: Chapter 16

I hit speaker, then set my phone on my desk as I continue to admire Savannah’s art.

From what I’ve found, she started by doing small shows in local galleries right out of college. And in the decade since she’s turned her work into an online sensation. She has a large following and people constantly messaging her to ask when her next sale will be.

Some of those sales have been strictly online, but she has one coming up in a few weeks that’s at one of the galleries her friend Mandi owns. And according to Mandi’s website, there will be an online sale the day after the gallery showing for anything that doesn’t sell.

It’s all very fascinating.

I can’t find any evidence that she sells art prints. I’ll have to talk to her about that. Her pieces are too stunning to limit to the one original piece only. More people need her work on their walls.

“What?” the groggy voice croaks through my phone.

“I need you here tomorrow.”

Nero groans, “And you couldn’t fucking tell me tomorrow?”

My eyes move to the time. “Oops.”

“Oops my ass, you fuck.”

“You know how many times you’ve called and woken me up? Lots.” I don’t feel the least bit sorry.

Nero hums, “Is this about that girl you kidnapped?”

“What’d you say?” another sleepy voice asks.

“Nothing,” Nero whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

I stay silent, hoping Payton will knock back out, because I don’t really want her knowing about this. Not that she won’t find out eventually, but if she finds out what I have planned, she’ll definitely try to interfere. And with the way she has Nero jumping to her every tune, he’ll go along with whatever she says.

“Um,” his voice is muffled now, like he’s holding a hand over his mouth. “What are you listening to?” Too late, I remember the sound system in my office is playing the Peaceful Retreat mix. “I thought you went home?”

“I did.” I find the correct button on my remote and kill the music.

“That was spa shit.”

I ignore him. “Be here at one.”

“Is that seriously what you listen to when you’re alone?”

“Tomorrow?” I grit out, needing to know he can make it.

“Yeah, fine. But if you try to sell me some oils to center my aura, I’m gonna shoot you.”

I hang up.

“Dick.”

I’m guessing he’ll have a few things to say when he gets here. But the shit I’ve witnessed him do since he first met Payton makes my kidnapping Savannah and forcing her to marry me look tame.

I press my lips together. Okay, maybe I win on the fucked-up scale of how I met my wife, but still, the man was basically stalking Payton. Which would normally be a bad thing. Who could’ve predicted she’d be just as obsessed with him?

Too wired to sleep, I think back on my history with Nero while I research what someone would need for a home art studio.

Nero is the one person in this world I can count on for anything. Sure, I have my sisters, and they’re great, but they’re not the ones I call if I need someone killed. Nor are they the ones I call after I kill someone, when I need help cleaning up the body because I got pulled away chasing after a curvy little goddess.

A goddess who has an impressive virtual following, but who has little daily contact with friends and family. A beautiful woman whose life could be moved from her little house––which seems to have been bought with an inheritance from her grandparents––to my mansion, without anyone the wiser.

I have a moment’s guilt, thinking about the full impact of what marriage to me will mean, about what being tied to The Alliance will mean for her, but it doesn’t change my mind.

It’s been more than fifteen years since Nero and I coordinated our hostile takeover, wiping out all the major players in both the Irish and Russian mafia in Minneapolis. The local Italians had already moved out, and were turning clean at that point, so with our previous employers out of the way, Nero and I formed The Alliance. We aren’t good men. We don’t do good things. But unlike our predecessors, our word can be trusted and we don’t cross the lines that we set for ourselves. Granted, those lines are few and far between, but we live by them. And other people die by them.

Until recently, even the men in the Alliance didn’t know I was a part of the organization, let alone one of the leaders. I’d kept my head down, remained an invisible partner for over a decade. I’d done it that way for a few reasons. First, to protect my family. Second, it made it easier for Nero to unite the men under one leader. And third, it’s been beneficial to us to have me on the outside. As an upstanding businessman in society. It’s amazing what people will share with you when they think your richness might rub off on them.

And that all worked. For a long time.

