Page 104 of Darcy
It’s a dumping ground.
“Aww,” Darcy says, plucking a piece of paper out of the mess. “It’s you guys!”
Somehow, her seeing the flyer for one of our first gigs is more embarrassing than my mom’s baby photo album. “Put that down.”
I don’t ever want to see the band’s name written in WordArt again. For all the evil Miguel is responsible for, at least our branding is a hundred times more professional now.
She relinquishes it, only to pluck out another photo of us all as teenagers, fresh out of juvie. Shit.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pull her to me. My traitorous dick hardens the second her plush ass bumps against my groin, and I suppress a groan.
Her harsh inhale freezes me in place.
“Did I hurt you?” Damn, I need to be more careful. She’s so much smaller than me, and I never, ever want to cause her pain.
Her cheeks are beet red, and she won’t meet my gaze. I release her like I’ve been burned.
“Angel, I need to know if you’re okay. Did I pinch you or something?”
“No,” she squeaks, turning redder by the second. “I… erm. It’s nothing.”
I pin her with a look. “We’re not leaving here until you—”
Darcy finally meets my eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. Dodger plugged my ass before we came, and you jostled it when you…” Her fleeting courage abandons her, and she hides her face in her hands. “God, why does this stuff happen to me?”
If I was semi-hard before, just from having her body against mine, I’m painfully hard now.
Damn those conniving—theyknew.
This is Slate’s most devious plan yet. Bring her here, introduce her to my mother—the one other woman in the world whose opinion matters to me—then, as the death blow, spring her plugged ass at me.
“Let me see.” The words rip from my mouth before I can take them back.
Darcy stops fidgeting with her hair, her hands dropping to the hem of her skirt as if she’s honestly considering it.
Then come the six little words that spell my doom.
“Aren’t you going to ask nicely?”
When she meets my eyes this time, the spark in her own eyes tells me she knows exactly what those words do to me.
“Wanna say that again?” I ask, wondering how far she’s willing to sass me.
She opens her mouth, but I don’t give her a chance to follow through.
A second later, she’s bent over the bed, her blonde locks wrapped around my fist as I flip the pleats of her skirt out of my way and expose…
“Holy mother of—” I cut myself off with a groan. “I’m going to kill them.”
She’s wearing a garter belt. A garter belt and a tiny black thong that does nothing to disguise the pink gem winking from between her cheeks. She’s so wet, she’s glistening. I trace my shaking finger through the silken folds of her cunt before I can help myself.
“Prophet,” she moans, her ass rising back, begging me for more.
I flick the plug in reprimand, and she gasps again.
“Stay still,” I warn. “Or I’ll spank your ass.”
I might do it, anyway, just to watch it turn a pretty shade of pink beneath my palm. She deserves it for being a brat.
