She kisses my lips in response before nestling into my chest like a sleepy cat. My lips are in her hair, and I wrap both arms around her body, refusing to let her go.
I could make Ally happy. I could fill that void that’d be left from being extricated from the upper crust. But then what? What would that mean for my business? My reputation? Would I be exposing myself and reigniting the witch hunt that led me out to my lonely desert years ago?
I feel her breaths growing deeper and heavier, so I let my own tired eyes slip closed. “Please don’t leave me, angel,” I whisper, somewhere on the edges of sleep and the most beautiful dream. “I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”
DRESSED ONLY IN soft, flannel pants, I pad out to the kitchen, led by the scents of bacon, eggs and toast. And coffee. Oh, sweet, wonderful coffee.
A hot breakfast and fresh coffee would be enough to make most men salivate, but the sight of Ally fluttering around in one of my prep school sweatshirts and nothing else, with a messy bun on top of her head, is just downright delectable. The thick, grey cotton is about five sizes too big for her and slips over a bare shoulder, exposing the top of her breast. I waste no time making my way over to cover that delicious patch of skin with my mouth.
“Good morning,” she smiles, her attention on the pan of fluffy, scrambled eggs on the stove.
“Morning. You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“I was sticky and hot, so I needed to shower. Plus, I was too hungry to sleep. We only had ice cream for dinner.” She turns her head and gives me a soft kiss.
“Speak for yourself. I ate more than that.”
A blush paints her cheeks, and I can’t resist kissing the one closest to me, feeling her skin heat under my lips. Soon, they’re trailing down her neck and to the sensitive area under her ear.
“Hey!” she squeals. “Some of us are working with scalding hot food here! Go sit down; your breakfast is just about ready. And your coffee’s on the counter.”
I give her bare ass a pinch before doing as I’m told.
“Oh, today’s paper was on the counter when I came out here. I hope whoever brought it in didn’t peek in on us. Holy shit, could you imagine?”
“Nah. My people aren’t like that,” I say sipping my brew. I push aside the Arizona Republic and pick up the New York Post, thankful that it’s still neatly folded. Ally didn’t read it.
I stop at the top story on Page Six, and blind rage has me seeing red. I can clearly read the headline—see his fake, solemn mug looking pathetic as fuck—but I can’t digest it. I can’t accept it. It’s a myth, a lie, like the fucking Easter Bunny or Santa Clause.
I read the story again, dissecting every word. It’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit. Evan was reeled in by his equally fucked up father, and was basically spoon-fed those manufactured lines of regret. He probably had the same song and dance memorized, considering he’s spewed the same rubbish more than once.
“Hey, can I get that after you’re done?” Ally asks, startling me from my murderous thoughts.
I look down at the paper in front of me. Evan looks so distraught, so remorseful. He looks exactly like a loving husband would when he’s missing his other half. “Sure,” I nod. Then, most unfortunately, the mug in my hand, the one I’m tipping to my lips, suddenly slips from my fingers, and drowns those blasphemous pages with hot coffee.
“Shit!” I hiss, jumping off my stool before the scalding liquid can hit my bare skin. I grab some napkins and sop up the mess, folding the ruined papers into a ball. Ally rushes over with a dishtowel just seconds after Evan’s face is marred beyond recognition.
“It’s ok,” she says, drying the countertop while I discard the mess. “I’ll get you another cup.”
“No,” I reply, coming up behind her. I kiss her neck, while my hands snake up the oversized sweatshirt that stops at the middle of her thighs. “You sit. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Evan may play a doting husband in front of the cameras, but I’m the one putting cream and sugar in Ally’s coffee. I’m the one serving her breakfast, even feeding it to her while her smooth, bare legs rest in my lap. And I’ll be the one spreading her body out on my kitchen breakfast bar and covering her swollen sex with mouth while she chants my name like a prayer.
Ally may be Evan’s by law, but she’s mine by nature. And in a battle between lions, no one gives a fuck about what’s lawful. It’s all brute strength, cunning and instinct. Three things I’ve utilized my entire life to survive.
WE’RE SITTING ON the couch, kissing like horny teenagers, while the TV plays in the background. Ally insisted she borrow a pair of boxers before sitting down, although I was more than happy to let her scent permeate the butter-soft leather.