But as time went on, and I accrued more wealth and power, my public career and financial investments were starting to become almost as treacherous as running guns and laundering money. The two intersect more than anyone wants to admit. And I saw the writing on the wall. So, letting the underworld see me, letting the underworld understand who I really am, was the right call.

The risk increased, but so did the protection. And the risk was already there. Being rich as fuck makes you a target, whether you’re dirty or not.

Not to mention the fact that Aspen’s already inserted herself in some of the family business, becoming Nero’s lackey, against my wishes, when he needs a feminine touch. And I’ve never kept what I do secret from my family. Doing that would only put them at risk. They need to know what to look for and how to protect themselves.

I drum my fingers on my desk.

And tomorrow my family grows by one.

The light surprises me when I quietly open my bedroom door. But then I see the body under the comforter and realize she just went to sleep with the lights on.

My bare feet don’t make any noise as I step into the room.

I keep my hand on the door handle, making sure it closes just as quietly behind me.

I was just coming in here for some clean clothes.

I am just coming in here for clean clothes.

My hand reaches out and turns the overhead lights off.

There’s a glow still coming from the bathroom. I follow the light, and the scents of a shower.

The steam is long gone, but there’s still drops of water on the glass wall.

The opaque glass stops three quarters of the way across the shower space, eliminating the need for a door. With soft steps, I move around the end of the wall and turn into the shower. Pine and sandalwood cling to the air.

Savannah was in here. Naked. Scrubbing my soaps all over her body.

My own body reacts, all my blood sinking to my waist.

And then I see it. Hanging off the showerhead. Her pretty floral shirt. The quiet drip drip drip as it hangs there to dry.

The soles of my feet make little slapping sounds against the damp floor as I step further into the shower, ready to reach for the piece of clothing, when another item demands every ounce of my attention.

Lace.

Red. Lace. Panties.

I snag them off the temperature control lever before I can talk myself out of it. The material damp from being washed, just like the shirt.

I stare at them for a long second. Deciding how much of a twisted fuck I want to be right now. Then I shrug and bring them to my nose.

Inhaling from my chest, I fill my lungs with the scent of my own soap and…pussy.

My pretty little, soon to be wife, left her panties in here and they smell like my fucking soap and her sweet pussy.

Jesus Christ.

I take another hit of the intoxicating mix, and my cock is already hard.

Leave. It’s time to fucking leave.

Another breath and my cock throbs.

I reach down with my free hand to undo my pants. But one hand doesn’t do it, so I put the panties in my mouth, biting down on the material, and get my pants down and off, then kick them away.

The elastic band of my boxers stretches easily, and I shove them down my hips.

Biting harder on the lace, I reach down and cup my balls with one hand, gripping my length with the other.

Precum is already leaking out of my tip, and I feel more turned on than I can ever remember feeling. It feels like it’s been years since I’ve fucked, and not the handful of weeks that have actually passed.

Still too long.

Savannah’s panties muffle my groan as I work my fist up and down my length.

But it’s not enough.

I let go of my dick and pull the panties from my mouth, bringing them to my nose for one last inhale, before I wrap them around my straining dick.

The friction is just right. Just harsh enough on my sensitive skin.

My fingers squeeze my balls once more, then slide up to hold the base of my cock. Keeping my cock steady as I rub Savannah’s scent up and down my length.

This is depraved.

Fucked up.

Disgusting.

But that doesn’t stop me from closing my eyes and picturing the woman currently asleep in my bed, on her back, while I bury my face between her legs. Tasting her at the source.

She’d try to yell at me. Probably try to hit me. But she’d give in. And then she’d come all over my face, quivering under my tongue.

And that woman is going to be my fucking wife.

I throw my head back, the essence of her still filling my senses as I come all over the wall.

Hands washed, panties back hanging in the shower, spunk quietly washed down the drain, I strip off my shirt and walk to the bed in nothing but my boxers.

I told Savannah she could have this night to herself.

But I lied.