Page 29 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

nineteen

MACE

The freezing spray of the shower isn’t enough to cool me down.

My cock is rock hard in my hand, and I wrap my fingers around it, jerking off while picturing Cassia taking every inch.

Imagining the pretty sounds she’d make as I drove into her.

The way her full tits would bounce. How her plush stomach would feel against my muscles.

The way her thick thighs would wrap around me.

Or if I took her from behind, the way that juicy ass would jiggle with each thrust.

I imagine pumping her full of cum, filling her up with my seed and staying locked that way until one manages to take.

She’s too fucking tempting, but she’s mine and that’s all that matters.

She’s dancing around her desire. One minute, she’s ready to embrace it, and the next, she’s retreating. But the truth is there.

In the ring, I know when my opponent is about to drop, to admit defeat, and Cassia is nearly swaying on her feet. A few pointed nudges will have her falling into my bed, and once she’s there, I’m not letting her leave .

That cinnamon red hair will spill across my pillows.

Those sassy fucking lips will part.

And when I’m finished with her, she’ll beg to come, screaming my name in frustration. Maybe even raking her nails across my back. Then, when she’s at her most desperate, I’ll give her exactly what she wants.

My fist is tight against my length as I stroke myself. I bet her cunt is perfect. Fucking tight. Soft. Warm. A perfect place for my cum.

My knees weaken as my length pulses. I slap my other hand to the wall, locking my legs and powering through, biting my cheek to keep from shouting with my release. As threads of my cum paint the tile, I wish it was Cassia’s tits instead. Or any part of her body, really.

I’m so fucking gone for my wife, and she has no idea.

Showered and dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a button-up shirt that nearly matches the color of Cassia’s dress, I step out of the bedroom, eyebrows lifting when I see she’s waiting for me, hands resting on the banister behind her.

Is this a taunt?

Her ankles are crossed, and the slit in the skirt of her dress parts, flashing skin I want to see red from the impression of my teeth. Cassia tips her head, rich red hair brushing along her shoulder as she exposes the column of her neck. Her eyes glitter with knowing.

My fucking gorgeous tease of a wife thinks she has me.

She’s still playing a game I’ve already won.

My ring is on her finger; as of a few days ago, her last name is mine; and best of all, despite how hard she tries to deny it, she wants me. It’s my job to make her realize how much.

As I take a step toward her, I swear I see her pulse jump. Letting my gaze pointedly rove over her, I take in every curvy inch of her. From thick thighs, wide hips and soft stomach, over the generous curve of her boobs, and the neck that’s begging to be bitten.

Another three steps and I’m in front of her. She cranes her neck, gazing up at me through thick eyelashes that frame those icy blue eyes. Burying my fingers in her hair, gripping tight, I lower my face until our lips are inches apart and bump my nose with hers.

“Playing games?”

“No,” she says, breathless at my proximity.

Humming, I drop my mouth to her throat, grabbing a handful of her ass as I trace a circle around her hammering pulse with my tongue.

She’s a filthy liar. I bite her, earning a tiny gasp of surprise, which I soothe away with another swipe of my tongue.

Her hands grasp at my shirt. Shit. I’m already hard again and the reason is clinging to my body.

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you,” I confess against her skin with a groan.

“Dinner,” she squeaks.

She’s looking for an escape. Knowing that my mom planned this out and has my dad waiting is the only reason I give her one. If we skip dinner, he’ll be pissed, and I won’t give him a reason to be mad at Mom.

With inhuman restraint, I pull away from her body, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing her again. Her eyes are big and round. I wonder if they’d be that big with my cock down her throat. I adjust myself, and her focus drops to my crotch .

“You’re going to have to stop looking at me like that if you want to go to dinner.”

The red of her cheeks deepens as she glances away, pushing off the banister. “We should go or we’ll be late.”

I gesture her forward. “Ladies first.” Some might say I’m being a gentleman, but if they saw the way my eyes immediately find her hips, how they practically tease me with what she might look like pregnant, or the visions of her writhing beneath me in my head, they’d know better. This is all self-serving.

“Stop staring at my ass.”

“No.”

She tosses a haughty glare over her shoulder.

That spark of hers is addictive.

I force my thoughts on all the stress that came with this week, letting the unnecessary pissing contest kill my erection and douse the desire burning through me.

