Page 40 of Virtuous Lies

“If you don’t want to share a bed,” I murmur. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his forehead creased. “It’s not that. I don’t sleep much.”

“But youdosleep,” I argue softly.

“I’m not a vampire if that’s what you’re asking.”

I roll my eyes. “You gained access to my bedroom without an invitation.” I lean against the doorframe. “So I gathered that much.”

His tongue brushes over his canines. “You don’t own the house,dolcezza. Your father does.”

“I thought you were convincing me youweren’ta vampire.”

“I’ll drink your blood if you haven’t matured past yourTwilightfantasies.”

“You know, I don’t even think you’re joking.”

He laughs lightly. “I’m not.”

I lose myself in the thought of bleeding on Vincent’s tongue. Concerned for my mental well-being at how much the image of his teeth stained red makes him murderously attractive.

His phone rings, and he looks at the outdated cell, breaking the bind of my fantasy.

He hits a button, sitting back in his chair lazily. “Enzo.”

“Your wife killed you yet?” There is a camaraderie in the way Enzo and Vincent interact. They’re notrelated, but they’re very rarely apart. I recall the scandal following Giorgio Caruso’s death. Hand forced to the throne earlier than expected, the family anticipated Vincent would be appointed the position of second-in-command, or at the very least, consigliere. When he was overlooked for both, whispers of a falling out fluttered their way through the ranks. No one ever really knewwhyLorenzo chose Leo and Roberto over Vincent, but my assumption is that the decision was likely made between the two of them.

Vincent smirks up at me, beckoning me over with two fingers.

“Close,” Vincent rasps.

I move toward him slowly, unsure of the situation. Vincent is on the phone with his boss, a conversation I shouldn’t be privy to, yet he beckons me closer.

“You fucked her yet?”

Vincent growls, the sound unfurling deep in his throat. “Don’t fucking speak about my wife like that.”

Lorenzo laughs. “Touchy. I’m still intrigued as to why you asked for her to be yours. You could have had your pick.”

My feet pause mere steps away, brows furrowed.

You asked for her to be yours.

“I took my pick.” Vincent doesn’t look away when he speaks.

His large hands rub along his thighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. My eyes drop to his crotch of their own accord, and there is no missing the thick bulge constrained to his pants.

Vincent is turned on, and I want nothing more than to please him.

I step forward, close enough for my husband to reach me. Linking his fingers through the tie of my robe, he pulls me closer still.

Eyes closed, he skates his nose along the silk covering my breasts, breathing me in.

My heart flutters against my breastbone at the open show of intimacy.

He looks up at me, eyes darkening with lust, lids hooded. He looks dangerous, and I’d give everything for him to destroy me.

“You’re my undoing,” he whispers, low enough that Lorenzo can’t hear.

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