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“VP.” Her hoarse voice quivers and shakes.
I bare my teeth, looking up to her. Her head is back, and when my teeth bite down, I pull her hips towards me, driving into her at the same time. Her crying out spurs me on. I do it again.
“Jesus, VP!” she half screams, half cries.
My hands don’t stop moving her, my teeth and my tongue don’t stop. I make her fuck me, driving hard into her, rolling her on my cock.
She throws her head back, sinking her nails into me. “I… I’m…” She comes again, her body quivering before turning slack. Her hands on my shoulders flex as she rides out the final waves of pleasure.
My hands keep rolling her hips for her, and admittedly, I feelmy own release edging closer.
Hot blows of her breath push out from her. “I love you,” she breathes.
I smile, still moving her slowly. “I know.”
She smiles and sits up straighter, her arms now around my neck forcing her breasts together. They’re bigger. Fuller. And look impeccable before me.
Moving my hands, I begin a trail up her back, seeking and searching my way over her body. When I tickle the tips of my fingers over her shoulders, she shudders. I don’t stop until I move down past her breasts, and I’m cupping her bump.
She places her hands on mine as she begins to raise her hips, readying herself to ride me to my release. “No, babe,” I say, and she slowly comes to a stop.
“What is it?”
“Tonight’s about you.” My head hits the back of the sofa, my thumbs running light strokes on her bump. A little nudge can be felt, and we both look down. “I think I woke her up.”
Mads smiles. “Let me make this about you, too.” She raises her hips again, but my hands stop her.
I don’t want this to be about me. “Not tonight.”
Lifting her up easily, my cock still buried inside her, she holds on tight as I stand and push my lips to hers. “Let me do this?”
Scanning my face, she gives me a subtle nod, kissing me again as I walk us to our room. Once she’s laid on the bed, I make her come again and again, until she’s exhausted—her mind free—passed out on top of me.
The following morning, I wake at four-thirty, unable to sleep any longer. I send Vincent a quick message telling him we need to talk. Throwing on my running clothes and trainers, I then head out on my usual route.
The morning air is bitter. The coldness of it biting my lungs. The hood on my jumper is up. The only sound around is that of my feet hammering the pavement. The rhythmic thuds keep my head clear until I reach the castle at the top of the hill overlooking the city.
I stop and stretch, using the bench at the viewing spot to hold on to as I grip my ankle and pull my heel to my backside. Memories of Mum bringing me up here after picking me up from school, slowly seep into my mind.
This was our place. And now it’s a safe space for me. A space where I can gain clarity.
I allow my mind to process what needs to be done, and when my phone rings, I realise I’ve sat down and almost forty-five minutes have passed. “Yep,” I say, rubbing a cold hand over my face.
“Your message sounded ominous.”
“That’s because it is.”
Vincent sighs. “What do you need to tell me?”
I bring him up to speed with Mollie. If I am to go away, I’ll need protection inside. As much as it grinds every gear I have for it to be him, Vincent can ensure this.
He’s condescending when he next speaks. “You sure have made my day at,” he pauses to check the time, “half five in the morning, Dean.”
“Can you make it happen or not?”
He stays quiet for a beat. I don’t like asking for protection as much as he won’t like giving it to me. “The Saint’s currently residing in solitary, but I’ll get word to him.”
The Saint. Old friend of Vincent’s. He runs things inside.
