Allison
I stare at the ceiling and try to remember the last time I spoke with Riker Corgan.
It was probably at some industry thing, a party or a charity auction or something like that. But I can’t seem to recall exactly when.
Which is terrible. The man’s dead-at least partially because of me-and I can’t even recall what we last spoke about.
Probably some inconsequential nothing.
He was a business rival, but he was still a man. Now he’s gone, murdered horrifically for selling to my husband.
Sleep won’t come. It’s the middle of the night, a little past ten. My purple bed doesn’t seem funny anymore now that the reality of my situation’s become clear. Dead bodies, headless corpses, murdered businessmen. Corgan wasn’t exactly a saint, but he also didn’t deserve to get mutilated.
“You can’t sleep.” Gregory’s voice drifts in from his side of the bed.
I try not to look at him. I swear, he must hear my heart racing. “It was a stressful day.”
“You’re not used to this. I understand.”
“You do? Doesn’t this bother you at all?”
“Not exactly, no.” He’s breathing steadily and slowly. “It’s what I do.”
“How can you live this way?” I turn to look at him. He’s staring back at me, his eyes glinting in the half-light. “With all this violence?”
“I was born in this world.” His voice is soft. Smooth. Velvety. “My family taught me from a young age that life is both precious and cheap, and we have enough money to pay for whatever we want. Murder, arson, whatever you can imagine, we can make it happen. I knew Corgan was in danger when he accepted my offer, but I hoped he’d get away before Paul made a move.”
“Did he understand how bad it could get?”
“I assume so.” He shifts slightly, looking at me. “Why do you care so much about that man? He’s nothing to you.”
I let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “It’s not that I care about him, it’s more that… someone I know got their head cut off, and I’m partially responsible.”
“More people are going to die. You knew that coming into this. And you are not responsible.”
“I know. I know. Freya’s dead because of Paul. Now Corgan. That monster won’t stop until we make him. It’s just…” I trail off, not sure what to say. “If I hadn’t married you, would any of this happened? Corgan might still be alive.”
I value human life for its own sake. I can see Gregory’s been jaded by his worldview, by his family and everything that comes along with growing up inside of a notorious and powerful criminal organization, but I’m not there yet. People still matter to me.
I’m not sure they matter to Gregory.
“You didn’t do this,” he whispers. “Corgan understood the risks. This was Paul’s decision.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still… I feel sick over it. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“I like that,” he says, shifting closer.
“You like… what?” I stare at him. This man has to be crazier than I realized.
“I like that you care about Corgan. I’m surprised it’s affecting you so much, but I like it.”
“That’s so bizarre.” I rub the bridge of my nose.
“I find it attractive. You still want to save people.”
“You find it attractive that I have basic human emotions?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Is that strange?”
“Uh, yeah, extremely.”
“You’re still soft. You’re unspoiled.”
“I really don’t like it when you compare me to old milk.”
“You know what I’m saying.” He shifts closer again. There’s not much room between us. I could move, but I don’t. Instead, I relish his heat, the warmth of him. Part of me wants him closer. “My experiences have left me hardened, but it’s nice to have something so… soft in my bed.”
“Now I have a feeling you’re not talking about emotions anymore.”
“I’m talking about my wife.” His hand brushes up my flank in the darkness, moving up the back of my hand, up my arm, toward my cheek. “You’re stressed.”
“Can you blame me?” I lean into his touch. “You’re right. I’m not used to this. When I married you, I was just…”
“Filled with righteous anger. You wanted revenge.”
“I still do.”
“Only reality is much harsher than you pictured.”
“A man’s dead, Gregory. An innocent man.”
“Dead, yes. Innocent? I don’t know about that.” He moves closer. Now he’s pressed against me. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know.” I close my eyes, breathing fast. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do.”
“I can do a lot of things, my wife. I am a man of many talents. I’m here in the darkness of our marriage bed, begging you to let me give you what you need. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I need…” I trail off, turning to look at him. “I don’t know what I need.”
“Let me help.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against my neck. Fuck, that’s so goddamn sexy. The strange pleading, his firm body covered only by a thin t-shirt. “Let me make you feel better.”
This can’t happen.
Sex with this man is only going to make everything more complicated.
But on a night like this when I feel like the world is on the edge of tipping over into something awful, I can’t help myself. He’s offering me an escape.
No, he’s offering something better, and I want to take him up on it.
I want him.
As terrible as he might be, and as painful as this entanglement might become, I want him.
“Kiss me,” I whisper into the darkness, knowing full well what’s going to happen next and inviting that sweet disaster to take me.
His lips taste like mint and whiskey. I drink him in as he presses me down into the bed, his hands roaming my body, over my breasts, between my legs. I’m whimpering into his mouth, his tongue lapping against mine, my back arching into his muscular chest. My top comes off as his lips find my nipples, sucking and licking them, biting down gently. They’re so stiff it feels like they might crack. My heart’s racing and heat’s pooling between my legs like wildfire.
“I meant it when I said I’d give you anything,” he whispers as he slowly takes off my shorts and my panties. Soon, I’m naked, and he’s in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, barely holding back his stiff cock. “Whatever you asked me for, I’d give it to you.” He kisses me, grinding himself between my legs before moving down my body. He tastes me like he can’t help himself.