Page 21 of Sinful Memory

My concern is genuine. He’s as old as Noah, and his body is beginning to slump. I don’t know what we’ll do if he ever falls ill,or worse, and I’m not ready to try out a life where that’s my reality. So I check his eyes while he stares at me—clear, sharp, and humored—then his gums when he smiles—healthy and pink. I take stock of his hands circling mine—a little shaky, but firm enough. And when he finally releases me and steps back, I take notice of his gait—a little hunched, but he’s strong and sure in his movements.

“You done?” Amused, he drops his hands to pat his cardigan’s knitted pockets, which droop open a little. “I know you’re doing your doctor-y thing, Mayet. So you satisfied?”

“You’d know if I wasn’t,” I quip. I release a breath when Archer steps forward again and sets his hand on my hip. “Everyone behaving today, Steve?”

“Everyone is always behaving,” he chortles. “Although, Mrs. Mayweather in 3B seems to be a little unwell. Just a bug,” he adds when my eyes shoot toward the stairs. “One of the annoying kind that typically goes around in the spring. I took the liberty of disinfecting the stair railings and door handles today, so we don’t spread it further. And hopefully the poor woman will be feeling better soon.”

“Might’ve caught it from the kid in 3A,” Archer ponders, gently steering me toward the stairs. “They’re always bringing germs home from school.”

“Maybe.” Steve turns to watch us go. “You two have a good evening. I’ll keep that young Cato down here for a while. The floors could do with a cleaning, and he seems like he has too much spare time on his hands.”

I snigger and keep walking.

Cato Malone being put on cleaning dutybecause the landlord said soseems ridiculously unreal to me. He’s a child of fortune and entitlement. A boy who would have never been told no, except if the thing he wanted went against the wants of his abusive father.

Want a Lamborghini for your fifteenth birthday?Sure thing.

Want genuine love and affection?Hell no. And you’ll take a beating for even thinking about it.

“Keep him as long as you can,” I call back. “He’d love to wash the walls, too. Then send him to Mrs. Mayweather’s. He’s young, so his immune system is strong. He can clean her home and help her find comfort while she’s unwell.”

“I’ll get him working,” Steve agrees, just loud enough to follow us upstairs. “He has to earn his keep around here.”

“Harsh,” Archer snickers. He pulls me in tight and presses a kiss to my temple as we round the first-floor landing and continue up. “He just wants to love you, Mayet.”

“He needs to learn how to exist in the regular world,” I counter. “Being raised in the Malone compound is so far removed from reality, he thinks it’s entirely appropriate to screw his therapist and run the streets all night long.”

“He also thinks it’s okay to hit on my wife,” he adds. “Which is not something I ever thought I’d tolerate. But these Malones are obsessed.” His hand drops from my hip to rest on my ass. “It must be in the blood. Because I can’t seem to stop it.”

“Lucky I have a voice of my own.” I take out my keys, since Archer’s hands are busy holding my bag and my backside, and opening the door, I burst out on a breathy laugh when he lobs my briefcase to the floor and backs me into the wall just over the threshold.

His thighs hug mine, and his palms slide away to cup my hips. My ribs. I drop my head back so it raps against the wall and my eyes close, because he presses his lips to my neck the way I knew he would.

We have an hour. There’s no chance in hell he’ll waste it cooking a meal and talking about work.

“I missed you today.” He kicks the door shut and flips the locks, though we both know anyone with the last nameMalonecan get past it with nothing more than a flick of their wrist and a lock-picking tool. “And I’ve missed being here alone with you.” He brings his lips up and takes mine, so I feel a momentary sting when he bites.

His hands leave my body, but only so he can work on my blouse buttons; undoing one at a time, slowly, and drawing out the tension that pulses in my veins. “This is our home, Mayet. And we’re never here alone.”

“So kick your brother out,” I joke.

But my teasing falls flat when a groan works along my throat and escapes on a whimper. Because Archer presses his hardened length against my hip, and promises the next hour will consist of mindlessness. Of nirvana and bliss. “Shit.”

“How are you feeling?” He finishes with my buttons and shoves my blouse aside to reveal my bra and bare torso.

His hands are rough, bruising and unforgiving. But I can’t find a single cell in my body that minds as he unravels the fabric from my arms and tosses it to the floor.

I’ll get that later.I’ll place it in the wash and hang it again, so the expensive fabric isn’t ruined.

But not right now. Not for as long as my husband wants to control me, body and soul.

“Tired?” He picks me up so my legs wrap around his hips, and my spine crashes against the wall.

My breath escapes on a gust that leaves my lungs empty, but his lips come to my neck and force a noisy inhalation as I work to catch up.

“Do you need rest, Mayet?”

“Yes.” I look to the ceiling and offer him all of my neck to feast on. All of my sensitive skin to devour. “I need to rest,” I pant. “In bed. With you.”

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