Page 133 of Ruptured

“But—”

“I still didn’t hear one motherfucking thingyou’dget out of this.”

“Great sex.”

“I might not be a good fuck.”

“I think you are.”

He glared at her but she refused to back down. “So you’d basically be at my beck and call? For free.”

“I have a job,” she said with indignation and looked around pointedly. “Just give me a chance to show you how much you need me. I promise you’ll enjoy my company and fucking me. You can go as deep and as hard as you want to.” She bentand kissed his neck, then tugged his earlobe between her teeth, biting gently.

Closing his eyes and balling his fists, Mort stayed perfectly still, holding firmly to his dedication to Bailey and their marriage vows—no matter how badly he suddenly wanted to take Symphony up on her offer to find relief. Physically and emotionally. But, fuck, it would only be in that moment. Once he emptied his nuts, reality would set in and the guilt would eat him alive. No matter how deep his hurt went, his wife was going through a lot. Whether they ever reconciled, fucking another woman while they remained husband and wife, while she was at such an emotional crossroad wasn’t something Mort could ever do to her.

A part of him would always be in love with Bailey. He just wanted fairness and consideration from her.

Symphony kissed his jaw, close to his lips.

He pulled away. “I’m not betraying Bailey, Symphony.” He was no longer interested in advising her on what she should expect from a motherfucker she offered the world. “You want a roughneck? I’ll find you one.”

“The only other “roughneck” I’d want is CJ. I think he’s beautiful, too. But he’s younger than me. Underage. If he was eighteen, I’d be willing to pay for our dates until he got on his feet.”

Got on his fucking feet? If she only knew.

“We can’t be more different, me and CJ.”

“I wantedyoufirst,” she said, taking one of his locs and twisting it around her hand. “The first time I saw you dressed up in all that leather, I fell hard. You were so gorgeous.”

“I was in my leathers.” He didn’t know why he schooled her on club language.

She nodded. “In leather. That’s what I said.”

“No, baby. There’s a fucking difference. Leather for ordinary motherfuckers.Leathersmy club colors.”

“Okay,” she said, giving no indication if she understood. “I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle.”

Fuck, Prez was buying another fucking bike because he’d put Torie on the back of his. If Mort took Symphony for a spin, he couldn’t imagine what Bailey would demand. Or, perhaps, she’d finally start divorce proceedings.

“My heart belong to Bailey, Symphony,” Mort insisted, though legal separation had been crossing his mind more and more. “From the moment I met her, I couldn’t sleep with another woman. I told her I was, but it was because I was in denial. A mean motherfucker to a girl much younger than me.”

“You’re thinking about fucking me,” she pressed. “You need wet pussy throbbing around your big hard cock. You need to be deep inside a woman and hammer her over and over until your nuts throb and cum shoots out.”

The heat in her eyes was a Siren’s song, calling to him, luring him to put the final nail in his marriage.

Bailey’s face rose in his head. Her gorgeous eyes and all that dark hair on her head slipping through his fingers. His cock in her sweet mouth, in her hot pussy.

She wouldn’t let him touch her unless he agreed to try for another baby.

“I want you, Mort,” Symphony whispered. “I want my mouth all over you. Your hands all over me.”

As much as he wanted to accept her offer, he couldn’t. What about that didn’t she understand? He’d give her ‘A’ for effort to wear him down. If she knew how close he’d gotten to fucking her, she probably would’ve fucking stripped in the middle of the goddamn restaurant. “I can’t.” If she could reword pleading her case, he could switch his refusal.

“Because ofher?”

“That’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped. “Give her more fucking respect than my momentary lapse in judgment.”

She released his loc, and she glowered at him.