Page 49 of What's Left of Us

After all, I didn’t call her to talk.

Reaching between her legs, I stroke her until the softest moan rises from her throat. “I almost feel bad for him,” I murmur, dipping down to nip at the crevice of her neck.

She grinds down on my lap, waking my dick up. “Don’t lie.”

I smile against her throat. “I said almost.” Licking the spot above her pulse, I reach into her leggings to feel how wet she is for me. “I bet he doesn’t make you feel this way. He probably thinks you’re tucked in bed at home right now, doesn’t he? Safe and sound andloyal.”

A drawn-out moan rises from her throat as two of my fingers enter her. “Linc…”

“He’ll learn soon enough,” I tell her, pulling out and standing up as I carry her over to the couch to lay her on her back. I hoverover her so we’re face-to-face, moving her leggings down and taking myself out. “You’ll only ever be loyal to your family.”

She doesn’t say anything before I’m surging forward, filling her until her back arches off the cushions.

Then again, she knows there’s nothing she could say anyway.

Because it’s true.

Matt Conklin wasn’t the only victim of the Del Rossi family.

We all are.

*

It’s boiling inthe room today, making the long-sleeve shirt I opted for overkill.

The good doctor is wearing a sleeveless top tucked into a gray skirt, and there’s a blazer draped across the back of her chair. “I apologize for the temperature,” she says when she sees me tugging on the collar of my shirt. “Something is wrong with the heater; it won’t turn down. I’m still waiting to hear back from the landlord about getting someone in here to fix it.”

It’s sweltering, but I try not to make a big deal of it. “Do you want me to take a look at it?”

She presses out a wrinkle in her skirt before looking at me. “Are you handy with that sort of stuff?”

I sit forward on the couch. “Some might say I’m handy in a lot of ways.”

The remark comes out flirtier than I mean it to, but I deliver it unapologetically.

Giving me a slanted look, she shakes her head at some silent thought she has. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll wait until maintenance takes care of it.”

I lift a shoulder. “Suit yourself, doc.”

Walking over, she sits down with her pad and paper and crosses one leg over the other. “How has the last week been?”

“Like any other week.”

“Did you see anyone? Friends? Family?”

Her prying question makes tidbits from the other night with Georgia flash in my mind. I fucked her on the couch first. Then ate her out on the kitchen table. And then I took her to the bedroom, put handcuffs on her, bent her over the side of the bed, and made her come again before finishing us both off with her on top of me.

One of my favorite places used to be buried inside her, making her scream my name until she came around me. Obviously, I still enjoy being there. But it’s different now. Each orgasm I give us is another step closer to the ending I’ll have to accept one day.

By the time the sun rose, I was more than ready to get out of the house before Georgia woke up. I didn’t want to see her victorious smile. Or worse. The loving one. Instead, I put on my running gear, went for my morning jog, and came back to see her car missing from the driveway.

She’d put on a pot of coffee for me and left my favorite mug by the machine with a handwritten note beside it.

They weren’t the only ones I was loyal to

I’d scoffed, crumpled up the paper, and threw it in the trash before I left.

Choosing not to relay that information to the woman watching me, I sit back and nod. “I spoke to Marissa. Asked how she was.”

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