Page 65 of Convict's Game
I pressed my lips to his. Convict kissed me with a fever, his hips working slowly even though we were sloppy. He kissed me like he didn’t want to stop, slowing and deepening until I had my fingers in his hair and his half-hard dick had returned to full power once more.
Somehow, that had become almost romantic.
Confusion marred my happiness.
I sat up on him and touched the lines I’d discovered earlier. I squinted down. “You have a scar here.”
“Fuckin’ covered in them.”
Except this was odd. It was crisscrossed in even marks. Three curved lines going one way, two bisecting them, half a centimetre apart like a fan pattern abandoned and incomplete.
I frowned at it. “This doesn’t look accidental.” I collected the key to the handcuffs and unlocked him, showing him what I’d found. “Like someone meant to leave a mark.”
Convict’s jaw worked for a second before he forced a smile. “Guess we’ll find out who they were when we find out who I was.”
He kissed my shoulder, his gaze slinking down to my bare breasts. “But I’m certain that if you don’t run to the bathroom and lock me out, we are never leaving this bedroom today.”
“You don’t want to shower with me?”
“More than you can believe. But I also want to feed you and give your poor pussy a rest.”
I climbed up and danced away. “So magnanimous.”
“No clue what that word means.” His amusement chased me and stayed with me while I washed myself clean of everything we’d done to each other since striking our deal.
When I was finished, Convict took his turn.
I hovered at the bathroom door. “Hungry?”
“I could go for tea and something sweet if you’re making breakfast.”
Those were my words from our very first phone sex conversation. He remembered.
“I’ll order in. We’re too late for any breakfast places, but we can get a late lunch from a sandwich shop nearby. I can get a selection plus coffee and pastries?”
“Best wifey ever,” he called back.
I left him to it, carrying with me a warm little burst of happiness generated by his praise.
Cross-legged on my floor, we fuelled up on the stack of sandwiches and coffee that had been delivered to the door. Had to love city living for the amount of food choices available at the press of a button.
Convict pointed at me with his coffee cup. “Why aren’t you supposed to know about Kane? You said that last night. It’s been bothering me.”
I wrinkled my nose. “My grandparents only ever spoke about him once, and that was to explain why he had a vote. He was referred to as a distant relative and one I should steer clear of, but that only got me more interested.”
He gave me space to speak, his interest plain. It encouraged me.
“For one of my placements around the company, I was with the Human Resources team. They have a digital system for all the staff but also a physical filing system called the family vault. Apparently my grandfather liked to have certain paperwork as a hard copy. But it was locked and coded. One night, I worked late, and when the last person left, I tried every code I could think of to unlock that damn vault. His and my grandmother’s birth dates, when the company was formed, the numbers on the first cheque he ever received that was photographed and hanging on the wall. I tried my date of birth. Their sons’. Nothing. Then finally, I remembered my grandfather talking about his first date with my grandmother. It was the last day in a very hot July, so it stuck in my head. I had to guess the year, but at last, it worked. In the cabinet was a folder for every part of the family who got a dividend payout. Including Kane’s side. It gave me enough information on him that I could contact him.”
“So you did?”
“I did. Secretly, though. It was pretty obvious that it wouldn’t please my grandparents. We met up for a drink one evening. He’s the result of another short-term love affair our bio father had, but it’s his mother who’s on the company dividend list. She lives in Scotland, somewhere above Inverness.”
“Not him? He doesn’t get a payout?”
“Nope.”
“So the reason he played backup with your scheme was for his ma’s sake?”
