Page 123 of The Devil's Pawn

“Like who the real engineer behind yours and Annabel’s abduction was,” Nicholas says.

I shrug again. My siblings know I’ve never bought into the theory that those two guys I killed had masterminded our abduction. It was too meticulous, too well thought out. Until, that is, I escaped and set in motion a chain of events that’s haunted me ever since.

“It’s possible.”

“I hope so,” Christian says. “If anyone deserves answers, it’s you, Xan.”

“Yeah.” I squeeze Imogen’s hand to catch her attention and jerk my head toward the door. “There’s nothing else we can do for now, I guess. As it’s a beautiful day, I’m going to take my gorgeous wife for a ride.”

“Watch him, Imogen,” Tobias says, grinning. “You think he’s talking about horses, but I see the twinkle in his eye. He’s got a different kind of ride in mind.”

Imogen giggles. I roll my eyes. “You’re twenty-six, Tobias. Time to grow up?”

“Good God, no. Never. Growing up sounds awfully boring, especially if you’re the poster child.”

Christian’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter while Saskia punches Tobias on the arm. “You’re brave, dear brother. So brave.”

“Or stupid,” Nicholas says.

I leave my siblings to their banter. Once we’re out of earshot, I stop and encircle Imogen’s waist.

“I’d never admit this to Tobias, but he wasn’t wrong.”

She pretends she’s shocked, all wide eyes and rapid blinking. “Alexander De Vil, it’s the middle of the day.”

“Which means I have hours and hours to play with you.”

“I have work to do.”

“Californians don’t come online for ages yet. There’s plenty of time.”

“In that case, I may enjoy a little play of my own.” She reaches between our bodies and caresses my dick. It’s already halfway erect, but one touch from her, and it’s diamond hard.

I scoop her into my arms, her shriek echoing off the walls, no doubt alerting Tobias of my intentions. We may be out of earshot at normal decibel-level, but Imogen probably scared the horses with that cry. If Tobias says one word the next time I see him, I’ll knock his teeth out. Then again, my youngest brother doesn’t consider the consequences of his actions nor care about them all that much. He’d simply get a set of implants and carry on with his day.

The urge to be inside my wife is as strong as ever, but there’s something about her expression when I peel away her clothes, and then mine, that makes me pause.

Backing away a few feet, I grip myself at the root. Imogen drops to her knees, her eyes never leaving mine. The base ofmy spine heats, and my balls tighten. She parts her lips, and I rest the underside of my dick on her tongue. Even that faint touch has me close to the edge. I hope she never loses that innocence, or the way her big eyes lock onto mine, blinking as she closes her mouth around me and sucks. It’s my undoing every time.

Locking down any thoughts of coming, I relax into it. The pull of her mouth, the sweep of her tongue, the feel of her soft hands cupping my balls. I give out constant praise, and she hums and preens with each compliment.

“You take my dick so well, Imogen. Your mouth was made for me, just as your pussy was, too. Are you wet, Little Pawn?”

She swallows and blinks once.

“How wet? Show me.”

Reaching down, she swipes between her legs, then shows me her soaking fingers. I bend over and run my tongue over them, licking her clean. The taste of her drives me wild. I pull my dick out of her mouth and hold out my hand, helping her to her feet. “On the bed.”

“But you haven’t… come.”

God, I fuckinglovehow she still struggles to say anything sexual without turning the color of a tomato.

“Oh, I will. After I’ve made you squirt on my face.”

I haven’t managed to make her do that since what I now think of as the night of two times. It’s not like an orgasm that, with the right amount of patience and attention to her bodily cues, is a cast-iron guarantee. She has to be in a hyper-relaxed state—a trance of sorts—where she forgets where she is, what she’s doing, and lets her body lead the way.

She lies on her back, her head resting on a single pillow. I stand at the foot of the bed and stare at her. She’s a beautywith her flame-red hair and pale skin—when she isn’t blushing—and luminous green eyes that showcase whatever she’s feeling. But she’s more than that. She’s my salvation. Somehow, she’s wrapped my broken heart in a sling of love and compassion and, without me noticing, she’s stitched me back together.

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