Page 103 of Handsome Devil
Tate tossed it out the window.
“What the fuck?” Row snapped before the sound of a watermelon bursting filled the air. “Holy shit.”
Tate raised two fingers to point at his eyes in an I-see-you gesture. “Don’t. Your building’s in an angle that makes it impossible to see where the object fell from.”
Row, Cal, and I sprinted to the window, peering down. Tate’d knocked down a man waiting at the building’s entrance. The mobster lay on the pavement, unconscious, blood pouring out of his head. Three men talking on the phone dragged him into a nearby truck. There weren’t any pedestrians on the street, but that was hardly any consolation.
“We’re in the middle of Manhattan,” I pointed out. “You do realize that?”
“No security cameras on this side of the block.” He spared me a look. “And I knew they’d fuck off before the police arrive.”
Actually, the police didn’t arrive at all. There was no one to report the incident, I suppose. We waited a few minutes in stunned silence. Cal was shaking and giving Row the incredulous look of a woman who decisively didnotwant to host a murderer in her apartment.
“D-did you just kill someone?” Cal coughed out finally.
“No. But he’ll need a sabbatical to take care of that head injury,” Tate replied.
“It sounded like his head exploded,” Cal insisted.
“He moved,” Row reassured his wife. “I saw it. I don’t think he’s dead.” But I could see on his face he didn’t entirely believe his own words.
“Stop looking so scandalized.” Tate slanted his eyes in Cal’s direction. “He tried to kill me.”
Cal placed a trembling hand over her heart, trying to regulate her breathing. “This is…this is not okay.” She was hyperventilating. “You’re not okay, Tate.”
An odd urge to tell her not to speak to my husband like this slammed into me. I had no idea where it came from. Objectively speaking, she was totally right.
“I’m going to give my daughter a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed.” Row threw a thumb over his shoulder, then pointed at my husband. “You better not fucking kill anyone else while I’m gone.” He glanced at Cal, then grabbed her by the hand and tugged her close. “And I’m taking my wife with me.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Ambrose. I was sending a message.” Tate rearranged his pitchfork cuff links.
“Next time, use email, fuckface.”
Row and Cal disappeared back into the hallway. Still shaken, I stumbled to their kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with tap water, taking big gulps. I rinsed the glass, set it on a dish rack, and gripped the edges of the sink, drawing a breath.
Tate’s arms bracketed me from either side, locking me with my stomach pressed to the counter. His mouth found my ear. “Now.”
His voice reverberated in the empty space between my thighs.
I knew what he meant.
Shivering with delight, my thighs parted on their own accord, thick, sticky heat gathering between them. His torso was flush against my back, and my muscles jumped reflexively at the sudden touch. He reached down under my skirts from behind, flipping the long dress over my upper body. With his free hand, he dipped his fingers into my panties, stroking my pussy, which slurped excitedly at his touch.
“No,” I gasped, but even as the word tumbled out of my mouth, I kept chasing his elusive, maddening strokes. “Cal and Row will hear us.”
He tugged my panties down to my lower thighs, then kicked my legs apart with his shiny loafer. “They might even catch us if they get lucky.”
“Are you on some kind of an episode? I am not contaminating my friends’ kitch—”
“Row fucked Calla on every surface in my Belgravia house, Mamaroneck mansion, and Mediterranean superyacht. I’m merely returning a favor. Besides, his bath and story routine with that kid? Half an hour long.Minimum. That kid reads sixth-grade books every night.” His fingers skimmed up my ribs. “Fuck. You’re so sexy it’s a health hazard. If I don’t bury my cock inside you right now, I am going to die.”
I heard his zipper rolling down. No foreplay. No kissing. This wasn’t the act of making love. This was him fucking me, conquering the few parts I refused to share with him until now.
“Sounds good. We never signed a prenup,” I clapped back, grabbing onto the tap for dear life.
“Hold on tight.” He guided the fat head of his cock into me. A dark, evil laugh prickled my skin. “Oh, and for the record, you’ll never be rid of me. I’ll haunt you from the grave, sweetheart.”
He teased me first, taking his sweet time drawing circles with his tip around my entrance. Cal’s and Row’s voices rose from the hallway, only a few feet away from us. They were talking totheir nanny while my husband drew circles around the lips of my pussy with his cock, dipping it an inch or two before pulling away. I chased his touch, past shame, pride, and reason. Wiggled my arse, offering myself to him. But he was drawing pleasure from making me desperate, crazed with heat.
