Page 62 of Shaw

“Tug my fucking balls and make me cum, Princess,” he spits out spitefully, and his jibe about me being a princess makes me whimper in hurt. But I do as he asks and move my hand to his balls, rolling them gently, a contrast to his powerful movements.

“Fuck.” I open my eyes to him throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck, I hate you.” His cruel words slice through my heart as his cock pumps into my mouth brutally. Shaw’s hips stutter with the force of his orgasm, but his grip on my head tightens, making me want to cry out in pain, but nothing can hurt me as much as the words that sliced through me, leaving me broken. I swallow down his warm cum.

When he comes down from his orgasm, I glance away from him, unable to meet his eyes, not wanting to give him an ounce of the hurt behind mine. He pulls out of my mouth, and I quickly turn my head away. He bends down, takes my face in his hands, and flicks his tongue over his spittle, gathering it back into his mouth.

“You’ve no idea how much I fucking hate you.”

I push him back, forcing a mocking laugh from him, and I realize maybe I didn’t know Shaw Grant at all.

Maybe I hate him too.

TWENTY-FIVE

SHAW

After pulling myself together, I told Emi to convince Luca she needed to go home and rest. I stare out the car window, ignoring my wife and the anger radiating from her and the devastation we caused to our relationship tonight.

The car pulls to a stop outside our home—correction, Luca’s home—and I can’t find it within me to get out and go inside and pretend everything is fine when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

I can sense her looking at me for direction, but I refuse to face her. I refuse to see the devastating look on her face, and instead, like the coward Luca delights in me being, I stare through the window. “Get out of the fucking car, Emi.” My voice is deep and stern.

Out of the corner of my eye, she jolts and sucks in a sharp breath, but, still, I refuse to turn and face her.

“I’m sorry, Shaw.” Her voice wavers but she does as I instruct, like the good Mafia princess, and that just makes me hate her all the more. She slides out of the car, shutting the door behind her.

Clearing my throat, I turn toward the driver. “Take me to Club 11.”

* * *

Iknock back another shot, then motion for another. Reed eyes me, and I loathe him for it. “I’m just fucking saying you didn’t even ask the girl what the deal was before you flew off the handle.”

I scoff, ignoring his attempt at thinking diplomatically. Always the voice of reason. I grind my teeth in annoyance, not giving a shit about his sense of reasoning.

“He has a point. I mean, did you even hear any of their conversation before you saw red?” Tate throws out while eyeing the dancer in front of him. I grimace at the waitress wearing the little G-string; she’s nothing like my wife, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it. Glancing at Tate, he’s curling his lip in disgust at the waitress. Interesting. If only my life wasn’t a shit show, I’d have time to analyze my friend’s unusual behavior further.

“She’s good for you, Shaw. Don’t fuck this up by being a jealous prick. Besides, you don’t have a choice,” Mase adds while taking a swig of his beer.

I want to roll my eyes at his words, but the truth is, even if I did have a choice, Emi is who I want to be with.

Two of the dancers come over to the table; one sits her ass on Reed’s lap while the other makes her way toward me. The sway of her hips would normally entice me, but there’s no way in hell I want her anywhere near me. I hold up my hand to stop her, showing her my wedding finger. “This is a wedding ring, sweetheart. Happily fucking married.” I glare in her direction.

Reed throws his head back as though what I said is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and I guess he’s right, considering I just called a meeting based on how pissed off with my marriage I am. Still, I’m not about to walk out on Emi and our baby.

“Married men still like their cocks getting sucked,” she pouts.

I grab another shot and knock it back. My shoulders broaden. “You’re right, they do. By their hot-as-fuck wives.” My mind can’t help but wander back to earlier, seeing Emi on her knees for me. I’ll never need another woman again.

The dancer stares down at me like I have two heads. I push my thumb in Tate’s direction. “He, on the other hand, is not married.”

I don’t miss Tate tense at my words, so I turn toward him to ask him, but before I get a chance to question him, the dancer drops down in my lap and throws her arm around my neck, pushing her tits into my chest.

My whole body revolts at her touch, and her cheap perfume invades my nostrils, making me want to vomit.

My feet find the floor as I push back on my chair like I’ve been burned, and without holding onto the dancer, the whole table winces at the sound of her ass hitting the wood.

“I said no.” I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling loudly. “Jesus. No means no.”

The dancer rolls onto all fours and crawls toward Tate, practically salivating at the mouth, she licks her lips as I watch on in horror. Tate scoots his chair back so quick he topples it over when he stands to his feet, then leaps out of the dancer’s way as if determined not to be touched by her.

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