Page 64 of Midnight Wedding

“I’ve seen better. I knew this girl?—”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

She shrugs. “Your loss. But her tits were glorious.”

“Youare glorious.” I tug her closer. She sighs and lazily strokes my shaft. “Can I admit something?”

“Absolutely.”

“I didn’t want to do this.”

She laughs and squeezes my head. I grimace slightly. Maybe I should’ve phrased that better, especially with my cock in her fist.

“You didn’t want to dowhatexactly?”

“Stay home. It’s difficult for me.”

“You certainly are suffering right now.” She kisses my neck. “No, I’m sorry, you’re being honest and I’m making jokes.”

“Work is everything. The Brotherhood is everything. Being thepatronis more consuming than you can guess and it encompasses my every waking moment. I was afraid to stop.”

“That must be difficult.”

“It’s a lot of weight to carry. I’m not complaining. Someone has to do it, and I’m strong enough. But I was worried that taking off even one day might be too much.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she kisses my shoulder. “You care about your family. That’s really important. It’s admirable, actually.”

“You care about yours too. That’s why you’re here.”

“True.” She frowns then looks down. “We’re having a serious conversation and you’restillhard.”

“You’re still stroking.”

“We’re kind of weird, aren’t we?”

“It’s the good kind of weird.”

“Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“How about you get on all fours and let me fuck you into sweet oblivion?”

“What’s that have to do with being a weirdo?”

I bite her lower lip and tongue her teeth. “Nothing. I just want to fill you again and spank your ass until it’s branded with my palm print.”

“Well, since you put it that way?—”

Her fingerslightly brush over the bandaged wound. Her skin’s glowing from a physically demanding level of sex and a very good sauna session. Maud cooked an incredible dinner, and now we’re back in bed. It’s a little past eleven at night.

“Did this hurt?” she asks.

“The stitches weren’t bad.”

“No, I mean, the stabbing.” She chews her lip. “Knives kind of freak me out.”

“I got over that a while ago.” I move her hand away and make her fingertips brush over a scar on my abdomen. “This was a knife.” I make her touch another closer to my right hip. “This was a knife.” And another over my left collarbone. “This was a shovel. I think it might’ve been sharpened.” I show her wound after wound after wound.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she whispers. I hate how upset she sounds. I don’t want to scare her with this, but it’s who I am. I can’t hide that. She deserves to know me, even the ugly parts.

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