“What did they do to deserve this?” I croaked, watching his finger playing with my strand of red hair.
“Billy killed my dad, a cold-hearted murder for money. McGregor told him where and when to find him, knowing his intentions. They took away the only thing I cared about.” His eyes dilated as he watched his index finger playing with my hair, his voice lost in thought. “They had to pay for their sins.”
“And you’re Boston’s God,” I finished softly.
I wanted to cry but was too stunned to do something so natural and instinctive. I shouldn’t have been surprised—the gossip warned about my husband all along—but I was. How did he live with the fact that he’d taken not one, but two lives? Then again, no one ever murdered my parent.
“Does it scare you, little lovebird?" he breathed into my ear, his huge body engulfing my small one, “To know that I’m capable of these things? I’m still on the lookout for the person who sent them to kill my dad, you know. I’m not done with my list.”
Troy let go of my hair, taking a small, yellow slip of paper out of his pocket, pressing it to my chest. I plucked it out of his hand and read it. Crupti and McGregor’s names were struck through. He didn’t know who the third person was. There was a question mark.
I dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Am I scared? No,” I said serenely. “Because I know you would never hurt me. Am I happy about what you’ve done? I’m disappointed. Playing God is immoral. Not to mention dangerous.”
His expression relaxed when he scanned my face, looking for a hint of fear or disgust. There was none. He was a monster, but he was my monster.
“A little bird told me my ex-fiancée paid you a visit a couple of days ago.” His lips were still parted. “Sparrow—”
He was going to say something more, but I didn’t want him to think that I was angry. Especially when I knew in my heart he wasn’t seeing her anymore.
“I don’t care.” I gave him a wicked smile. “As I said, this is just an arrangement, remember? Are you keeping your side of the deal? Is your dick inside your pants when you’re out of the house?”
The softness in his eyes turned dark and cold. “It is. Is your pussy still mine?”
“You bet,” I whispered.
“You’re a little fucked up, Sparrow. I like that.” He moved his hand up my arm and thrust me lightly toward the walk-in shower.
I stumbled back until my back hit the glass door, pushing it ajar. I stilled, staring at my husband, waiting to see what he’d do. He ducked his head down to meet my throat, biting and then sucking the pain away. His hot lips dove lower to my cleavage, but I dodged another bite by moving deeper into the shower until my back was flattened against the black ceramic tile.
“Nice try, pal, but I’m still disgusted with your confession.” My heart hammered against my chest like a woodpecker on speed.
“I’m not your pal.” He flashed his teeth, leaning forward and turning on the water behind me in one go. The showerhead sprayed cold water over my clothes, soaking me, and I gasped. “I’m your husband, and I’m going to do very marital things to you right now.”
There was no point resisting, and who the hell was dumb enough to say no to this anyway? He attacked my mouth again with his warm tongue, his suit-clad body pressing into mine. I got lost in his passionate kisses, found myself again in his little teasing bites and, at some point, despite the chill of the water, got hot on every stroke of his big hands. Troy groaned into my mouth, taking both of my wrists in one of his hands and placing them against the towel warmer above my head. He jerked loose his tie, and tied me to one of its bars, tight enough to stop me from breaking free but not so tight that it hurt.
“Jesus.” I dropped my head, watching the soft lighting from the ceiling blur out of focus and the cold water drops raining all over my body. My clothes were getting heavy and soggy, but I didn’t care. We were both fully clothed and dripping. “Daisy was right.”
“I bet she was.” He yanked my jeans down violently, but didn’t take the bait.
My underwear followed just as fast, leaving me bare and ready for him. Intoxicated with want. “She said the rumor is you like it kinky.”
His warm breath traveled between my breasts, and I trembled as his tongue brushed the valley between them.
“I like it interesting…” He dropped to his knees, his face disappearing between my thighs. He grabbed one of my knees and draped my leg over his broad shoulder. “I like it delicious…” he murmured into my pussy, his tongue, so incredibly warm in contrast to the freezing water, swirling in circles, hard and hungry.
Shockwaves ran through my veins like hot honey.
