Page 65 of Mad Love

Well after midnight, I make my way inside my place and stumble into my bedroom, drunk off my ass. My clothes fall where they land, neatness be damned.

I crawl under the covers, a gnawing emptiness eating at me. I’ll be sleeping alone. Except I’m not alone. A small body scoots close to my nakedness. Blaise’s arm tucks under mine. Her leg rubs against mine. Satin on skin.

“I missed you.”

I stay quiet. Does she think I’m Granger?

“Please don’t be mad at me. Cillian has answers. This is my chance.”

“You’re willing to give him your body for answers?”

“I’m willing to give you what you want. Redeveloping the neighborhood where your friend was attacked is an honorable thing to do, Maddox.”

“How—”

“The TMZ article on you and Leigh a few weeks ago. I had Granger look into her life. You care for her. Enough to want to destroy a piece of her past and rebuild it, starting from the foundation up.”

“And your past? How should I help you start over, Blaise?”

“Help me move forward away from my past.”

“Except your past has come knocking on your door. Is Cillian your plan B for when your three months with me are up, darling?”

Will she go from one man to another, searching for whatever it is that eludes her? Security. Money. But not love. Blaise has never been in love, so how will she know when she does fall for someone? Or is she right and someone like her, with a traumatic past, isn’t capable of opening herself up enough to allow in love? To love someone is to be open and vulnerable to getting hurt. A place I never want to be in again after Kris shredded my heart to pieces.

“Cillian will do whatever I ask.”

Blaise’s soft voice brings me back to the matter at hand—Cillian.

“How are you certain?”

“He’s an important part of my past.”

“Care to share?”

“Not yet. Eventually, I will. I promise. Now get on your back. I want to suck you off.”

Jesus.

My wife will be the death of me with her demands.

But I’ll take this heavenly death any day as she sucks me off so well and thoroughly, I shoot hot cum in her mouth.

What is heaven, though, is holding her after she breaks apart on my face with her own orgasm. Her butt is nestled against my crotch. My arm is across her waist. My face is nestled in her hair, the strands tickling my nose. Blaise smells good. A hint of pears ripened by the hot sun. I inhale a deeper breath, curve my body over hers that’s clad in satin, and fall asleep with her in my arms, with a lingering question.

What ties does Blaise have to the dangerous mobster Cillian McCabe?

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