Dad felt disrespected by Issac Renolds and decided the best way to recover was to forcefully take over the company and call it a merger. It was a slaughter and we all know it.

Cassia is silent and contemplative beside me on the walk from our house to the main one, and I let her have her space. There’s only so far you can push someone who feels cornered. She needs time to breathe.

Dinner with my parents is the last thing I want to do, but Mom insisted, and I don’t want to disappoint her. I want her to get to know Cassia. To know that I’ll be a good husband.

I lead Cassia up the steps, jaw tight, and push through the front door.

The main house is a larger version of mine.

Sometimes I take the opulence for granted, but Cassia stops, jaw dropping as she experiences the mansion for the first time.

I wait, watching her eyes drink in every detail, only a little jealous that something else has her eyes widening in wonder.

“Finally,” Melody mutters, meandering into the foyer. “Mom thought you might not come.” My sister stares at me in warning. Don’t piss Dad off tonight. “Hey, Cassia,” she tells my wife, brightening. “Do you want a drink? Mace stole mine last time so he doesn’t get one.”

The slight glaze to my sister’s eyes has me wondering if she hasn’t already had a glass. She catches my frown but quickly averts her gaze.

Cassia glances at me for guidance.

I shrug. “Your choice.”

She nods. “Right. Sure, I’ll have a glass, but only one.”

Melody chatters away as we follow her to the full bar right outside the kitchen.

Cassia takes a seat, subtly flicking her gaze around while she fidgets with her dress.

She’s nervous. Probably thinking she doesn’t fit in, but to me, she fits in wherever she goes.

The rest of the world should worry about whether or not they deserve to breathe the same air.

Capturing her hand, I smooth my thumb over the back of it, tracing soothing circles.

“I’m thinking about a spring break in the Med,” Melody shares as she opens a bottle of wine.

Cassia’s searching gaze seers into the side of my face.

After her anxiety attack the other day, I did a little reading. Though nothing I say will really help her feel better, I can at least let her know she’s not alone, providing whatever support she needs.

“And who would go with you?” I ask.

Melody places Cassia’s goblet in front of her, then looks at me. “Adalie?—”

Cassia’s hand softens in mine. I squeeze her palm and continue making the outline of a circle over her skin. “Adalie is only nineteen.”

“And not an idiot,” Melody grumbles. “She’s not as soft as you think she is. Besides, wouldn’t you rather have me corrupt her than some rando?”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“Don’t pull that manly bullshit. We can handle ourselves, and we can take Tony. He’s a good guy, you know? He could shoot any guy who tries to take it too far.”

I scrub my hand over my face. There are so many things wrong with what she just said.

For one, Tony isn’t going with them, because I need him for Cassia.

Zac, on the other hand, he knows how to discard a body.

The bigger issue is Melody believes a bodyguard would protect the both of them from heartbreak, and she’s wrong.

Melody would probably be okay, but Adalie is softer.

“What does Mom think?”

Melody crosses her arms. “She thought it would be a great way for Adalie to get out of the house.”

My hackles rise. “Why does she need to get out of the house?”

My sister focuses on Cassia. “I love your hair.”

“Oh, thanks,” Cassia says with a laugh. “I do it myself.” The admission is laced with an apologetic tone.

“Melody.”

She ignores me and rests her forearms on the bar top. “Ugh, and you’re cool. If I tried to dye my hair, I’d definitely mess it up. Have you ever been to the Med?”

“Mel.”

Cassia glances between the two of us, a hard line between her eyebrows. “Uh, no. I’ve never been.”

“Oh, Mace! You have to take her. It’s so beautiful, you’d?— ”

“Dammit, Melody,” I growl. “Answer me.”

She recoils and glares at me. “Sorry, I thought you were smart enough not to ask stupid questions.”

My spine stiffens. Neither of my sisters realizes there’s more than one thing I’m trying to protect them from.

I’ve done a shit job of shielding them from how Dad treats Mom.

Now that I’m married, there should be no reason for me to worry about Dad marrying them off.

If this last week showed me anything, though, it’s that Dad is still power drunk.

He wants more. Aligning our family with the mafia in a formal arrangement would expand his empire.

He’s conquered the tech world, why not the criminal world?

Acid in my veins, I take a steadying breath and ask the question I don’t want to know the answer to. “What’s he done?”

Cassia’s thumb smooths over my hand, and I realize I’ve stopped comforting her in my irritation.