“I like it rough…” He grazed his teeth against my clit, up and down, up and down.
I moaned, trying to wriggle free when his tongue danced around my sensitive nerves, but the tie was tight against my wrists. My long hair stuck to my eyes and forehead, and I was barely able to see. I whipped my head sideways, but my hair still streamed in my face. He liked the fact that I couldn’t see shit. He liked me little, small, hopeless.
“But most of all, I like it with you…” His mouth continued its relentless motion.
“I’m close,” I panted. I was. And there was nothing I could do to ruin it. I felt the orgasm washing through me. Rocking back and forth, aroused to a point of insanity.
The faucet behind me turned slightly to the right, and the cold water suddenly ran warmer until it got hot. When he moved up to kiss me, I smiled. “I’d like to reciprocate.”
“Oh, you will.” He grabbed one of my thighs, holding my knee in the crook of his elbow.
He slammed into me hard and fast before I knew what was happening, and I gulped air. Shit, it was good. I was so full of Troy I thought I already was going to explode again.
“When did you have time to take off your pants?” I asked, laughing while he fucked me.
It was crazy, but with a few short, powerful thrusts, another orgasm was building inside of me, chasing the first one and threatening to tear me even harder apart. He grabbed one of my breasts through my wet shirt and pinched my nipple hard.
“Baby, oh…” I was moaning in a volume more suited to a heavy-metal concert, so he started swallowing my loud, happy sounds with dirty kisses, muffling my voice, his tongue fucking my mouth, his lips locked on mine. Toothy kisses, filthy kisses, hungry and desperate and wanting kisses. Kisses that were much, much more than kisses.
There was nothing gentle and romantic about it. He was banging the living hell out of me, screwing me so hard I could feel his cock pounding deep inside me. I felt my second orgasm rippling from the inside, rushing through me like a tsunami of warmth, when something sharp sliced the tie in two and my arms fell free without a warning. I almost dropped to the tiled floor, but Troy grabbed me by the elbow at the last minute, my knees just inches from the tile.
“Reciprocate,” I heard his sharp voice ordering, and immediately knew what he wanted me to do.
Bending down, I lowered my head to meet his cock, taking as much of it as I could in my mouth. My gag reflex was impossible to tame, but I held my breath and covered some of his shaft with my lips. I was still self-conscious about my blow-job technique, or lack of, but I didn’t need to be.
Before I had a chance to figure out what to do, he slammed into me, fucking my mouth. “Can I?” he asked.
I nodded, closing my eyes. I’d always thought it would feel degrading to go down on a man, but how could I with him, especially now when my wrists were still hurting after he ate me out and made me feel like I was the most delicious thing in the whole freaking world.
I felt him tense, spasm, and then the thick, warm liquid filled my mouth. I swallowed hard, a small shiver running through my body. Looking up, I saw the smile on his face when his head dropped back, his black hair dripping water on my face.
He stroked my hair twice with the hand that wasn’t holding his cock and sighed with pleasure. “Fuck,” he said.
Fuck, indeed.
Despite everything, Troy Brennan was human. And he was the worst kind, too—enchanting enough to get away with anything. Even murder.
We ate cold Chinese food and drank buckets of alcohol in front of the TV while I forced him to watch 10 Things I Hate About You with me. Well, he wasn’t really watching. More like answering emails on his phone, twirling my hair around his finger and occasionally rolling his eyes whenever Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles shared a romantic moment, but it was more domestic bliss than I’d had in my whole life combined. We lay on the carpet, him taking another sip of his Guinness, when I rolled into his chest, seeking his warmth.
“You don’t have to be so anti-love. You can learn a thing or two from rom-coms,” I said.
“I’m not anti-love.” He dove down to kiss my lips, his hot tongue flicking my lower lip sensually. “I’m anti-bullshit. I bet you good money that if a real life chick had a guy jumping on the bleachers, singing a love song for her in front of a bunch of pimply high school kids, she’d pretty much kill him.”
I laughed. “Wrong. I would love to hear you sing for me in front of high school kids.”