Page 169 of Vega

Without another word of warning, he dove in. He didn't use a slow glide; he drove his dick into me in one brutal, powerful thrust that bottomed out instantly. I let out a sharp, strangled cry, my fingers clawing at the countertop as he filled me to the absolute limit.

He began to fuck me roughly from the back, his hips slamming against my ass with a wet, rhythmic thud. Every plunge was deep and punishing, his thick shaft rubbing against my G-spot with every strike. I tried to bite my lip, desperate to stay quiet, but the pleasure was too intense. I was whimpering, my breath coming in jagged sobs.

"Shhh," he whispered, though his actions were anything but quiet. He gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my skin to anchor me as he hammered into me. "You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you."

The praise combined with the dominant force of his thrusts sent me over the edge. I was shaking, my walls clamping tight around him, squeezing his dick with every desperate pulse.

"I want to reward you, baby," he growled, his pace becoming frantic, his balls slapping hard against my perineum. "Take it all for me."

He delivered a final, devastatingly deep thrust, pinning me against the counter as he let out a guttural groan. I felt the hot, thick explosion of his cum flooding my insides, filling me up as I collapsed against the counter, my body trembling in the afterglow of his dominance.

30

CELESTE GRANGER

Inever got my massage.

After Sonnet and Vega left the treatment room, I ran to the dressing room and into one of the bathroom stalls. I sat on the toilet in the spa robe, sobbing so hard that I couldn’t breathe in enough air.

For months, I’d wondered who hated my son enough to murder him and throw him into the lake. Donovan had been respected and loved. But he was also Roman Granger’s son, and Roman had spent decades building an organization with more enemies than I could name. There was no reason for me not to believe that the Bellamy crew had killed Donovan to send a message.

Never once had I considered that his own father had shot him, then disposed of him without an ounce of respect.

I stayed in that dressing room so long that my security came inside to check on me, frightening the other women. I told them I’d gotten light-headed. Then I fixed my face and rode home wondering who the fuck I had been sleeping beside for twenty-five years.

Roman wasn’t a perfect husband. He was rich, powerful, and buried so deep in criminal activity that the streets sometimes received more of him than I did. He’d cheated over the years. So, I knew the man I married was capable of terrible things. But I hadn’t known he was capable of murdering our child.

By evening, the tears had stopped. I sat at the kitchen island in my silk robe, staring into a glass of red wine.

I felt numb. I missed Donovan with a pain that had never allowed me to rest. Now every memory of him came with the knowledge that his father had taken him away from me.

The glass patio doors opened behind me. Humid June air entered the kitchen, pushing against the air-conditioning before the doors slid shut again. Promise’s dogs rushed in first. Princess and Muffin came straight to me, pressing against my legs and pushing their large heads beneath my hands.

“Hey, babies,” I greeted them weakly.

I stroked their coats while they leaned into me. They were the only grandchildren I had so far, and I spoiled them accordingly.

Promise followed them inside, carrying her purse and talking to Roman about something that happened at the office. She’d been spending more time at the house since Donovan was killed. I knew she needed the presence of her parents to cope with her brother’s murder as best as she could. But most of those visits were for me. She’d watched me fall apart and had been trying to hold together whatever remained.

Roman closed the patio doors behind him, and then approached me with his arms open.

I lifted my hand, stopping him. “Don’t touch me.”

He stopped, staring questioningly at the disdain in my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Promise looked between us.

I turned on the stool and faced him. “Who is Sonnet Ellison?”

A small reaction crossed his face before he could hide it. His shoulders jerked. His breath caught halfway in, and his eyes moved toward Promise before returning to me. Twenty-five years with that man had taught me how to spot he was lying before he even opened his mouth.

“You son of a bitch!” I grabbed my wineglass and hurled it at him.

Roman ducked. The glass shattered against the wall behind him, sending red wine across the paint and floor.

Princess and Muffin began barking.

Promise jumped backward. “Ma, what the hell is going on?!”