Page 9 of The Devil We Know

He sighs, some of the tension leaving his body, and I move to ease off him, the mess between us now more than evident between my legs.

His hands on my hips stop me, and I look back at him questioningly.

“Leave it,” he replies firmly. “Just stay.”

I smile softly, straightening over him, my eyes locking with his. His brow furrows, the amused glint in his eyes darkening slightly. So, I ask, “What is it?”

He shakes his head, his features softening as he continues to stare up at me. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The magnetic pull. The tangle of electricity.”

I laugh, sliding my pussy along the slick mess between us. “Do you mean that?”

With his breath catching in his throat, his fingers flex on my hips. “Well, that, too. But no.”

“Then, what do you mean?”

His hand slides from my hip, up over my waist, coming to rest between my breasts. “Right here. It’s all right here.”

My heart skips in my chest, and my breath is suddenly stuck in my throat. He doesn’t blink; he just lies beneath me, his hand pressed firmly against my chest. I glance down at his hand, his fingertips digging in ever-so-slightly, and after a long moment, I manage to drag in a ragged breath. “What does it mean?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Should we be worried?”

His lips curve up in a sexy smirk. “Probably.”

“Would that stop you?”

“Fuck, no.”

I smile again, content we both feel the same about what appears to be our whirlwind courtship. I grip his hand between both of mine, pulling it away from my chest and lifting it tomy mouth. Placing a soft kiss on his knuckles, I smile, allowing myself to relax back into my original position, sprawled on top of him. Tucking my arms into my sides, his arms come back around me, squeezing tightly.

And for the first time in a long time, I breathe.

3

A Fork in the Road

Matt

Three Months Ago

What the actual fuck?

It seems this is basically the tagline of my life.

When I first received the news my life was unraveling, I didn’t think too much of it. It was no great surprise that things were coming to a head, and though I would have preferred to have done it on my own terms, I wasn’t surprised the end turned out to be a shitshow.

When I made the decision to live my life constantly dancing between good and bad, I knew at some point, the bad would take over, and I would have to give up the good—at least, on the outside.

Hindsight being what it is, I should have planned an exit strategy far sooner, and then maybe, I wouldn’t have felt forced into it because the whole early retirement option obviously wasn’t my first choice.

The fact the alleged charges against me were entirely bogus is irrelevant. The people who set me up did a bang-up job because the only way I’d be able to prove my innocence and clear my name would’ve been to reveal my whereabouts during the times when I was supposedly seen conducting criminal deeds. And since my actual whereabouts was likely conducting criminal deeds of another sort, it all seemed recklessly pointless.

That being said, I’m fortunate that I was given the option at all. In most cases, people in my position would have been fired outright, dragged through the coals in the papers and turned into the classic lesson to my peers.

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