Page 165 of Dukes of Peril

Breathlessly, she asks, “Satisfied?” Her eyes lock with mine through the reflection, her cheeks the most delicious shade of pink.

‘Just been fucked’-pink.

Remy may be onto something with this color thing.

I bend to suck a kiss into her neck. “Partially. That was only fantasy number one for fucking my girl in my childhood bedroom. There are like,” I run it over in my head… six different ways in bed, against the bedroom door, titty fuck, blow jobs, obviously… “ten other positions on the list.”

She sighs, but it’s laced with contentment. Should be, too. I dragged her up here after Thanksgiving dinner to give her the dessert she really needed. “Well, you’re going to have to pace yourself, because I already feel weird enough knowing that your parents are fully aware of what we’re doing up here.”

Snorting, I say, “My mother, thesex therapist, raised two teenage boys. This house was nothing but dirty sheets and long showers for a good eight years. She’ll just be happy I didn’t mess up the bed.” I open the top drawer of the dresser and remove an old t-shirt. Pulling out slowly, I catch my dick in the cloth with one hand and reach between Lavinia’s legs with the other, dragging the leaking cum back up to her slick, well-fucked pussy.

She hums as I push it back inside, spreading her legs wider for me. The movement is automatic, an afterthought to the wistful look I see on her face as she laces her fingers with the hand I’m bracing against the dresser. “I can’t wait to get home. Do you think Remy was serious before?”

“Yes,” I answer instantly, balling up the cum cloth to clean her inner thighs. “Remy isnevernot serious about making promises.”

All three of us keep searching for traces of regret, or even grief, from Lavinia after killing her father, but we never find it. All I find isthis–the soft, assured look she gets when she inspects my fingers. If anything, she seems happier. Settled. Even Remy says that all he sees is clean, pure white. It’s why he asked her to get her next tattoo with him.

It’s why Sy and I demanded the same.

“It’s not exactly something we can take back.” There’s a soft sort of skepticism in her eyes. “Are you sure Sy–”

“Yes,” I insist, tipping down to brush a gentle kiss over the scar on her shoulder blade. “Sy and Remy are just realizing what I already knew two years ago. There’s no one else for us, Lavinia.” Still, I make sure she knows, “You can say no. If you’re not ready, or–”

“Nick.” She meets my gaze, giving me a small, satisfied smile. “I’m ready.”

Nodding, I glance around, trying to find a spot to toss the dirty shirt. Coming up empty, I reopen the drawer and stuff it inside.

Lavinia jolts up, jaw dropping. “Oh my god!”

“Anyway,” I ease her skirt over her hips and spin her around, “if you didn’t want me to fuck you today, you would’ve worn underwear and pants. Instead, you’re all commando beneath a skirt.”

She pulls at the hem, smoothing out any wrinkles. “Pretty Nick Bruin, always the romantic.” If this girl wasn’t being a smartass, she wouldn’t be true, but I see the glint in her eye.

My Little Bird loves me.

I grab her cardigan off the bed and hand it to her. As she covers up, her eyes shift toward the door, and she asks, “Do you think they’re finished talking down there?”

‘They’ is no doubt a reference to my brother and our mom. Remy and the dads took off for the basement as soon the kitchen was clean, and I dragged Lavinia up here. But my brother is most likely sitting at the table, regretting that third piece of pie, and getting the lecture of a lifetime about his new title.

Buckling my belt, I answer, “I doubt it, but I suppose my job as a brother, and second-in-command, means I should go save his ass.”

She rolls her eyes but kisses my cheek. “Go ahead. I’ll be in the bathroom for a moment, cleaning up all the cum you barely pretended to wipe away.”

Winking at her, I watch her ass as she struts out. I hear the hallway bathroom door shut as I jog down the stairs. Pausing at the kitchen door, I hear my brother’s perturbed voice. “Mom, I know. I promise—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Simon.” Her tone is laced with something she usually keeps under wraps. “Taking out Saul is one thing. I don’t like it, and I hope you’re talking to a therapist about the emotional toll of taking another human’s life, but going after Lionel Lucia?”

Hotly, he argues, “I had nothing to do with Lionel’s death. He’s the one who wired this city with explosives. It was only a matter of time before that backfired—literally.”

This is the official line. That the explosion at Lionel’s house was an accident. That he was taken down by his own hubris. That the explosion was the consequence of neglect and carelessness. It’s believable enough that no one is asking questions.

Unless, apparently, you’re our mother.

“Simon—” mom starts, the warning tone the signal it’s time for me to be a good soldier.

“What time does the game start?” I ask, strolling into the room. Forsyth’s annual rivalry game is a big matchup. DKS usually shows it on the big screen down at the gym.

“Seven.” Sy makes a show of looking at the time. “So we should probably get going.”

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