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“I’m coming!” she cries, twisting violently in my embrace. With one last scream, her body seizes and frees the orgasm I’ve been chasing.
I roar into her shoulder, shuddering as I empty everything I have inside her. I don’t know how long I keep her imprisoned in my hold, with her arms pinned between us, her throat muscles working under my fingers, and her pussy milking me of everything I’m worth.
Tácito’s firm touch, freeing her from me, returns me to the moment. I watch as he massages her.
Concern and guilt fill me. “Are you okay, principessa?” I force the question through tight vocal chords. My chest constricts with fear that I’ve gone too far.
“Only one thing could make me happier than I am right now.” She reaches out a hand to me. Her tired expression shows nothing but acceptance. “Let me hold you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sloane
A muted buzz by the bedside table wakes me up for the second time this morning. A satisfied smile creeps along my face as I recall how Tácito and Valentino woke me before leaving today and every morning since the wedding. They wore me out until I needed a nap to recover.
Needing to sleep after getting dicked down is unlike me. Then again, I never had to juggle two insatiable men determined to make me come until I pass out. But I can’t focus on their plan to hook me on their sexual appetites. All our fucking reinforces one unfortunate truth for me.
I am out of shape.
The weeks while I recovered played havoc on my endurance, but no more. While Valentino safeguards Douglas and its citizens and Tácito saves lives, I fill my days with exercise to improve my stamina. An endeavor I have yet to start today.
I leap out of bed and prepare for my new morning routine. I warm up with a run on the estate. As soon as I step outside the house, I clock the first guard behind the tree line. All my instincts haven’t dulled during my convalescence and I treat these runs as a way to stay sharp.
Since I agreed to marry Valentino, we haven’t discussed what my future profession will be. I can’t see myself as only being his First Lady, filling my days with nonstop society functions. Thank God Valentino decided I won’t have to start my duties until after our honeymoon next week. Until then, I need to find the man that wants me dead. The pressure is on, yet my one lead remains the man on the footage I have.
As I make my second circuit around the estate, I note today’s surveillance team. They haven’t switched up their routine. I return to the house to finish the rest of my regimen and keep alert. My opportunity arrives before lunch while I’m watching the news about another city official who’s committed suicide. He makes the third in the last month.
What is going on in Douglas’ politics? I shake free from the intrigue. I have my own mystery to solve and a very limited time in which to do it.
I sneak out of the house, making sure to stay low to the ground on my way to my emergency pack. Once I clear the grounds, I haul ass to Douglas’ industrial park where I have small hopes of finding some clue that a surveillance tape can’t provide. I have little expectation of finding anything so many weeks after my failed assassination, but with no other prospect, I have no choice.
I comb the rooftops for any clues and retrace the steps my assailant made. The need to find the asshole who thought I would be so easy to eliminate drives me to ignore hunger pangs, the darkening sky, and the sporadic pulses at my wrist. When the streetlights illuminate, I know I’m in serious shit. My heartbeat drums double time with the acid filling my stomach at the persistent pulses emitting from my device.
All the messages demand to know my whereabouts.
I debate whether to wait until I return to the house, but I recall Valentino’s last reaction when I wasn’t where he expected me. A coded response won’t do. I dial his number and wait for his rage to wash over me.
“Are you safe?” he barks at me once the call connects.
“Yes, and I’m on my way hom—”
Click. He disconnects before I complete my sentence. His unprecedented reaction does nothing to still my nerves. I try all the breathing exercises I’ve learned to calm myself while stalking a target. Nothing I do allows me to find my peaceful center and prepare me for the fight ahead.
When my cab rolls up to the estate, the guards only peer at me long enough to confirm my identity. It is too dark for me to see clearly, but I think at least two guards walk with a noticeable limp that no one had before. Their avoidance increases the anxiety riding my stomach like a tsunami wave.
As my driver pulls up to the mansion’s front doors, more trepidation dumps a bucketful of sweat on me. The usual lights that illuminate the mansion have gone dark.
I gulp as I enter the silent home that feels more like a mausoleum than the peaceful place I’ve always found for my many escapes from reality. Down the hall, in the direction of Valentino’s office, the door is open. Dim lamplight shines into the hall, beckoning me towards my murky future.
Each step I take, I prop myself up. I am an adult. I put the fear in people’s hearts. They don’t call me Sloane “One Shot” Mitchell for nothing. I’m going to walk into that room and let Valentino have his temper tantrum, but I will not cower. My time is my own.
I reach the entrance by the time my hype speech concludes and I step inside with the utmost confidence of an unbeatable opponent ready for whatever Valentino throws my way.
What a joke. I’m not ready for the almost empty decanter sitting beside him. Or his disheveled hair and clothes. I glance around the room for Tácito—
“He isn’t here. I asked him not to interfere while you and I get some things ironed out.” Valentino raises the decanter to his mouth and swallows more of the clear liquid inside, nearly draining the rest of the bottle.
“I’m sorry I lost track of time and didn’t respond to your messages. I—”
