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“That they are, love.” He prowls forward until he traps me against the wall, caging me in.
“What are you doing, Rafe?” I ask in a husky tone.
“I’m still trying to figure you out,” he replies, his gaze scanning my features. “You consume my every thought and just when I think I have you figured out, you switch it all around again.”
“There’s nothing to know, Rafe. I have been an open book with you since the beginning.”
“Liar.” He nips at my lip. I stare at him in confusion. “I would never would have fucked you that first night if I knew you were a virgin. You hid that from me.”
I giggle. “Perhaps. But you would have regretted it later.”
“I would have,” he agrees with a nod. “I am rather fond of this cunt.”
His fingers deftly find their way beneath the black knee-length dress, swiping my underwear aside before spearing into my heat. A sound escapes me and Rafe covers my mouth with his hand.
“Quiet now, wife. I need a hard and dirty fuck to take the edge off before I deal with rest of these people.” His fingers continue to thrust into me as I nod.
I hear his belt and zipper before he raises my left leg around his hip, replacing his fingers with a cock I have come to crave more each day. He stares at me intently as he rams his full length into me and it takes every ounce of self-control not to scream at the pleasure that assails me. His hips piston harshly into me and I mewl. He stops abruptly, gripping my face harshly.
“If any of these men hear you come on my cock there will be hell to pay, Willow.”
“Rafe,” I whisper brokenly.
He picks up the pace once more and I don’t know if I can hold back. I don’t know if I want to hold back, with his threat. I have come to enjoy his punishments, as strange as that seems. My clit starts to throb and I know I won’t be able to prevent my oncoming orgasm.
Rafe groans, his face in the crook of my neck, my pussy spasming violently around his length, milking him. I hold my breath, doing my best to remain quiet but it’s impossible. A long, low moan escapes me, his name on my lips.
It takes a moment for both of us to get our breathing under control. Rafe stares at me with a dark glint in his gaze before pulling his cock out of me. He slides my underwear back into place before righting my dress.
“I need to clean up,” I say.
“No.” He shakes his head. “If you want to moan like a wanton whore, you can have my cum trickling down your leg for the rest of the day.”
Chapter Three
Blood And Gold
Rafe
Willow bows to a cousin, thrice removed, her heels pressed demurely together, though I know better.
“How is your business?” I ask, not looking at the man. My gaze is limited to Willow alone, looking for the telltale glisten along her inner knee where her dress hangs a little more rumpled than before. “Hold it in,” I murmur mockingly, knowing she will tear me a new one the moment we’re alone.
I also know my father would find this entire scenario hilarious—if it wasn’t Willow I targeted, of course. But he isn’t here to reprimand me, and I need the dark humor, knowing I just filled her to overflowing to take the edge off today.
Hell, if I had it my way, I would never have left America. But then last night wouldn’t have happened, and I knew Dom and I wouldn’t have fulfilled her fantasy in quite the same way there. Because the club where she gave me her virginity holds special value to us both.
Keeping my attention on Willow mutes the inane conversation I have no interest in anyway. Once I leave this place, my father’s capos will continue to run the organization the way they always have, first in his absence, and now in mine.
Should one try to step above his position, I’ll rain hell from across the globe, but for now, little threat presents itself. Which leaves me free to daydream about our nocturnal activities at my club.
Dom left us after our fourth round of fucking, limping slightly as he swore beneath his breath. I reclined on the long ottoman we finished on, with Willow pressed between us like so much malleable precious metal. She walked nude to the window, her fingers dimpling the floor-to-ceiling glass’s perfect reflection as she stared out into the mass of writhing bodies.
“Can they see us?” she asked without looking over her shoulder.
“Yes,” I answered evenly, trailing my fingers along the carpet. My shoulders stretched back, a familiar ache blooming there after lifting her for so long, though stress ebbed from muscles tight with the burden of unexpressed grief. “More than a silhouette, less than an identity. Enough to let them know someone is here, watching. To let them know what we are doing.” Or have just done, I finished inside my head. “Perhaps we should make a trip each anniversary. Create a habit of sorts.”
“Of fucking like rabbits?” Her head tilted as she stared at the floors below, not the least concerned about others being able to see and maybe guess her identity.
