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Thirty-Nine
Brennan
To sayCamille looked like a million dollars was underestimating the worth of a million dollars.
She looked like a pin up, a model, and a porn star combined. Throw in some Marilyn Monroe glamor, I was the luckiest fucker at the gala with her on my arm.
Shame the whole event was a farce.
I knew for a fact the Davison’s Hudson River Clean-Up charity was a way for the chairman of the foundation to launder cash to filter through his Ponzi scheme.
But we’d only be here long enough for her picture to be taken, for the world to know who she was and who she was married to, to know that I wasn’t on the market anymore.That was it.
This was my way of killing a couple of birds with the same stone because, on top of that, Coullson would be here, and I was getting sick and fucking tired of being in the dark where the Sparrows were concerned.
An organization that far-reaching would have its sticky fingers everywhere—the Mayor’s pants included.
Though tonight’s event served a purpose, it was the last place I wanted to be. After the trip to the hospital, I’d wasted too many hours atElemental, setting up cameras with Conor in the private wing of the club. I figured we’d caught Coullson that way, another Sparrow might tumble into our web if we were lucky.
It had been dirty work, tedious too, and the gala looked set to be like every other fucking party in New York City, understaffed, with shitty canapés that filled the beak-like mouths of the perennially underfed socialites, with music that was too loud and lighting that was too low.
Once we made it off the red carpet, the flash of the thousands of cameras blinding us both, I steered us into the crowd.
“You eaten today?”
Her lips curved. “Yes.”
The smile had me shaking my head. I wasn’t sure why, but she seemed to like me at my most growly—and yeah, that was a fucking word. She smiled when I thought she’d glower, and whenever I figured she’d tell me to back off, she just melted into my arms.
Literally.
And then I melted all over her.
Which was why my cum smeared her cunt and her juices still coated my mouth.
Call me a filthy fecker, I’d take it. But I’d take it alongside the acceptance that society’s trappings, all this bullshit here, meant fuck all to me.
I knew what mattered most, and this crap here was just glitter and no substance.
Rather than lead her toward the area where the wait staff were slipping among the crowds, trying to feed people their meager offerings, I moved her toward the dance floor.
Hauling her into me, I slipped my arms around her waist as she tucked herself close against my front, her hands coming up to clasp my neck.
What was it about this woman that made me want to bury my face in her throat like I was at prom again? Dancing to Seal’sKiss from a Rosewith my latest squeeze.
Except, Camille wasn’t a squeeze.
She was so much fucking more—too much more. More than I’d anticipated, than I should have wanted.
My dick argued, but then, the little head never did have much sense in these things, and where Camille was concerned, it was particularly fucking thick.
In more ways than one.
With her snuggled up against me, I murmured in her ear, “You know what Coullson looks like?”
She tensed up. “The Mayor?”
“Yeah.”
