“Good, ’cause you’re in for an impossible one.” My teeth chattered from the impact of his touch, but at least I managed a comeback.

He gave me another deep, intoxicating kiss, darting his tongue and twirling it over my lower lip. I felt his smile.

“Your spine…” He ran his index finger along my back. “Is beautiful. And here, I thought I could snap you like a twig.”

He propped himself up, leaving me to lie there on the floor, naked other than my bra and heels, as he walked out of the room unaffected, like nothing happened.

A chill gripped my body when I felt his footfalls in the hallway, echoing on the bedroom floor. He opened a door down the hall, probably his study, and banged it shut after him.

The pit of my stomach turned, worry and anxiety swirling inside. I buried my face in the crook of my elbow.

He could still snap me like a twig. He’d just decided not to…this time.

TROY

THERE WAS NOTHING more dangerous than a person with nothing to lose. That’s why I’d hired Sparrow to work at Rouge Bis, even though I knew she’d be close to him.

I wasn't the controlling kind when it came to women. With my business, hell yes. But with a woman? If my wife wanted to work and was good at what she was doing, she can bust her ass for all I cared.

And Sparrow? She’d turned out to be a breath of fresh air. I was so used to the women around me not working or even entertaining the radical idea of doing something with their lives that I was genuinely surprised with how much Red wanted to work at the restaurant.

Love and compassion had nothing to do with my decision to give Sparrow a job. Having her out of the apartment occasionally might be nice. Her wicked smart mouth and endless questions grated on my nerves. Plus, putting a smile on her face wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had.

I had to admit, the taste of her * in my mouth was f*cking amazing. Not sure if it was the thrill of tasting what's mine, only mine, pure and untouched before (other than that *, Paddy) or if it’d been so long since I went down on a woman that I forgot it was literally sweet. Either way, I’d enjoyed watching her as she crashed down, so close but not there. I wanted to snap that little spine of hers. Have her begging. Leave her wanting and lusting. Wanted to prove to her that she wanted me no less than I wanted her.

Well, her body, anyway.

But now I had to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. Bring my body down to a sensible temperature.

I hadn’t jerked off in maybe fifteen years, but when I leaned with one hand against the glossy black tiles, under the stream of scorching water, masturbating like a f*cking teenager, I admitted it was oddly exciting. I laughed to myself like a madman as my hand relearned how to pump hard and fast to the beat of my new fantasies. Sparrow. Sweet, f*cking Sparrow. Tight, lean, intelligent, annoying Red…

I‘d forgotten how good it felt to want something and not get it in a matter of hours.

I pumped harder, faster, imagining her legs wrapped around me. I came in my hand, squeezing the warm cum between my fingers, thinking about how good it’d feel to shoot my load inside her.

Yearning.

I hadn’t felt it in forever, and now it was growing on me.

And so was the thought of her warming my bed.

I BURNED THE rest of the weekend doing fun stuff, like drinking in my study, plotting to destroy Rowan and thinking about eating my wife.

Brock’s weekend, meanwhile, seemed to have left him drained and irritated. A bonus, as far as I was concerned.

On Monday, he walked into his office at Rouge Bis—no, f*ck that, my office. I was the one who footed the bill for the place. Not that he saw it that way. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, eying the glass desk as if I’d invaded his space.

“You look like shit.” I spat out my toothpick and wheeled the office chair backward so I could take a better look at him. “Rough night with the missus?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Fuck you.”

I smirked. He and Catalina weren’t f*cking nowadays.

I nodded at the chair in front of the desk, inviting him to sit down. He tugged at his breast pocket, fishing out a pack of smokes, his ass hitting the seat. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his nose. The way he held the cigarette, between his index finger and thumb, like he was Clint Eastwood in a Western, made me want to laugh out loud. Instead, I glowered quietly.

“Smoking inside this building is prohibited.” I pointed to a sign saying just that behind me, barely containing my glee.

“So is every single thing you do, Troy. Don’t give me shit. I’ve had a rough morning. You needed me?” he asked.

“Trouble in paradise?” I tilted my chin toward the cigarette that hung in the corner of his mouth. Fuck, I bathed in his misery like it was pure water in the Sahara desert.

Brock sucked hard on the cig. This time his mouth hung open after he exhaled, a swirl of smoke traveling upwards. “Cat treats Sam like dirt.” He ran a hand over his hair. “This morning, he went to school wearing filthy clothes because she’s decided he’s not worth doing the laundry for. I almost flipped when he tugged at his shirt, seconds before I dropped him off, sniffing it to make sure he didn’t smell too bad. He said that he didn’t want kids to make fun of him. Man, this is the kind of shit that breaks your heart.”