Page 73 of Wicked Devotion
Lily turns to look at the huge window front with a worried expression.
“Lily, I said strip. Don’t act like you don’t know what that means.”
She faces me, not making the tiniest effort toundress. Wasn’t there something about God sending his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers? This woman is a conflict walking on two legs, as if her purpose in life is to test my damn patience.
Distress washes over her features while I wonder how that expression isn’t permanently etched into her sweet face by now.
Unfortunately, something about her makes me soft. Not in a good way. Soft, like a moldy onion at the bottom of the bag.
“Deal, because you were so insistent about talking.” Great, now I’m offering fucking deals like a desperate car salesman.
“You get one minute to tell me about your goddamn stupid adventure while you take off your clothes.”
Exception after exception. Weakness. Stupidity, which is rewarded with a smile reappearing on Lily’s face.
I think she doesn’t understand that no explanation on earth could excuse what she did. A no from me is a hard no. It’s not a maybe, not an invitation to discuss the topic another time.
Throughout all those years, I never forgave a person who disrespected me. Most of them didn’t even live for long enough to try to apologize.
Lily takes off her hoodie, and I lean back on the couch. The hoodie belongs to Max—what a surprise—and I wonder why she went shopping with Charlie if she continues to wear Vaughn’s shit. How come she never wants to borrow anything from me?
“Well, you guys didn’t want me to talk to Brady,” she starts, and I interrupt her.
“For good reason.”
“Yeah, wasn’t my best decision. But I wanted a clean cut. As clean as possible.”
I’m pleased to see that the shirt she’s wearing doesn’tbelong to Max. I’m even more pleased when it lands on the floor next to her.
“I yelled at him,” she says, opening the button of her jeans. “And I hit him. Like this—“
She does some weird acrobatics with her fists, and I can’t keep myself from grinning because the thought of Lily hitting someone is a little too cute.
“Face, chest, arms; everywhere,” she adds proudly.
“And he really survived such a vicious attack?” I joke as I get up.
“I held back.” She laughs as she shimmies out of her jeans, and I walk over to her.
“Would have loved to see it,” I murmur. “15 seconds left.”
My eyes land on her soft pink thong, and my cock throbs. “Looks pretty,” I say, dragging my fingers over the thin lace of her bra and down her stomach.
“Max said you like the color on me.”
“I do,” I whisper, and Lily’s breath hitches as my fingers trail down further. “Anything you want to add to your story, sweetheart? Time’s running out.”
“I told him he’s dead to me. That I don’t care if he rots in his cell forever.”
“That’s my girl,” I growl, pulling her closer.
Her skin is so soft; so hot, as if she’s burning up underneath my fingertips.
With my free hand, I brush her hair to the side until I can take a proper look at the bizarre amount of hickeys Max left on her neck. Some of them are already fading, but I know damn well they were still very visible when Lily talked to her husband. Ex-husband.
“I hope you showed the scumbag who you belong to,” I say, pressing down on one of the hickeys with my thumb. Lily leans into my touch, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Showed him who fucking owns you now.”
Her body fits too perfectly against mine. It’s too tempting, makes me want too much, and it takes a while until I manage to let go of her.
