Sparrow

I let out a relieved breath when I realized he wasn’t going to be snide or cold about my confession.

  Human, after all.

  "He..." I didn't want to elaborate, but not seeing his face when I spoke about it was liberating. So was getting this secret off my chest. "He didn't rape me. But he was violent. He shoved his fingers into me. He was drunk, and I was small. Paddy was one of my father's bosses. I didn't want to make a scene."

  More silence. Not the judging kind, though.

  I released my breath, shaking my head. “I’m a little drunk. My normal self would never share something like this with you,” I admitted. “Let’s just drop it, okay? I just want to mess around tonight.”

  Troy spun me around by my waist to face him. Still on his knees, he kissed each of my pubic bones, his firm hands keeping me in place. I think I might have loved him in that particular moment. Just for a second. For listening. For being there. For not being terrible for once, even though it was in his DNA. In his nature.

  “Is that why you’ve never slept with anyone?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I just...never got around to it.” I knew this wasn’t exactly dirty talk between the sheets. Thankfully, I didn’t spend too much time worrying about trying to impress my new husband.

  His eyes pinned me to the dresser, trying to estimate how upset I was. There was no need for that. Paddy happened a long time ago, and I was ready now. Ready for more of those kisses all over my sensitive area.

  “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Red.” His voice was grave. “But I feel like it is my duty as a husband and a human being to tell you, sex can be great. Giving up on it just because one asshole…” He grunted his last sentence, pressing his face to my stomach and shutting his eyes, “Or even because we don’t see eye to eye—it’s a big mistake. You can hate me and still love how I make you feel.”

  His eyes dropped back to my white panties, and he tugged them down to my knees, kissing the spot just above my slit gently. He then parted me carefully with both thumbs, leaning forward and inhaling me with his eyes shut. It was slightly embarrassing...but incredibly arousing.

  My eyes met his as my hand brushed through his hair, so implausibly soft in comparison to the tough man it belonged to. I stepped out of the panties. “I know,” I exhaled. “I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.”

  He pressed his mouth to my center. Darting his tongue out, he explored me, every bit of me, building anticipation. I felt wetness pool inside me and leaned onto the dresser behind me, trying to stay upright. It was only then that his mouth sought—and found—my bundle of sensitive nerves and sucked on it, long and hard, building and releasing pressure like he was pumping a delicious drug into me.

  I moaned and fisted his hair, tugging, urging him to continue. Everything tingled. My toes curled inside the high heels. I rolled my hips forward, wiggling out of his strong arms around my waist and wanting, searching, aching for more.

  Troy sucked on my clit and pulled it between his teeth, applying more pressure. “Stand still,” he commanded, his hands roaming my body.

  Stomach, hips, inner thighs…

  “God, I missed eating pussy,” he sighed into me. “And you’re so delicious and tight.”

  I blushed, smiling to myself. At least he didn’t do this to everyone. That made me feel stupidly special.

  Troy ate me alive, making happy noises throughout. Little grunts and moans that told me he was enjoying this no less than I was. It was probably the first time I ever saw him happy, licking the length of me, sucking on my sensitive part and pumping his tongue in and out of me. He draped one of my thighs over his shoulder, digging his head deeper between my legs, and I threw my head back and cried out his name.

  He stopped sucking and slid his tongue into me, in and out, in and out. My vision clouded, my body shook all over. Even though the sensation was insane, it also felt like he was playing with my body and refusing to take it over the edge. He was teasing me, but every time I got closer to tipping over, an orgasm threatening to tear me from the inside out, he slowed down. On purpose.

  “Please,” I panted, not really sure what I was asking.

  “Please, what?” he urged.

  That was a good question. I could see the gates of heaven open up, but Troy wouldn’t let me walk through.

  Unable to form a coherent sentence, I kept on pulling his hair almost violently. When he picked up the pace pumping his tongue into me, and I literally saw stars. My knees finally gave in and I buckled, collapsing down on him. He hit the beige carpet with a thud.

  “That’s better.” Troy put his hands on my waist to root me into place. “Ride my face, Red. Now…you were saying?”

  “Make me come.” I panted harder, shamelessly grinding myself against his mouth. God, I would never be able to look at him again after knowing his tongue was buried so deep inside me.

  He smiled into me—I actually felt it, shuddering violently against his lips—and went slower, licking more thoroughly and gently, while shoving one hand back into my bra, pinching my nipple hard. The bastard.

  “I hate you.” I let out a grunt, meaning to rise and stand up from this delicious torture, but he jerked me back into his face, laughing into my core. His laugh vibrated inside my body. He was getting off on my frustration.

  “Let me go,” I hissed.

  “Say the magic word,” he answered, amused.

  “Asshole.” I threw my head back, both turned on and exasperated. I was still riding his face, and had a feeling I would be, for hours, if I didn’t put a stop to it.

  Holy Jesus. Riding his face? My mind was filthy around this man, and I had absolutely zero filters when it came down to what I wanted him to do to me.

  “That’s not the magic word. Beg me…” He dragged his tongue along my slit from top to bottom. “And I’ll let you come.”

  “Keep dreaming,” I moaned.

  His sucking became more intense, and he bit on my throbbing clit. My fingers dug into his skin.

  “Beg,” he repeated. “Say what you want to say.”

  It was tempting, but I couldn’t let go of my ego, of my sliver of self-control around him. We were not on the same team. Just because he indulged me tonight, didn’t mean he’d acknowledge my existence tomorrow morning.

  “No,” I answered again.

  He laughed long and hard, drunk on my resistance, loving that I hated his game. He spread my legs so I was wide open in front of him, took my clit in his mouth again and rubbed my entrance with his thumb in delicious up and down movements.

