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I nod, watching as she climbs back onto the bed, her dyed brown hair falling over her shoulders to brush her breasts. Her pussy is wet, and I can see her arousal glistening between her thighs as she comes over and straddles me.
She grips the base, lowering herself down onto my cock, and as soon as my crown breaches her tight, wet heat, I groan, bucking up into her even deeper.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Fuck yes.”
She moans in response, still in control, taking her time seating herself fully on my shaft. Once I’m all the way in, she braces her hands on my chest and starts riding me, no longer teasing at all.
This is everything I’ve been craving, and I think I could die happy like this. She promised she’d give me what I needed, and she has, but it’s clear she’s chasing her own pleasure too. Her hips roll in undulating circles, and her breasts bounce invitingly as she moves, making me wish my hands were free to touch her.
She tips her head back, moaning my name as she rides me, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“I wish you could see yourself like this,” I tell her, panting. “How fucking beautiful you look. Like a goddess. Taking what you want, doing it just how you want to. It’s amazing. It’s so good.”
She bends down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss as she keeps going, lifting her hips and slamming them back down to bury me inside her over and over. Our breaths mingle, almost animalistic sounds spilling into each other’s mouths as she rides me.
“Fuck, Vic,” she moans. “I love you.”
And after all of it, after everything she did to tease me and drive me wild, those three words are what break me.
The orgasm that’s been threatening to spill over since Willow first tied me to the bed suddenly surges through me. The muscles in my neck go tense with the strain as I growl out, “Fuck. I’m coming. Come with me. Please.”
“Uh huh,” Willow whimpers. “Right there. Right… fucking…there.”
I’m already filling her up as she comes on my cock, and the feel of her squeezing around me almost makes me black out. She keeps riding me, then finally goes limp, collapsing onto my chest.
It takes a while for us to catch our breath, but eventually, Willow climbs off me. Just like I did the night my brothers tied her up for me, she unties me from the bed and helps me rub at my wrists, returning circulation to them.
Now that I can move freely, I can’t resist wrapping my arms around her. I pull her down so that she’s draped on top of me as I lie back, kissing her forehead and smoothing her messy hair.
“Thank you for that,” she whispers. “I don’t know how you guys always know what I need when I need it, but… that was perfect.”
“I told you I’d do anything for you,” I reply. “And I meant it.”
26
MALICE
The thingabout leaving the penthouse lately is that it makes me feel like there’s ants under my skin. Itchy and restless, on edge. I feel like I’m waiting for an attack to come, always looking over my shoulder, trying to be ready for whatever happens.
I wouldn’t have left at all, but we need some shit if we want to be both protected and ready for our mission.
If Olivia fucking Stanton thinks we’re gonna let her kill Willow, then she’s out of her fucking mind.
We’ve been rebuilding our stock of gear ever since we got back to Detroit, but now that we know what we’re up against, we need more. Vic’s done some things to increase our surveillance capabilities around the penthouse, doing what he can there, but it’s not enough. I trust my twin with my life, but I always have a backup plan, and it’s usually the more old-fashioned way, I guess.
Weapons, bullets, a few good knives. We’ve gotta be ready to throw down with whoever thinks they can come for what’s ours, and that means we have to have the firepower to do the job.
I grab several bulletproof vests, adding them to the stash of gear I’ve already picked out, then take my haul to the counter, going through a mental list in my head. My brothers and I have had plenty of occasions where we needed to buy weapons over the years, and there are plenty of places in Detroit to get them discreetly if you know where to look.
The place that’s become our go-to is in the back of a pawn shop. A whole under-the-table business is run behind the scenes here by a greasy fucker named Smith. He’s too fucking chatty, usually, and he’s missing two fingers on his left hand. Ransom and I have an ongoing bet over how he lost them, although for all his talk, he has yet to spill that particular story. He also prices his merchandise high, but money isn’t an object anymore, and his shit is usually the best.
The best is what we need right now.
Smith takes a look at the pile I put on the dented chrome counter he stands behind and whistles.
“You don’t usually get so much all at once,” he says, scratching at his pock-marked cheek with the two remaining fingers on his left hand. “But then, I haven’t seen you or your brothers around much lately. Run into some trouble?”
“Something like that,” I grunt back. “How much?”
