“Pain,” she whispers.
I press my lips to hers, take her lower lip between my teeth and tug gently before swiping my tongue over the sting easing the ache.
“Just pleasure,” my words whisper across her lips, reassuring her, reminding her where there is pain there is pleasure. For she is the one who showed me—wherever there was pain in my life, she came and brought me pleasure.
Her legs wrap around me as I move my hips back and slam forcefully and deeply inside her, touching her in places she didn’t even know existed. Hearing her gasp, I pause, gathering whatever control I have left and give her a moment to adjust to having me completely invade her. Her heels dig into my ass as her body arches. Her ass slides to the edge of the desk, urging me to continue, to stretch and fill her, to fuck her hard and deep, to rewrite the first time I had her on this desk and feel her come all over my cock.
Sweat drips from my forehead onto her shoulder as I work my hips, gliding my cock in and out of her tight pussy. I struggle to control my rhythm but she makes it hard, clawing at my skin, grinding herself against me, desperate for the high I’m going to give her. There are no words spoken between us, the only sounds are our ragged breaths and the slap of skin on skin.
“Give it to me, Blackie,” she cries, grabbing my face. She peers at me through hooded eyes, through the hair that hangs wildly over my eyes, finds my soul and soothes it like only she can.
One look.
That’s all it takes for her to take the reins and make me hers.
I thumb her clit, stroke it to the beat of our song playing inside my head, ringing in my ears.
Knew with you to light my night.
Somehow I’d get by.
“Get it, girl,” I ground out, thrusting myself as deep as I can, watching in awe as she throws her head back. My name sounds like a prayer when it escapes her lips.
“So fucking pretty,” I murmur as I push deeper, her body clenches all around me and I lose myself buried deep inside the sweet nirvana that is Lace.
Pleasure blinds me as I chase the high she brings, dragging me to bliss—a peaceful place where she’s all I need in this world to get by.
A place I never want to leave.
A place where nothing else matters.
Not even mayhem.
Not even the reaper.
Chapter Thirty
“This is Ben Lithmore, and I am live in front of Bennettsville prison where a riot has broken out resulting in the prison being placed on lockdown. We have just received word that two of New York’s most notorious criminals were recently transferred to Bennettsville. Convicted mob boss, Victor Pastore, and gang leader, Thomas ‘the G-Man’ Gregorio, both serving life sentences are inside the prison. We learned earlier that Pastore has been suffering from cancer and was transferred here to Bennettsville for medical purposes. There is no information on why the G-Man was transferred or his condition at this time. There are reports that several inmates and correctional officers have sustained injuries and at least two fatalities. At this time, we have no confirmation of bodies.”
“Shut it off,” Grace demands, her tear stained face frozen as she stares at the television.
I walk over to the television, bend down and power it off before rising and glancing around Vic and Grace’s living room. My mother-in-law continues to stare at the blank screen in shock. Watching the usual poise my mother-in-law portrays diminish from her was torturous and nerve-racking all at the same time.
She knew about the transfer, she knew what her husband was going to do, we all did, but none of us expected this. I figured it would be quiet, like when he whacked Jimmy inside Otisville, not a fucking media frenzy. I didn’t think we’d be sitting here watching the news waiting for a reporter to declare him dead or alive.
Grace stood, but before she could make a move, Nikki stood in front of her and grabbed her hands.
“Let go,” Grace orders. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Nikki argues as Adrianna walks into the living room with the phone glued to her ear.
“Okay, thank you,” she says before disconnecting the call. “That was daddy’s lawyer,” she announces to the room. “He still hasn’t heard anything, but he promises to call as soon as he does.”
“So what’re we supposed to do until then? Sit here like a bunch of idiots waiting for some stiff in a suit to call us and let us know if we call the funeral home or not?” Gina shouts.
“You really think that’s helping?” Mike fires back.
“Nothing is helping! We’re sitting here while the media plays games with us,” she argues back. “My ninety-five-year-old mother has to watch this shit and wonder if her son is dead.”
“Take her upstairs if it’s too much for you people,” Nikki sneers.