Page 75 of Brutal Devil
My brothers are gathered in the kitchen with Rocco, all of them seated around the oversized marble table. Their plates are in various states of emptiness, which tells me they’ve been hanging around for a while.
Fuck, what time is it? How long did I oversleep?
I didn’t even bother to check the time on my phone, for fear the glow would wake Luna.
Saint is first to greet me. He’s my consigliere, the oldest of my younger brothers, and the least likely to show me respect inprivate, even if he’s the most likely to kill a man for disrespecting me in public. And he has—three times over.
“Sleeping beauty awakes,” Saint says, grinning like the asshole that he is.
“Sleeping beauty is still asleep,” I say pointedly, going to the espresso machine.
“You do know it’s after eight, don’t you?” my brother persists. “You ordered us all to meet here at seven. We’ve been waiting, half starving. Thank God forZia’s pastries, or we’d have all perished from malnourishment by now.”
No one dares to speak this way to me except for Saint. He’s useful, fearless, and loyal. He’s the best damn right-hand man I could ask for. And he knows it.
“Maybe you misheard me,” I tell him, fixing myself a cup.
“Or maybe you slept through your alarm.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. “Nah. Don’t think so.”
“Pretty sure the text last night said seven,” Lucky ventures into the silence.
“It did,” Scorpion agrees.
Fucking traitors, all of them.
I look at Rocco, who shrugs, looking sheepish. “Mine said quarter after eight, boss.”
“Finally, a man who wants to keep his position in this family,” I say, gesturing toward Roc. “If only my brothers were so loyal. Apparently, a man can’t even spend time with his own wife without being taken to task.”
“Spending time? Is that what they call it these days?” Lucky laughs darkly.
“You should’ve seen Priest with Luna last night.” Saint chuckles. “It was some Neanderthal shit. Scooped her up and carried her off to his cave.”
“She’s my wife,” I bite out. “I took her to our bedroom and put her to bed.”
Saint isn’t appeased by my explanation.
He whistles. “Fuck, brother. I think you have a breeding kink.”
The urge to deck him is strong. So strong that my fingers are flexing at my side while I wait for the damn espresso, opening and closing into a fist that longs to find flesh.
“I don’t have a breeding kink, asshole,” I inform him.
Which is entirely correct. I don’t have a breeding kink. Making Luna pregnant is last on my list right now. We have way too much to figure out. We need to get to know each other. To discover who’s behind the murders of her father and my cousin. To win a fucking Mafia war. Filling her with my come, though? That’s another story.
Yeah, what I actually have is a fucking kink.
Specifically, I have afucking Lunakink. But that’s none of my dickhead brother’s business. What I do with my wife and how often I slide deep inside that hot, wet pussy of hers is my concern.
All day long. I want to fuck her all day long. And all night long too.
Being inside her is like paradise. And the way we are together? It’s incendiary.
I push the thought from my mind and take my espresso to the table, picking up a plate and some ofZia’s pastries along the way.
Saint grins. “Give her a brat or two. Maybe she’ll soften up, eh?”
