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I can kick myself for not sucking on those titties all night. I want her tied up, bound, gagged, and coming all over me. This is why marrying her is a bad idea. She's clearly angry, and I'm thinking about spilling my seed all over those tits that I sinfully ignored last night.
"Did you know that the most expensive bottle of Scotch whisky was sold at an auction in 2018 for nearly 850,000 dollars? Wait, it was pounds, if I remember correctly. When I visited a client of mine the night of my father's heart attack, I asked for his most expensive bottle, which he told me was a mere twelve hundred."
"What?" She practically hisses the word at me as her frustration builds.
"Exactly, Evelyn. You barge into this room, this very private room, with your tirade of sorts, and I'm not exactly sure what questions you're trying to have answered. I've slept with other women. We're adults. I'm sure you have a history of your own. Now, as far as the history between the good doctor and me, the only intimate thing we have is friendship."
"Yeah, right," she scoffs and snatches the tumbler from my hand to gulp it down.
"I brought up the bottle my client generously gifted me because it represents what he's willing to give me in order to solve a problem for him. A few problems, actually. Is what I did for him worth nearly a million dollars? I don't know yet, but it's certainly worth the twelve thousand. That's what I do, mio dolce. I solve problems. I make those problems and the ripple effects that spread out from the epicenter of bullshit disappear. Now, what is the problem I need to solve so that you’ll believe me when I tell you that Kathleen and I are just friends?"
"Have you slept together?"
"No. Sleep is never a thing when we're around each other." At this point, I'm a glutton for punishment because teasing her gets me riled up almost as much as it does her. I want to see that feisty side where she threatened that reporter in that viral clip.
The way her eyes scrunch together as her slender button nose crinkles illuminates the freckles splaying across her face even more. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I'm sad to have only noticed it now.
"So, everything you've done with me so far, you've done with her?" she asks, but there's something different in her tone. Surely, that's not defeat when there's no competition.
I pour myself another drink, and this time, I fill a glass for her, too. After handing her the amber liquid, I walk around the desk to face her, to be so close she can watch me swallow every drop. When she takes a sip, her bottom lip is wet, and Evelyn allows me to catch a bead of whisky with my thumb to wipe it away.
I suck the liquid off my finger before reaching out to grab her on the side of her face toward the back of her neck. I'm gentle at first, but I need her to understand the side of me that uses the room in the basement. I don't like being questioned, especially when it's of no concern to her. When I grip her tight, holding her neck straight, she reaches up to grab my hand as the shift in her eyes hints toward the lustful tension filling the room.
"Let's be very clear, mio dolce. You are my wife and the only woman I'm remotely interested in fucking. I don't lie and I don't bend the truth. Kathleen and I are friends because we're both members of a club that belongs to a client of mine. We also have fucked up, traumatic ass childhoods that we help each other sort through from time to time."
"She's your therapist," Evelyn counters in a humbler tone.
"No, she's my cosmetic surgeon. She gives me painful ass injections to minimize the scars. The same scars you don't have to shriek and cower in fear from when you see me in the sunlight."
I ought to bend her tight little ass over this desk and fuck her into understanding. Instead, I kiss her. I let my tongue swirl around her mouth, savoring my favorite liquor, and just as she moans, I pull away.
"If you need anything or need to go anywhere, don't go without Lorenzo. Now, I believe you have things you've brought from home to make you more comfortable here. Why don't you tend to that? I'm going out."
My words don't leave room for negotiation as she sips the rest of her drink and bites her lower lip. I want to go back to kissing her, but she'll regret breaking my rules. We step out of my office, and I close the door behind me. The signature click tells me the door's lock is engaged, and I stare at Evelyn for a moment.
"Remember rule number four?" I ask her, adjusting the cufflinks on the sleeves of my shirt.
She blushes and nods. "Don't ask questions or go into the playroom unless I'm able to finish what we start."
"I don't like repeating myself, mio dolce, so when I tell you that my friends are just that, I expect that to be the end of the conversation. Because you've disrupted my work, I'm going to head out since I doubt I'll be able to get anything finished with you home." The sound of this place being her home feels too right, too good, too much like Evelyn will always belong to me.
"Okay."
"We'll finish this when I get home," I tell her before grabbing my suit jacket and heading out the door.
There's an amount of fear that courses through your body when you're waiting for unknown consequences at the end of the day. It used to drive me crazy when Mom threatened me with my father coming home. Now, I'd give anything to hear her voice, feel her touch, to simply smell the scent of her hand soap as she smoothed my hair out of my face.
Everything is mottled. Sadness mixes with rage, but lust and anticipation breathe the same air. It's hard to keep my emotions in check with Evelyn around. All I want to do is fuck her and ignore the problems of our Families.
I order a car to take me to Kings. It looks like a prestigious steak restaurant in the middle of the afternoon, with limited seating. The hostess already has an apology coming off her lips before I tell her not to worry about it since I'll be sitting at the bar.
The server brings me my usual just as Dimitri surfaces from a back room. He's not as jovial as the last time I saw him, but then again, neither am I. After grabbing a drink for himself, he sets the bottle between us and takes the stool next to me.
"You look like someone killed your puppy, Less. What is going on?" he asks.
"I am married to a woman that I want to be married to."
"Huh? What? No invite for me? I'm disappointed."
