My pussy pulses around my fingers as I sink them into my heat, drunk at the sight of him above me.
Is that what happened to my father?
He disappeared?
“You’ve ruined your hair.” Balanced on one hand, he drags his thumb through my lipstick. “And your makeup.”
“Whose fault is that?” I don’t recognize my voice or the desire running through each note.
What happened to my father, Darian?
Tell me the truth.
“Such a mess,” he whispers, forcing his thumb between my lips. “I need you to be stronger than this, Mrs. Delacroix.”
I bite him, and a muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t remove his finger or ease up on his grip. “I know you want to fuck me. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Trust me, I want nothing more than to tear this flimsy dress off your body and bury my cock so deep in your tight little cunt that you scream so loud, my driver thinks I’m hurting you. But if I can’t control myself around you now,my biggest weakness,I can’t win on the battlefield in there.” He tips his head toward the window behind him, and it’s only now I realize the car has stopped.
When he leans in, his heated breath drifts across my ear. “Now make yourself come, Mrs. Delacroix. Moan my name as your cunt squeezes your fingers.”
His dark words are my undoing, and when he whispers,“My filthy slut,”an orgasm sweeps through me.
Darian chuckles in my ear, his breath wafting over the side of my face as I tremble beneath him.
With a self-control that could rival a monk’s, he sits back to adjust his bowtie and waits for me to wrangle my ruined hair into submission with my compact mirror. Nothing can be done about my slick fingers. I wipe them on the leather seat, but sex is now my perfume of choice.
“Now that your primal urges are taken care of, wife. Are you ready to mingle with the wolves?”
I snap the mirror shut. “Who said myurgeshave been taken care of? I’m a woman, Delacroix. You’ve merely wet my appetite.” I smile sweetly. “I would love to mingle with the wolves.”
His eyes narrow and burn into my back as I exit the car.
What did he think would happen? That I would roll over and expose my belly? I don’t know what power game he played earlier, but he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he can weaponize my sexuality against me or use it as some weird way to keep his control.
Of course, I can handle a couple of wolves. After all, the Exodus runs through my blood.
Darian resembles an unsmiling stone statue in his eye mask as he guides me inside the grand hall. The man can’t look approachable to save his life.
I scan the crowds of overdressed men and women mingling beneath the fancy chandeliers for signs of Lauren. She’s by a pillar, laughing at Sinclair.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I say, and Darian looks confused as he follows my line of sight, but before he can comment, I disentangle my arm from his.
Sinclair smirks when I stride across the floor, swiping a champagne glass off a floating tray.
My smile could melt butter as I sidle up beside him and give his son, Elijah, a cursory glance. “It’s good to see you again, Sinclair.”
He hums, stealing the flute from my hand and downing it in one go. “I was just telling your beautiful friend here how much I loved the flowers you sent me. All one hundred of them.”
Beautiful friend?I narrow my eyes. Sinclair is a dangerous man. Although he has an easy smile and cracks more jokesthan the Joker, I wouldn’t trust him near my friend. It doesn’t matter that he has grown on me since the first time I met him; I won’t hesitate to serve his balls on a cheese platter if he touches Lauren.
“And how about you?” I ask Elijah, ignoring his father. “Did you like your flowers?”
If I thought my husband—who is striding toward us after getting hassled by an elderly lady in a gold eye mask insistent on kissing his cheeks—had a stony exterior, I was wrong. Sinclair’s son doesn’t acknowledge my existence as he scans the crowds with a bored, inferior expression.
“You know,” I say, ignoring Sinclair’s snicker, “I’ve heard stories about you.”
Elijah slides his gaze in my direction and inspects me like I’m an insect.
