Page 73 of Shark Bait

Shark slides his warm palms up my thighs and hooks his fingers under the thong, then slips off the panties. I kick them off my ankle. “Thank you, Shark. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Even if your boy band hates you now for bringing me in. While we’re still on the band, how big is it?”

“Not too big. We keep it small but powerful. It’s not about the size.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re packing eight inches.” I straddle his lap, then start to remove my dress.

He holds my wrists. “Leave your wedding dress on. If I can’t marry you in it, I’ll fuck you in it.” He releases himself from his pants, spits into his palm, and gives himself a few strokes, thinking I need lube. I don’t. He makes me wet just by existing.

I sit on him, allowing myself a slow descent, a glide over his cock before I rise back up and glide back down. The way he fits inside me brings shivers.

“What if we ran?” I ask. “Just me and you, Shark Daddy. We run.”

Shark traps my throat. Gently but firmly, he tugs me toward him so our faces are inches apart. Our eyes are open, so this is way more intimate than I expected, but he’s leading and I’m following even though I’m the one on the top. I don’t know how he does it, but he turns me on and makes me think I’ve only ever been with him, and every time he touches me, it’s as if he’s branding me.

I want to tell him that I’m using him to get off, but I can’t because it’s not totally true. I keep quiet and take from him what I need. It’s selfish, but I have to. He’s all I’ve got.

“You know how you like lollipops and you stole mine right out of my mouth?” he asks.

I nod.

He kisses me on the lips and whispers against them. “I’m the band’s right hand, but the lead singer has the left hand as well, and that hand will not show us mercy when he finds us. They will find us. The band has eyes everywhere.”

There’s another assassin in the group, that much is clear. “Are you Alessio’s favorite? Like his lollipop?” I slide up and down his cock.

“Something like that.”

“Does he want to lick you?”

“No.”

“I want to lick you.”

Shark interlocks his fingers behind his head. I think that’s a yes.

TWENTY-FIVE

FOREVER MINE

TROY

After I spent half a year in dark spaces trying to make myself invisible so the men would forget about me, I find myself in bed in a dark room with Shark, watching the clock strike two in the morning before I gather my courage to pick up the phone he’d given me. It’s so strange to hold a phone in my hand again. I weigh it before I slowly, ever so slowly, in a well-practiced, silent manner, remove the blanket and try to get out of bed.

My silent retreat would’ve worked well in the past when I wasn’t the size of a baby hippo, but now it’s much harder. In addition, Shark sleeps with one eye open, and the moment the mattress shifts, his hand flies out and over my belly, and he pulls me into him. “Bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“With the phone?”

Jesus. “I…” I sigh. “Yes.”

“Why not go through the phone here?”

“Don’t you ever sit on the toilet with your phone?”

“No.”

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