Page 16 of Widow's Walk

I study her closely, watching her struggle to keep the cracks from spreading. “Just say the word, and he’s gone.” I keep my voice low enough for only her to hear.

That hits her. She wasn’t prepared for the offer, and it threw her off. She blinks once, twice. Swallows. Then, just like that, she makes another crack.

Her expression smooths over, sliding back into the version of her that never bleeds. She presses into me slowly, aligning her hips with mine, the curve of her body deliberate. Her dark painted lips tilt into a smirk when she feels how badly I’ve been affected.

She’s fighting to bury whatever just surfaced beneath lust and control. And her weapon of choice—her body. She believes she’s now in control, and I let her enjoy the illusion.

Only for a moment.

One hand slides to her jaw, holding it firm enough to still her. The other falls to her hip, locking her in place against me. The smirk falters, and her breath stutters. I lower my lips to hers, and her eyes flutter shut, but I don’t connect.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” I rasp, and her breathing picks back up. “You can only hide the truth beneath your seduction for so long.” I smile when her nostrils twitch.

She licks her lips, and my hips jump forward involuntarily. Her eyes pop open. “I won’t break for you, Blackwell,” she whispers, but there’s no venom in it.

I drag my thumb along her jaw, gentle in a way that makes her freeze more than any threat. “I know,joon-kharâsh. But eventually, you will bend.”

I fist the frail fabric of her dress and yank it up until I gain access underneath. I stifle a groan when I’m immediately met with moist flesh at the apex of her thighs. No panties and fucking wet.

She mewls with closed eyes, and her head falls back against the wall as I run my fingers against her sensitive bud, stroking back and forth. Her lips are so inviting as they part, and it nearly undoes me.

It’s beyond tempting. Whether she means it or not, it’s a fucking trap. Because one kiss, I won’t just lose control. She’ll take it completely. It’s not pride I’m concerned about, it’s survival. Giving Sinclair the upper hand could mean losing everything.

She moans, rocking forward to add more friction, and I pin her to the wall with my hips. She growls in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut. Applying more pressure to her sopping cunt with two fingers, I tease her entrance, dipping only a fingertip in with each stroke.

Her fists curl around the fabric of my jacket, knuckles turning white. Her jaw slackens with her shallow pants, laced with the sweetness of red wine. As if she has forgotten every reason to hold back.

When I slide two fingers inside of her, she cranks her head back to taunt me with the slender column on her neck. The milky-white skin almost glowing like a beacon, causing my mouth to water.

It drives me to put more effort into getting her off, needing to feel her explode and watch her come undone. Cupping the back of one thigh, I crank it up over my hip to open her. I use my fingers to fuck her, slapping my palm against her pussy.Her juices stick to my hand, and I can smell the sweet aroma spiraling up between us.

Gritting my teeth, I thrust another finger inside of her, and my hips jerk on instinct. My cock is begging for her cunt. To feel it wrapped around me from tip to hilt.

My eyes won’t stop stealing glances at her lips. Not yet. Not until the thrill of newness wears off. Where I am in complete control.

She chomps down on her bottom lip and whines. Her muscles coil, and her back bows. Then, like a rubber band, she snaps.

I watch with intrigue as she soars, head back like she had a shot of heroin. My lips brush against her plump bottom lip, and I barely move mine, but enough to have me mad with desire for her kiss. So fucking close. I almost did it. But I keep my head on straight.

Sluggishly, I lean back as I retract my hold on her cunt and let the fabric of her dress fall. She’s listless, coming to and fluttering her eyes open. It takes a few heavy blinks, but she yanks herself out of the trance and morphs back into her caustic and arrant self with that sharp grin of hers that can carve bone.

I give her space and continue watching her. She fixes her dress, ironing it down with her hands, then checks her hair. “Well, that was fun. Thanks for the orgasm.” She grins brightly, and the gold hoop behind her top lip catches the light. “See you back in there.”

I’m momentarily stunned, watching her walk away with a sway she didn’t have before. And I know without a doubt that it has everything to do with the vulgarity I gifted her.

I shake myself out of it and follow in the same direction. She snatches a champagne flute off a tray without pause and disappears into the crowd.

I have to stifle my chuckle as I grab a drink for myself from the bar, but when I bring the glass up to my lips and catch her scenton my fingers mixed with the aroma of whiskey, I wish I could throw all caution out the window, track her down, and throw her over my shoulder as I take us out of the room.

Chapter seven

Sinclair

It’s late as I aimlessly sail.

Restless, bored, and in need of some kind of entertainment. Someone to play with. So far, no one has piqued my interest. But that all changes as I walk by one of the house’s many pointless sitting rooms and find Harlan tucked away.

Harlan is the youngest brother, married with two kids, and so deep in the closet he should be choking on mothballs. I’ve only had a handful of short conversations with him, but I’ve seen enough to see what he’s hiding. And I always find what’s hidden.

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