Page 36 of Blackbeard
I smirked with triumph, wiggling deeper into the bed.
Blackbeard circled around to his nightstand and picked up the hot pink wand vibrator I’d placed there. It practically glowed in contrast with the dark ink of his tattooed fingers. He flicked it on and a muted buzzing filled the room.
His gaze settled on me.
My mouth went dry with anticipation.
Slowly, Blackbeard leaned over me and braced one hand on the mattress next to my head. My body arched toward him automatically, drawn like a magnet to his masculine sex appeal.
He held up the wand, pressing it lightly to my lower belly. Not nearly close enough to my clit. The vibrations rumbled across my skin. I squirmed with desperation.
“It’s a shame,” Blackbeard murmured. “If you weren’t drunk, I would have made you come. Again and again and again. Until you squirted all over my bed like a good little wife.”
A gasp escaped my lips and fire burned through every inch of my body.
Blackbeard grinned, a flash of teeth in the shadows of his bedroom. Then he turned off the vibrator and tossed it onto the mattress beside me. He chuckled as he walked out.
“Sweet dreams, baby.”
Chapter nine
Blackbeard
Urgent whispers cut through the cobwebs of sleep, dragging me into consciousness.
“You have to wake him up.”
“Hell no. You do it.”
“You’re the one who’s bleeding all over his kitchen.”
I groaned at the mention of blood and pushed myself up into a sitting position. My brain sparked into crisis mode.
“Dude, if we don’t get you stitched up, you’re going to lose your fingers,” one voice hissed.
“I know! Okay? I know, stop saying that.”
“It just looks really bad.”
“You’re freaking me out.”
“Well, I’m not doing it on purpose. But it’s going to be fine. Uncle Diego will know what to do. He’s really good with stuff like this.”
I recognized those voices—my brother’s boys, Mario and Bodhi. At fourteen and sixteen years old, it seemed trouble followed my nephews around town everywhere they went.
Rising to my feet, I softened my footsteps as I strode from the living room and rounded the corner, entering the kitchen.
Mario and Bodhi stood at the sink, running Bodhi’s hand under the faucet. The water flowed red from a laceration across his palm.
I was beginning to regret the open-door policy I had with my family. Everyone had a copy of my house key, so they could freely come and go whenever they wanted to. It wasn’t unusual for my abuela to show up and make breakfast for me. Or a few cousins would crash in my living room for the weekend, just to get away from their siblings and parents.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” I barked.
Bodhi flinched and flashed a sheepish grin.
“Oh, hey, Uncle Diego. We were just…”
“Bleeding all over my kitchen,” I said in a flat voice. “I heard. What happened?”
