Page 85 of Seeking Vengeance

Bliss. Lust. Lies.

I want him to strip me bare. Not merely of clothes and underwear, but of secrecy and deception. I want him to know me. The real me. The person my family don’t see. The woman my husband never noticed.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Layla,” he murmurs into my headphones. “I promise you’ll be sore and sated before the day is through.”

I don’t doubt it.

Not for a second.

“I want to taste you,” he growls. “To plant my face between your thighs until you’re lost for breath.”

I picture him doing exactly that. On his knees. My dress raised. My hands in his hair with Bishop a few feet away, able to catch us at any moment.

Oh, God.

My core flutters with an approaching orgasm. “I’m so close.”

“And so sensual.” His touch becomes more firm against my clit, wiggling back and forth, faster and faster. “So tempting. So fucking perfect.”

I pant. Gasp. Wheeze.

“Non ne avrò mai un altro.”

His softly murmured Italian is my undoing. I latch tight to his wrist with my nails, holding him deep inside me as I grind and thrust and shatter.

My pussy convulses, the spasms building and morphing.

“See?” His appreciative growl hums in my ears, the viciousness tattooing my soul. “Perfect.”

I whimper, climbing the crest, riding the wave.

I want to scream for him. Cry. Vow.

I could give him everything in this moment. My promises for the future. My commitment to togetherness even though I told myself this would be temporary.

How can I ever walk away from this? I never want to be without him.

I come down from the peak with clawed fingers and heaving breaths. “You have too much power over me.”

“You have it all wrong,amore mio.” His voice grows somber, his lips once again finding my shoulder for a gentle brush of affection. “Sei quello con tutto il potere.”

22

Layla

We landat a heliport far from the city buildings, my hair scattering from thewhoopof the helicopter blades as Matthew leads us to an awaiting town car.

Our driver doesn’t say a word as we glide toward the coast, the sea breeze filling my lungs from Bishop’s open front-seat window, before we pull into a beachside hotel.

“I’ll get us checked in.” Bishop shoves open his door. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

Matthew follows, holding out a hand to assist me in sliding along the back seat to step into the warm sun as a young male bellhop rushes toward us.

“Mr. Langston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” The boy beams. “Do you have any bags I can help you with?”

“The trunk.” Matthew jerks his chin toward the rear of the vehicle and discreetly slips the man a tip. “Has Lorenzo arrived?”

“Yes, sir. He’s waiting inside.”

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