Page 62 of Bartered Innocence

Cillian snarls, pushing Aodhan away from him.

He laughs and moves to Conor’s bleeding body slumped in the chair to finish the carving while Cillian glares. The force of that glare moves to me, a strange pleading swirling in his eyes. “If I pull her out, I don’t think we will get another chance at the Yakuza.”

I shrug, cracking my neck and itching to take a shower to wash off the traitor’s blood. “Perhaps we spent too much time looking elsewhere when our true enemies lie in our own den.”

With a resigned nod, Cillian swallows. “It will take a few weeks.”

A flicker of hesitation has me pausing, a strange feeling I haven’t experienced before. “Ask her first. If she wants to stay, then she doesn’t have to come.”

Cillian stares at me, confused. “She’ll come where she’s needed.”

“I need her to seduce the heir of the Famiglia. The son of the Underboss, who for all we know is already dead. I’m sending her straight into a snake pit.”

His jaw works back and forth. “I can’t tell if you’re afraid we’ll lose her or you’ve lost confidence in her abilities.”

“Perhaps a little of both.”

He shakes his head. “That wife of yours is seeping into your heart more than you know.”

I don’t disagree with him. Instead, I leave him and Aodhan to finish what they do best: Ensure no one finds a trace of Conor again.

* * *

Annoyance trickles in at the lingering presence at the end of the hallway as I come up from the basement.

“Not now, Isabelle,” I say, heading to the shower in the bathroom across from the stairs.

She huffs out a loud breath. “You’re the one who wanted a wife. Now you’re just going to ignore her?”

I scoff, not responding to her ridiculous retort. I pump her full of my cum every morning, and I’ve made a gracious effort to be home for the dinners she prepares since our conversation about her feeling alone.

Her storming footsteps as she follows me into the room have me grinding my teeth. I lack a lot of control after a kill. It doesn’t matter who met the reaper from my hands or why. Something sinister slides into your soul with each life you take.

“Isabelle. We’ll talk later,” I grit out. Not bothering to turn on the light, I start the water in the shower.

She comes up next to me. “You leave in the mornings and don’t come home until late. You’ve only been around for dinners. I’m sick of it, you’reneverhere. So no, we’ll talk right now.”

My anger at her continued disobedience rises to the surface. I spin, grabbing her throat and backing her against the wall. I press my body into hers and lean in, knowing she can feel my breath on her face.

“Next time I tell you to leave me alone, I hope you remember this lesson,” I say through clenched teeth. My heart is pounding away, a sick desire to be closer to her overtaking every reservation in my mind.

My hand wraps around the back of her neck, guiding her to the counter and pushing her forward. She catches herself on the sink as I flick on the light and stand behind her.

Her eyes widen as she glances in the mirror. Blood is smeared along her neck and down the front of her dress. Then her attention turns to me and she screams. My shirt is stuck to my chest, drenched with the ichor of that traitor. My skin is stained red as it slides from my face and down my neck.

Isabelle ducks her head and tries to move around me, but I stop her. My hard cock rests against her ass as I keep her trapped between my body and the counter. Grabbing her jaw, I raise her face up to the mirror again. Her body trembles against mine.

“Red looks good on you, wife,” I whisper, and lick the shell of her ear. I pull her dress up to her hips, bunching it until my dirty fingers touch her warm sun-kissed skin. Sliding my hand between her thighs, I skim along the front of her panties and up to the waistband.

Inhaling her addicting fragrance, I twist her underwear and rip them off her body in one quick pull. She should have listened to me when I warned her away.

Unzipping my jeans, I pull my cock out, stroking it harder before pulling her hips out, causing her to lean forward more. I swipe my leaking tip along her wet slit before thrusting inside her warm, tight pussy.

“Oh god,” Isabelle cries out, her fingers gripping the sides of the sink.

I slide out, then slam back into her, adjusting my hold on her hips as I push myself as deep as I can. My eyes drift closed as I pound into her, the chaos in my mind calming as I focus on the perfect fit of my wife’s cunt. My obsession with her began the night she ran from my bed, and I haven’t been able to get over her since. Even if I didn’t know it until I saw her smiling face staring back at me in that stupid book. The fact that I’m the only man alive who knows the feeling of her snug warmth wrapped around my cock makes me want to fuck her constantly.

It makes me feral; I yearn for her all hours of the day. I pull her up against my chest, our eyes locking in the mirror as I rip down the front of her dress and her breasts bounce free. I smear the blood from her throat down and knead her mounds, twisting the hard tips of her nipples. Isabelle moans, her pussy gushing around my cock.

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