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Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)(77)

By:L. J. Shen


“Come on, doll,” she prompted. “My grandchildren need their nana’s shortbread. They don’t like the stuff you buy at the grocery store. We all know it’s crap.”

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?” I frowned. The answer was obvious, but I knew she mistakenly assumed he’d be nicer to me.

“Please?” She was sitting in her chair, clasping her hands together, her eyes begging me from behind her thick reading glasses. “I just want to see the smile on their faces when I surprise them. Their mother is going through a nasty divorce right now. They’re really looking forward to this dinner with me.”

I remembered long ago Christmases where I’d baked with my own grandmother.

“Fine. I will, when he finishes his call.”

Patty turned her computer screen around for me to see. It was already three o’clock. “I’m not going to beat rush hour as it is. The subway will be packed. Please,” she said again.

I heaved a sigh and approached Vicious’s office on heavy feet, like I was on death row. I knocked on the door, and he turned to scowl at me, which I figured was his version of an invitation to come in. Despite the fact we had just had sex against the very door that now divided us, I didn’t feel comfortable walking into his domain. He was still talking on the phone, his hands on his waist, oozing power and manhood.

I reluctantly walked in.

“Well, did she steal your dick while you were asleep?” Vicious spat into the phone, motioning for me to take a seat in front of him with his finger.

I obliged, throwing a look behind my shoulder and seeing Patty toss her hands in the air, exasperated.

“No,” I heard a male voice grumbling from the intercom.

“Did she rape you?” he continued, his face twisting impatiently.

“Well…no.” The guy he was talking to sighed.

“Did she milk your cock with a juicer, slip your balls into her purse, steal your semen, and run away?”

“No, no, no!” the guy shouted, annoyed.

“Then I’m sorry, Trent, but she didn’t trick you into shit. You willingly fucked her without a condom, and now she’s fucking you legally. I know it’s not what you wanna hear, bro, but if the baby is yours, you’re done.”

My heart pumped hard in my chest. Trent had gotten someone pregnant, and apparently he wasn’t too happy about it. Vicious glanced at me before punching a remote. The blinds in his office automatically closed and the room darkened.

Crap. Patty probably wanted to kill both of us.

I opened my mouth to tell him why I came in, but he waved me off.

“She wants five hundred thousand dollars to get an abortion,” Trent grumbled.

My mouth almost fell to the floor, and Vicious walked around his desk, tilting my chin up and pressing my lips together with a wink. He didn’t seem too worried about his friend.

“Well,” Vicious said. “I’m not the guy for moral advice, but everything about this offer screams fuck no to me.”

“I can afford it,” Trent said, but he groaned.

“I know.” Vicious placed one of his knees between my thighs and spread them apart, bending down to where I sat, and fingering the hem of my dress, watching my panties intently, like he’d never seen them before. “Question is—do you want to?”

“What, you think I should let her have the baby? Should I remind you that she’s a stripper with a weakness for coke?” Trent sounded like he was seething.

Vicious flipped my dress up completely, exposing my panties, and lowered himself so his face was pressed against my sex. My hands squeezed the armrest of the chair as he inhaled deeply with a wolfish grin and kissed my underwear.

“Sounds like a catch.” He bit my clit gently through my boyfriend shorts and slowly dragged his teeth across me, his hooded eyes on me the whole time, watching me squirm in pleasure. “So what did you call me for, exactly?”

He was losing his interest in Trent’s problems, his attention shifting to the spot between my legs.

“Legal advice.”

“I’m not a family law attorney, but my best advice to you as a friend is to use a condom next time and try fucking chicks who are more or less in your tax bracket. Best way to avoid getting dragged into baby-mama drama. Now, excuse me, but my snack for the afternoon has just arrived. Merry Christmas, bro.” With this, he snaked his hand behind him to his desk, lifted the receiver of his office phone and slammed it, his head moving back between my legs.

“I’m not in your tax bracket.” My brows raised and curved.

He flashed me a devilish grin. “You hate me too much to ever want to have my baby. There’s no better contraception than a woman who wants nothing to do with your sperm.”