Page 66 of Accepted Precedent
I slide inside her to the hilt in one slow thrust, eliciting a sweet moan from her. “I don’t fucking care what I have to sacrifice, you will be my wife, and we’ll raise our child together. You’re mine—both of you. Fucking. Mine.”
Chapter 28
Evelyn
Mickey and I have been careless—no birth control is one hundred percent effective. I’m the statistical outlier, possibly pregnant with his child. Considering how much sex we have, I should get a tubal ligation to ensure this doesn’t happen again. All the while, I’m legally married to another man. Not to mention the father of my maybe-child is the most powerful man in Washington. With one snap of his fingers, he could take this hypothetical child from me.
How the fuck did I get here?
Mick has dreams of coming home after a long day to people who will love him unconditionally. That isn’t in the cards for us, and won’t be for years. I trust Mickey, but I’d never want to raise his child as Andrew’s. While I love both of them with my entire being, we are stuck in a fucked-up love triangle worse than Jaclyn’s. Though perhaps her situation is actually worse—she has to choose between her legal husband and the man she married in front of God. With Kristin in the mix, is this a love square? Love knot? I don’t know what the hell it is, but this isn’twhat I signed up for when I married Andrew. A couple of years isn’t five or ten.
Mistakes were made, and I intend to rectify them. I’m tired of being a dutiful wife to a man who doesn’t love me.
But would I be enough for a puppet master of the largest economy in the world?
Orgasms won’t solve our problems. Mick is likely going on some sort of vengeance rampage over the hitman debacle, and the last thing anyone wants is the man who just found out another may raise his child full of jealous rage.
He needed the connection—we both did—but now I’m exhausted after the adrenaline crash of the past twenty-four hours and placating my mob baby-daddy who made me come three times. I should take him up on his suggestion to sleep in, but I’m restless. Even after Mickey cleaned me up, I still feel him seeping out of me. I throw on my period panties, just in case—they could be pointless for the next year. I smile to myself as I send a quick text to Mick, letting him know I can still feel him. In a few hours, I’ll be “punished” for turning him on when he’s trying to work. I smile at the thought.
Checking in on Andrew, Kristin isn’t in bed with him. I didn’t hear her leave, but there’s a chance she stepped out when Mickey did. I make my way back to the other room and burrow myself under the covers that still smell like Mick.
I’m nearly asleep when I feel the mattress dip. “Hey, that was fast.” Pulled against a firm chest, I gasp as realization washes over me. “Andy! You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m sorry. After last night, I just need…”
I turn in his arms. “It’ll look really bad if anyone walks in on us.”
“You’re supposed to be my wife, remember?” Andrew chuckles, holding me tightly and kissing the top of my head. “Also, I don’t fucking care. I need my best friend.”
“Me too,” I sigh, melting into him. “Okay, but only until my alarm goes off.”
“Deal.”
We doze off, and I’m unsure how long I’m asleep for when someone taps me awake. I groan, but then a soft, feminine voice demands, “Wake up, Evie.”
“It’s too early, Aisling,” I grumble.
“Five more minutes,” Andy murmurs, wrapping his arms tighter around me.
“We don’t have time for this. Both of you get up, or it’ll be my ass on the line.”
“Kristin?” My eyes widen. “Fuck! I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“Almost noon,” she replies with a huff. “Ileah will be staying with you tomorrow, so I need to know which room you want for me to prepare for her.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scramble out of Andrew’s hold. “I’m up. What’s going on with Ileah?”
“Mr. Gallagher said?—”
“He already told you to call him Mickey,” Andrew groans, stretching his arms over his head. “Shit, what time did you say it is?”
“Noon. I packed your things from the other room and they’re already downstairs. I also extended your check-out time, but you only have an hour to shower and change. I need to let Mr. Gallagher—Mickey’s—team know which room you’d like me to prepare for Ms. Vasileiou’s arrival.”
“You mean Mrs. McKinnon,” Andy corrects.
“No,” she counters, all business, as if last night never happened. “She’s a widow now.”
“What?” I shriek. “What do you mean a widow?”
