Page 118 of Bad Bishop

“What can be done about that?” Vello asked, while Lila artfully dropped her own fork. She bent to get it, grinding her pussy along my dick through our clothes.

My pulse drummed across the side of my neck.

I was very close to losing our little game.

Too bad I never lost, and an eighteen-year-old girl—no matter how pretty, how enticing, how good with a needle, a pistol, acock—couldn’t change that.

“Not much.” Wolfe sat back, not an ounce of apology in his voice. He was playing with a lock of his wife’s brunette hair, and it sickened me, how other men pretended other women were attractive when my wife was in the room. “Have you tried pest control?”

He meant, of course, people like Brennan. Former fixers, sometimes dirty feds, whose sole job now was working for the likes of Vello and myself to ensure our places weren’t bugged.

“I did. They’re all useless.” Vello picked up his wine glass, staring into the crimson liquid. “I rather hoped you could…”

Wolfe tilted an eyebrow.

“Exterminatethe type of insect plaguing my house.”

Wolfe’s mouth pinched in barely contained amusement.

“While history rewards high-risk presidents, I’m not dumb enough to test that theory by telling the head of the FBI how to conduct his business,” Keaton said outright.

Luca gave the president a flat stare. “Throw us a bone here.”

“You’re asking for an entire damn skeleton,” Wolfe’s lilt sharpened like a knife’s edge.

His wife put her hand on his. His expression softened immediately.

“Iwill, however, suggest you look into a different couch in the drawing room,” Wolfe’s voice dropped an octave. “The current one doesn’t complement the curtains. And maybe freshen up all those chess pieces in your office.”

A satisfied smile pulled at the don’s lips. “What excellent suggestions. Our place could use a little facelift.”

“You’d need to burn the entire motherfucking house, and it’d still be distasteful,” I muttered into my drink.

Brennan choked on a bite of his rare steak. Wolfe caught my eye, smirking.

“And you, Tiernan?” The president splayed his fingers over the pristine white tablecloth. “How’s married life treating you?”

“I’ve had worse ventures.”

“What a glowing endorsement.” Keaton grinned. “You know, it’s not all bad once one yields to their emotions.”

Lila had her back to me when I smiled, moving a hand over her magnificent hair. “Oh, I’m not one for pesky feelings. My wife is, at the best of times, a harmless hobby.”

Chiara’s fork clanked across her plate noisily.

Her chair scraped across the floor.

Vello reached for her shoulder, signaling her to stay put. She sat back, sending him a death glare.

I wondered when she’d pull the trigger and finally poison him.

I hoped it was tonight. The birthday dinner could use some entertainment.

More food rushed to the dining table. Everyone was in a festive mood. Not me, though. I was laser-focused on Lila, who was still dry-humping me to oblivion. Determined not to let herhave the last laugh, I pretended not to care, eating, drinking, and carrying on a dull conversation with Sam, Achilles, and Keaton.

The issue started when Lila found a rhythm that teased my length and crown just enough to mimic fucking to put me on the fast lane to a climax.

It was the way she rubbed her hips together over my cock that made it impossible not to come in my pants. My jaw flexed as I painfully bit down on a groan.