Page 39 of Wicked Devotion
“Shh,” I scold, feeding her a piece of pineapple when she opens her mouth to protest.
If it wasn’t for Max, I would live off of MREs and the occasional meal in the mess hall. For whatever reason, everything tastes better when he prepares it for me. Max could turn a damn cucumber into a five-star meal.
Upon trying a piece of the perfectly ripe—and beautifully cut—melon, I decide that Lily is responsible for my groceries from now on. Charlie continuously brought home the most flavorless shit, as if he deliberately searched the entire supermarket for a fruit assortment tasting like cardboard.
I slide my hand higher on her thigh, and Lily squirms in her seat. She tries to press her legs together to keep me away from her pussy, but all it does is force my index finger to rub over her clit.
She inhales sharply, and I have to grin at the feeling of slick fabric under my fingers. In search of help, she turns to Max.
“Say something,” she hisses, but he just shrugs.
The others are focused on the movie, and I increase the pressure on her clit to show her how much her protest means to me.
“Quick reminder, sweetheart. You’reours, so if I want to touch your pussy right now, you’re going to let me touch it.”
“But—“
“Don’t think I’d hesitate to bend you over the table right in this fucking room,” I growl. It’s an empty threat, but she doesn’t need to know.
“I would stop arguing, he means it,” Max whispers, winking at me, and Lily finally stops squirming around.
Lily is a mystifying little thing because for someone who complained like she did, she’s moving her hips an awful lot just to feel my fingers on her pussy. By the time the movie ends, she’s so soaked I’m sure she’s glad she picked a black pair of sweatpants tonight.
“We’re no longer friends,” she jokes when the credits roll, and I let go of her.
“We never were,” I say, patting her thigh.
Awkwardly, she plays around with her ponytail. The last thing I want is to give her a false impression about what this is.
On the other couch, Sam gently shakes Charlie awake. Well, as gently as he’s able to, and soon, both men go to their rooms. Rockwell doesn’t move an inch, so I clear my throat and turn to Max.
“Bring her to my room.”
“You’re not coming with us?” he asks while he pulls a yawning Lily up from the couch.
I lift the glass of whiskey I’ve been nursing for the past two hours. “Not done yet.”
“Night,” Lily mumbles before she and Max leave, holding hands.
Ridiculous, but I don’t have the nerve to comment on it.
“Did you tell him?” Rockwell asks once they are out of earshot.
“No. A deal’s a deal, Arthur.”
Rockwell takes a sip from his beer, his third bottle tonight, which means things are not going great right now.
“Do you think we can talk about it without you being at my throat, son?”
Arthur Rockwell is the only person I’ll ever tolerate calling me son, and it takes a ton of willpower to do so, especially under the current circumstances.
A few days ago, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. He had planned to transfer Max to another base, so I obviously broke into his office once he went to sleep. You don’t go into negotiations without blackmail material, and I wanted to have options in case he was suicidal enough to try and take Max away from me. He found me when I was already halfway through his poorly hidden folder about the Delaney investigation.
Mutual assured destruction, my favorite basis for any kind of deal.
“General Lundsford called me earlier. The position’s still free, and they are waiting for my answer.”
“Your answer is going to benounless you don’t want me to keep my mouth shut,” I say, adding, “Making it really difficult to not be at your throat,” with a tired sigh.
