Page 20 of The Killer's Payment

A kiss that reminds me who I belong to—and who belongs to me.

When it finally ends, I lean my head back against the seat, dizzy, dazed, and oh so thoroughly and deliciously claimed. I’m still floating on cloud nine when he reaches over and unfastens my seatbelt, and I nearly miss his next words.

“Princess, I promise you. There’ll be a baby in your belly by the end of our honeymoon. If there’s not, then I’ll have failed at my only fucking job, which is to make you happy and give you everything that you could possibly want.”

Ten

James

As the ceremony begins,I understand why this is called theTerrazza di Sogno. The Terrace of Dreams. Because this little girl is the dream—and the love of my life.

When we arrived at the Bellagio, she was whisked away for hair and makeup. Both my bride and the wedding planner insisted the delay was necessary, that every bride deserves to look perfect in her wedding photos, photos that I’d be glad for later. It still sounded unnecessary to me, but I can’t deny Sutton anything.

Even if in this case she was most definitely wrong. No artifice can make my angel any more beautiful than she already is, and I won’t need a fucking photo album—this night will be forever burned in my mind.

The warm breeze blowing across the desert night. The scent of peaches and sex on the air. Sutton goddamn glowing as she stands on the terrace beside me, looking more stunning than she has any right to in such a simple white dress.

I grabbed the dress from her closet in haste, unsure whether we’d have time to shop for anything more suitable. But it’s fucking perfect. She left my jacket in our suite upstairs, saying that the superstition was silly, and anyway, her veil would count as “something borrowed” since it technically belongs to the casino—as if I’d actually allow her to leave such a priceless memento of this night behind. But I figure “borrowed” and “stolen” often mean the same thing in my world, so no harm, no foul.

God, the way that dress clings to her curves is making it utterly impossible for me to pay attention to the officiant’s words. As we slip the rings onto each other’s fingers, it’s all I can do not to cut the ceremony short and take her against the balcony in full view of the wedding planners, the officiant, and any tourist who happens to be passing by.

But when he finally says, “You may now kiss the bride,” I understand that part just fine.

Tossing back her veil, I kiss her until she’s breathless and clutching the front of my suit, knees weak and eyes wide.

“Please, James,” she murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear.

Not needing to be told twice, I scoop her up and carry her inside. We make it as far as the elevator before I realize that there’s no way I’m going to be able to fucking wait until we reach our suite.

So when the doors open, I glare at the tourists already in the elevator car. “Out.”

Luckily, they aren’t stupid enough to argue and no one dares follow us inside.

Gently, I set Sutton down. “Baby, I need younow,” I growl, taking my cock out before the doors are even fully closed.

Nodding, she hikes the skirt of her dress up as the elevator car starts to move, bending forward, hands braced on the mirrored wall. Silently, I thank any deity who might be listening for whoever invented stiletto heels—because without the added height, fucking Sutton with us both standing would be goddamn near impossible. She’s just so tiny.

Cock throbbing, I hit the button to stop the elevator’s ascent before shoving aside her thong and sheathing myself in her tight, wet heat. Oh god, this is what coming home feels like. This pussy is where I need to be every goddamn day of my life.

She moans as I savagely thrust into her, too turned on to be gentle, too worked up to do anything other than simply take what I want. But by some miraculous twist of fate, she doesn’t just want this, too—she wants it every bit as much as I do. Her pussy clenches around me as I pound into her, and she pushes back into me, meeting me thrust for thrust.

“That’s a good girl,” I purr into her ear. “Take what you need because this is the only place you’ll ever get it—do you understand me?”

“Oh god, yes,” she gasps, somehow becoming even wetter as I rail her in the elevator. “Please, give it to me. Harder!”

And I do, pounding into her again and again like a fucking animal, determined to keep the promise I made to her outside the airport.

Considering how many times we fucked on the private cross-country flight, I should be spent. But something about this girl—thisfucking girl—brings out a primal lust in me that no woman ever has. It’s likeI’mthe one who’s goddamn nineteen. All it takes is one look from her, and I’m hard. And lasting more than a few minutes inside her horny little cunt takes near superhuman control.

Control that at this moment I just don’t have. Not when my hot young wife is moaning and begging formoreandharderandoh god please nowand holding my gaze in the mirrored elevator wall as I take her from behind, looking at me with so much adoration and trust and love that it nearly fucking breaks me.

I can’t say who comes first, but we do—in a gasping, moaning, sticky mess.

Then as we’re putting ourselves back together, Sutton giggles and claps a hand over her mouth, face bright red.

“What?” I ask as the elevator resumes its ascent.

In answer, she points at a security camera mounted in one corner. Fuck.

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