Page 68 of Enforcer

She makes me crazy. She’s the definition of a menace. There’s still the scent of whiskey wafting between us, and I’m liable to leave here tonight still, and fucking maim Lorenzo and Antonio for this. For keeping her from me.

That’s crazy talk.

I bend over her body, and she presses her hips backward, her chaffed ass brushing my hard cock that’s aching to be inside her.

“I was so worried, tesoro. Driven nearly insane. Do you know what men like me do when they’re worried?”

“Spank innocent drunk women?” she replies breathily.

I can’t help it; I grin against her ear with my lips before I lick it.

“You could’ve called Lorenzo,” she offers weakly.

I push away from her to flip her over beneath me. Pressing her thighs apart, I drop both my elbows next to her face on the mattress, looking into her alcohol-infused gaze.

“I did call them.”

Her pupils dilate slightly at the news, and she picks her head up and skims her lips over mine in a teasing fashion that might get her spanked again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Are you?” Even though I want to stay mad at her, I’m softening.

Her lips are too close for good sense to matter.

“I am. I’m afraid I have to disagree with archaic rules where you have the right to demand I answer my phone for you, but I see you were worried. I could have texted back when I saw it on the ride home.”

“You saw my messages then?”

She nods, keeping her lips far enough away that I can think.

“I did. It was late, though. Plus, I was already on my way home to you.”

Home. To me.

I like that sound coming from her, but I don’t outwardly react. I don’t need her to get spooked all over again when she only just started to show signs she’s letting her walls come down.

“I see. And did you have fun at the show? I know you drank far too much.”

She giggles, whiskey fanning from her mouth over my nose. “I had so much fun. Thank you for setting it up.”

I nod, pulling back when she tries to kiss me. Not to be an ass, but because now that I’m calm, I feel a bit selfish and rude for derailing her plan to shower.

She’s nowhere near sober, but she’s sober enough now after I chapped her ass to shower.

“I’ll let you wash,” I tell her, sliding off her body with great effort and heading out to the living room to pour my glass of Macallen.

She’s beenin the shower so long that I think she’s fallen asleep. I turn the page on the music book, running my fingers over the ivory keys of the grand piano as I start to play.

Alyssa walks out in shorts and a crop top, looking sinful. My eyes track her instead of the page—no matter, I know this by heart.

She pours herself a hefty glass of whiskey, determined to keep her buzz alive, and sips it as she walks over and leans against the piano, watching me intently.

I drag my eyes down the page as I finish the piece.

“You know, I was sure this thing was just for show the first time I saw your place,” she says, sipping the last of her drink and setting the glass down toward the back of the piano.

“I’m not a man to keep something I can’t use.”

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