely had anything to drink all night. We’ve been lingering at the table for a while now, and I can see how toasted everyoneis getting. It’s aboutthattime—when things go from a tame dinner party with friends to something far more wicked and depraved.

My favorite part of the night if we’re honest, but not tonight. Tonight, I just want to make them all go away so I can be alone with my wife.

“Wait!” Sylvie shrieks with a slur in her voice.

“Jesus, woman. What are you hollerin’ about?” I ask.

“Your cake!”

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