A SECRET SIN

8

“Leftovers sound perfect. Thanks, Dad.” I kissed his cheek, smiled warmly, and went in search of

food with a renewed energy in my step.

AN HOUR LATER, my stomach was no longer making angry noises, and I’d sprawled on my bed in my

comfiest set of sweats.

What. A. Day.

I’d learned that my uncle had killed his wife and kept my cousin under lock and key, lost my

virginity, found a place to live, and admitted to my father that I wanted to move out. Talk about getting

the ball rolling.

All in all, the day’s successes easily outweighed the setbacks. I wasn’t sure how to deal with

Bishop, but there would be time to figure that out. I had to sort my feelings on the matter first. He

wanted more from me, but that wasn’t a part of my plan.

Would more necessarily be so bad?

Knowing how Mafia men worked, it just might be. Would he want to keep me under his thumb like

my father tended to do? Dad was motivated by love, but I didn’t want to be coddled anymore, no

matter the reason. I wanted to make my own decisions and go where my heart led me. How was I

supposed to do that with a man hovering at my side?

And on top of it all, Bishop was Irish. What did I even know about the Irish? Not much. I’d never

given them much thought because the possibility of my involvement with them had been infinitesimal.

Would my father flip out if he knew? Things weren’t the same as when my grandparents were young,

but that didn’t mean my Mafia family would look kindly on me dating a member of a rival

organization. At least with Noemi’s marriage, we were now somewhat allied. In theory.

The lightness that had settled in my chest after talking to my dad thickened into a heavy mass.

Normally, I found optimism second nature, but uncertainty was a shadow blocking my sunshine. It was

hard to focus on the positives when my mind kept dwelling on questions surrounding Bishop.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a text from him appeared on my phone.

Bishop: I can still smell you on my sheets.

My grin couldn’t get any bigger. I wasn’t supposed to want his attention, but reminders of his dirty

words thrummed in my veins and heated my blood. The memory of how he made me feel sprouted

into a craving for more, insistent enough that I found myself typing a reply.

Me: I can still feel your hands on me.

I hit send, biting hard on my lower lip and praying my father didn’t monitor my messages. I

supposed if he did, he was in for a shock.

Bishop: You alone in your bedroom?

My heart did a full three sixty in my chest.

Me: Yes. Are you?

I had a feeling I knew where this was headed, and I also knew I shouldn’t encourage him, but I’d

never sexted before. If I wanted to try all the things, it would be counterproductive to pass up the

opportunity, right?

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang.

“Hello?” I was too on edge to answer with anything sultry or sophisticated.

“Get on the bed.” The commanding tone of his deep voice had my body moving without hesitation.

I clambered onto the bed and reclined on pillows propped against the headboard. Every nerve

ending in my body sang out a chorus of anticipation.

“And what about you?” I asked, craving a mental picture of my own.

“I’m in my office now, and I’m already so f*****g hard it hurts.”

I smiled in satisfaction. “Sitting at your desk?”

“Mmm … with you on my mind all goddamn day. I want you to slip your hand into your panties.

Don’t take them off, naughty kitten. This is a secret, just you, me, and that pretty pink p***y of yours.”

Jesus, his words did unholy things to my insides.

When my fingers slid between my folds, I was already drenched. A small gasp slipped past my

lips, drawing another groan from him.

“f**k, no matter how hard I grip my c**k, it’s no comparison to the way your p***y milked me

dry. You’re a goddamn wet dream.”

“Keep talking like that, and this won’t last very long.” I breathed shakily, half lost in my building

pleasure.

He grunted. “You’ve touched yourself before, but what about this? Has another man ever

controlled your body like this from a distance?” His voice took on a hard edge that made my heart

rate tick up a notch.

“No, this is another first for me.”

A masculine rumble of approval purred across the line. “Good. I want all your firsts, and there’s

so many to be had. f**k, kitten, just thinking about it has me on the edge.”

He wasn’t alone. I was so swept away that the full breadth of his comment didn’t register. My

breaths grew shallower as my hand quickened its pace, and a crescendo of sensation built into a

cataclysmic storm deep in my core.

“Don’t you come yet. Not until I say,” he ordered gruffly.

“But … but I’m so close,” I whimpered.

“Not until I say,” he commanded.

“Oh God. Bishop.”

“That’s it, baby. Bury your finger deep inside and think about how much better it’ll be when it’s

me filling you again.” With his voice in my ear, it was impossible not to imagine him there with me.

The feel of his body above me. The scent of his masculine cologne filling my lungs. The sting of his

teeth over my sensitive n****e.

“Bishop!” I cried.

“What a good little kitten. Come for me, and let me hear how good I make you feel.”

The most wanton, animalistic sound I’d ever made clawed its way from my throat as my orgasm

ripped through me.

“Oh f**k yes.” Bishop’s exquisite cry filtered to my ears from where I’d dropped the phone next

to me and given myself over to the ambrosia coursing through my veins. Nothing else existed outside

my euphoria. But after countless seconds, Bishop’s voice again drifted to my ears, gently tugging my

body back to earth.

“f**k, you’re nearly as hot over the phone as you are in person.”

God, I loved every word he said—like he had a direct line to my innermost desires.