Wrath (Malice Mafia, #2)

by Coralee June

“You aren’t supposed to be enough, baby,” she said softly before reaching out to pat the top of my hand. “The measure of a person isn’t what they can give in a relationship. It’s how they love. Not how much.”

“I’m not really the sort of man to sit by and watch,” Malice said in a deathly tone. William wiped his lips on my inner thigh before responding. “I’m not really the sort of man to share.”

William was obviously having the same reaction as me, because he went and adjusted himself. He was wearing gray sweatpants, which was basically him begging Juliet to look at his junk. Desperate motherfucker.

Lmao

William ran a hand through his hair, the move making the hem of his shirt lift a bit. She licked her lips like a starving street cat staring at a bowl of cream and sugar. Fucking gray sweatpants at it again. I made a mental note to buy a pair.

When in doubt just wear gray sweatpants

But saying all of this out loud was like beating a dead horse. Vicky knew what she did. No amount of vocalizing my grievances with her was going to make this better. But forcing myself to feel something I just couldn’t feel was wrong, too. Forgiveness was a double-edged sword, and I was still pulling the weapon out of my back.

Do you think Norman and I are similar? Certainly I’m saner than he is, right? I’m fishing for validation here, friend. The least you can do is tell me I’m not on the same level as a fucking cannibal.