“I need you, Colin. Please,” she moans out in between kisses.
Not one for delaying gratification, I pull her legs up to cradle around my waist, unleashing my cock from my jeans and then thrusting it deep inside her in one brutal push.
“ARGH!” she shouts, making me clasp my hand over her mouth.
My eyes are on hers as I pound into her pussy like a man gone mad.
And God help me, I think I might have.
“This. I can never have enough of this. You’ve ruined me, sweet rose. All I dream about now is having this pussy clench around my cock,” I groan in her ear, her muffled moans getting louder. “And then you go and tell a fucking monster like me how beautiful I am? Don’t you know what you do to me? Can’t you see how much you’re under my skin?”
Her hooded gaze grows wild with heat as she claws at my shoulders, needing me to pound my love inside her until she can’t walk without feeling me in between her thighs. I capture her lips in mine again as my hand travels in between us to play with her clit. I know Rosa well enough that a few well-placed strokes to it, as my cock impales her pussy, is enough to push her over the edge. It only takes a few moments after that for her to cry her release, making me cum right after her. My heart is still jackhammering in my ribcage when Rosa starts blinking fresh new tears from her eyes.
“What have we done?” she mumbles to herself more than to me, as I place her feet back on solid ground.
With those bleak words hanging in the air between us, I realize the repercussions my actions might have if Tiernan ever finds out.
My boss might take offense to me fucking Rosa raw without his say so.
In fact, I know he will.
Because if the roles were reversed, I’d kill him for it.
And that is a whole problem all on its own.
Chapter 18
Tiernan
My nights have become almost as unbearable as my days.
As inconceivable as it may seem, I used to be like those fortunate people who, no matter how many sins I had committed during the day, the minute my head hit the pillow, sleep would take me under, and the sweet darkness of slumber would welcome me with open arms.
That doesn’t happen anymore.
If I sleep a full two hours straight, it’s a miracle.
Most of my nights consist of me twisting and turning in bed, or staring at the ceiling above me, until daylight shines through my window curtains, its glowing rays taunting me that my torment is only going to get worse as the day unfolds.
For the past month, every day has been the same.
I get up and take a shower, always going to great pains not to look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t need the visual aid to know there are dark circles under my eyes and that those same eyes hold little life to them anymore.
I then rush towards Donavan’s gym to get a workout in, praying that some cocky soldier of mine has mustered the nerve to bait me into a fight and is brave enough to face me in the ring. I relish in the pain of every jab and punch they punish my body with, needing the physical agony to overshadow the blistering ache living and breathing inside my tormented soul. A silent war is taking place in the confinements of my black heart, and every wound I suffer screams to be acknowledged. It demands that something or someone pull the misery out into existence and let the outside world bear witness to how mangled and bruised I truly am on the inside.
So, I stand in the center of the ring and let my men do their worst. If they’ve done a proper job of it, I even let them win the fight.
For them, it’s a morale boost.
For me, it’s a show of my gratitude.
Because it’s in this small window of my day that I’m no longer a lie.
My broken, abused body is now a perfect reflection of my blackened marred soul.
Unfortunately for me, that’s the highlight of my day.
After that moment of truth, everything goes to shit.
I go into the office, take my second shower of the day, and put on a suit that I despise. Once I’m wearing the lie the world expects of me, my autopilot kicks in, and I waste the morning growing the empire my father left me. But even as I’m on the phone with the Deputy Commissioner requesting a little extra every month so his boys in blue can turn a blind eye to my other business ventures, I zone him out. All because I can physically feel the seconds pass by through every limb, the infernal ring of a ticking clock in my ear telling me that soon it will be noon.
And once the clock strikes twelve, my hell begins.
My town car waits to take me back to The Avalon, only instead of going home when I arrive, I get out on the ninth floor and walk the small distance to the empty apartment where my brother, cousin, and wife are waiting for me.