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Carefully, I reach for her, my hand sliding into her hair to pull her to me. I press a kiss to her lips that has my cock swelling in my jeans despite being buried inside her most of the night. Even though my balls ache from how many times I made her come, punishing her with either my fingers, my mouth, or my cock, I still want more.
I’ll always want more.
Wonder what Kenda would have to say about that?
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” she purrs, gaze raking over me. I rarely wear a suit. In fact, I fucking hate it because it’s hot, but I can’t very well show up in jeans for tonight’s endeavor.
“I’m going to destroy this dress later,” I murmur, fingering the small bow at her shoulder. “I hope you’re not attached.”
“If it’s anything like last night, you can destroy anything you want.”
Last night was a blur. My little doe on her knees, big green eyes wide and innocent even as she took my cock down her throat is enough to put a permanent shake in my hands. I can’t get her out of my fucking head.
Not that she hasn’t always been there.
With a nag of pain in my chest, I realize I’d give my left fucking arm if it meant giving her the life of peace she deserves. Now that she’s chosen me—no,givenherself to me—I’ll take a bullet if it means I can keep her.
Kenda would say I’m toxic. I prefer the term loyal.
As much as I tried to fight it, I couldn’t. Hannah Gaines is mine whether she likes it or not.
I don’t know what my family will say. I don’t even know what the future has in store for us. I also don’t give a fuck. I feel likeI’ve found something forbidden that I didn’t even want, but now that I have it, I’ll be damned if anyone’s prying it from my grasp.
She’s too good for me. Still doesn’t mean I’m giving her up.
“You look beautiful.”
She blushes, placing her hand over mine on her cheek. I can see the worry in her gaze. It’s not misplaced. Tonight could go very, very badly, but we can’t miss this opportunity.
The benefit is being held downtown, only a couple blocks away from the warehouse where they burned and desecrated those women. We park Dad’s Challenger and I almost laugh at how out of place it is amongst the wealth in the parking garage.
It’s like a sick fucking joke as Hannah and I arrive, stepping up to the front doors surrounded by people in their fancy fucking clothes and jewelry that cost more than my house.
Parker always made my sisters go to these. Benefits. Galas. Misplaced charity functions. He could never force me and I hated them, so I stayed far away in my “dusty” garage. I don’t belong here. Not with the engine grease stained under my fingernails and the tattoos under my dress shirt.
Hannah does; though, judging by the way she’s cowering into my side, holding onto my arm like I might slip away from her if she loosens her grip even an inch, I’m starting to think maybe she doesn’t.
Maybe neither of us belong anywhere. Maybe we’ve just created our own little paradise in the midst of a warzone.
As soon as we step inside, I can feel her stiffen. She’s on high alert, scanning the room around her. Even as people approach us, welcoming her and consequently me, I can feel the tension radiating through her.
I would fucking hate to be in her shoes. Greeting people who think they know you. Who know your name, just because of who your mother is. I would rather remain nameless in a crowd. Amystery, instead of someone everyone thinks they’ve got figured out.
Being part of the governor’s family makes you California royalty. You bleed purple and Versace and no one ever questions if you’re okay because you have to be, right? You’ve got more money than God, so why wouldn’t you be okay?
I used to think that, too. I used to believe money solved every rich motherfucker’s problems, but really, the problems just get more complex because now there’s no simple fix.
Give me a simple life, budgeting to make ends meet over a mansion with a whole vault full of hundred-dollar bills any day.
“Hannah.”
The voice is tightly laced and filled with something like apathy from behind us.
I know that fucking voice. Hannah’s fingers tense on my arm, but she still turns around and plasters a fake smile on her face. To the outside looking in, it probably looks normal. I can see through it though.
“You haven’t called,” Michael grumbles, stepping up to us, his own date on his arm. He doesn’t look at me, but he does look at her hand on my arm with a disdain I know all too well.
Still holding onto hope that Mommy dearest is going to hand Hannah over like a prized pig.