  This time I knew I was really on the edge. All I needed were a few more strokes. I didn’t know what was going to happen with Troy, but I knew it would be worth more than the begging. It was magic. It was giving your body to someone else, feeling every single one of your muscles tighten deliciously, feeling a swell of pleasure about to overtake you like a tsunami…

  “Beg,” he demanded one more time, and I knew it’d be the last.

  “No.”

  His wet lips left my skin as he dragged his body up so he could kiss my lips, inserting his tongue into my mouth and swirling it teasingly, forcing me to taste myself.

  “This was fun.” His throaty voice tickled me, and I felt shattered. I wanted to come so badly. “Now let’s see how long you can manage without begging me to be balls deep in you. I like a challenge.”

  “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 fel
t 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 pussy in my mouth was fucking amazing. Not sure if it was the thrill of tasting what's mine, only mine, pure and untouched before (other than that asshole, 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 fucking 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, fucking 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, fuck 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 fucking 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.”

  He rubbed his eyes, continuing before he realized it was me he was confiding in. He must’ve been desperate. “Anyway, I did a U-turn. We ended up buying fresh clothes at Target, and he changed in the bathroom before I dropped him off. Spent the next thirty minutes sitting in my car in front of his school, practicing this stupid-ass breathing exercise from that tape you bought me for Christmas.”

  I almost snorted. This was too much. The only reason I’d given him the tape was to piss Catalina off. She was whining like a bitch about Brock being too good and proper. It was a joke aimed at him. And he’d walked right into it.

  Brock looked up at me, searching for my response.

  I eased back into his soft leather chair and knitted my fingers together. “Some piece of work, your wife is. If you ask me, I always preferred the single life.”

  “You’re married now,” he reminded me.

  “I guess sometimes it’s easy to forget,” I said through my smirk.

  He lolled his head sideways, stubbing the cigarette into an empty mug with a picture of him and Cat. Something she gave him to remind me of her every time I walked into his office.

  It was cute how she thought I cared.

  “I’m guessing you’re not here to discuss my marital problems.” Brock leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, and tapped his fingertips. “Why are you here, Troy?”

  “Patrick Rowan.” I cut straight to the chase, looking out the window, people-watching as I spoke. “I wanna know what ties he has left in Boston.”

  Brock raised his brows, throwing himself back and sighing loudly. He didn’t like this turn of events, and I had no idea why. Rowan, my father’s right hand before everything flushed down the shitter, was just an old washed-up mobster. He’d kept the gambling piece of my father’s empire alive for him for a while even after my dad was dethroned, but eventually Paddy had branched out on his own. He’d high-tailed it out of the state to Miami when the Armenians decided they wanted his head on a plate. I discovered why a few months after my father was killed.

  Yeah, Rowan had left enemies everywhere, but on Friday night, he’d made one too many of them in the form of me.

  “Rowan?” He frowned. “Why?”

  My jaw tightened when I thought about the answer to this question. Did I still hold a grudge against Rowan for stealing money from my father years ago? Sure. Did the fact that he touched my wife act as an incentive to finally seek retaliation? Hell yes. Was I in the mood to watch bad people paying for their sins? You fucking bet.

  I’d hit a dead-end with my Kill Bill list, still not sure who sent Crupti to kill my father, and I wanted to play. Dealing with Rowan might take off the edge.

  “Find out how to contact his second wife.” I ignored Brock’s question.

  “What crawled up your ass? Got a new beef with Rowan all of a sudden? He’s rotting of cancer, you know. Leave him alone. You’re beating a dead horse.”

  “Not dead enough for me,” I countered, picking up my own cell and punching the touch screen furiously. “I’m going to pay him a visit in Miami.”

  “Are you sure? I’m not feeling comfortable about you harassing a guy who is dying of cancer.”

  “I’m not paying you to feel comfortable, B
rock. I’m paying you to follow orders.”

  He stood up with thunder in his eyes, about to storm out of the room, when he stopped in his tracks. “Is he the guy who sent Crupti?” His voice cracked as he half turned.

  Brock knew I was after the anonymous motherfucker, even had helped me seek him out.

  “Just do as I asked. By the way…” I cleared my throat, avoiding the stream of hellos coming from my phone and watching Brock intently. “I hired my wife to work at Rouge Bis. Get whatever paperwork you need together for her. She’s starting next week. Make sure she and the chef don’t stab each other’s eyes out with a spatula.”

  He turned back to face me. There was something unsettling underneath those gray eyes, and I wanted to rip them out of their sockets just to find out what.

  “She’s going to work? Right here?” He glanced sideways, like there were hidden cameras watching him.

  I nodded slowly. He knew that we had an arranged marriage, or marriage of inconvenience, or whatever the fuck Sparrow and I were.

  He also knew why Sparrow was so important to my father.

  I shrugged into my Armani suit jacket, looking bored with the topic. “She was nagging. Who the fuck cares anyway. If she wants to bust her ass instead of living a life of luxury, it’s her grave.”

  “Mmm.” Brock scanned me, searching my face. “So, the tension is high between you two?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We’re fine.”

  “And Pierre? He gave her trouble?”

  “Who?” I didn’t even bother to pretend to recall the name, then remembered I still had my travel agent on the line. I swiveled the chair so my back was to Brock and waved him off, dismissing him like he was an average-looking day-shift stripper ogling me for tips. “Yes, I’d like to purchase two first class tickets to Miami…”

  SPARROW

  THE SUN WAS shining on Monday morning when I arrived at Quincy Market, but the improved weather tense did little to improve my mood.

  I had no idea what made me do what I did with Brennan on Friday night.