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January 24 - January 24, 2024
I reach for the First Aid kit and a bottle of Smuggler’s Club whiskey. “Vodka.” My shoulders pull taut. “Since when did you start drinking vodka?” “Since you said you wouldn’t kiss me if I drank whiskey.”
“What did Blake do?” “Pissed me off.” I swallow. “So you killed him.” His palm presses harder into my stomach, and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder. “He was eyeing something up that doesn’t belong to him.”
“Where are we going?” Although, my heart already knows. “My bedroom.” “Why?” I whisper. He shifts his forearms under my ass. “So I can fuck you, Penelope. Why else?”
“Do me a favor, Penelope,” he growls against my racing pulse. “Unless you’re moaning my name or sucking my dick, keep your fucking mouth shut.” Another tug on my bun, another crackle in my clit. “I’m so sick of the shit that comes out of it.”
I rest on my forearms and slam my ass down the length of his dick. “How many women have you fucked, Raphael?” I snap back. His jaw tightens and he throws his head back, hissing something dark in Italian at the ceiling. He releases my hair and runs his hand down his throat. When his eyes fall back down, he glares at my ass like a maniac. “Do that again.”
I cut her off by sliding the strap of the belt into her mouth. I fist both the buckle and loop in one palm and yank her up onto her hands, like she’s on reins.
“You bought me all the For Dummies books.” “Mm. Found a career yet?” “You trying to get rid of me, or something?” His dark laugh caresses me like silk. “Or something.”
“I kiss better than I cook,” I whisper, rolling my hips so my pussy glides over the length of his dick. My skin dances as he palms my thighs and grips my ass cheeks. “Yeah?” I lean in, bringing my face so close to his, our lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “Yeah.”
“How did you know?” It slides off my tongue, loosened by liquor and this weird, foreign feeling that’s been sitting under my ribs for the last few days. He turns to me. Confusion mars his face but only for a split second, then mild amusement replaces it. He knows what I mean. “When you start doing stupid shit, like eating spaghetti with raw meatballs and going back for seconds, because she cooked it. Smuggling a labradoodle out of your house in a duffle bag at three a.m. so it’s still a surprise on Christmas Day.” His attention falls to my knuckles and his jaw tightens. “When you start using
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“No talking. Just relax and let me worship you.”
“My Queen of Hearts,”
“My beautiful demise.”
My heart has caught fire, and I’m in love with the Queen who lit the match.