Page 2 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

Kathy lay peacefully on the wide circular sofa that faced the lake's most spectacular vista—multiple bays and seven islands stretching toward the horizon, green, like scattered emeralds.

She hadn't aged, not really. Silver threads of grey wove through her dark hair like moonlight, and tiny crow's feet appeared at the corners of her eyes when she laughed, but she remained as beautiful today as she had been every single day they'd spent together across the decades.

Carmelo eased closer, slowly, drinking in the sight of her relaxed form.

He settled onto the plush sofa beside her, the cushions wide enough for them both yet somehow never wide enough to contain the magnitude of what pulsed between them.

When he pulled her against him, feeling her curves melt into his chest, a wave of relief crashed over him so powerful it nearly undid him.

He pressed his lips to her shoulder and murmured her name like a prayer.

Kathy…

His mother had taken her own life. Eight months after that trauma, he'd seen Kathy again—been able to hold her, to confess only fragments of his truth.

Many nights across many years, he'd wished he could return to that reunion and bare his soul completely.

He wished he hadn't told the one lie that had driven him from her heart, creating the perfect opening for another man to slip in and claim what should have been his forever.

To touch her. To know her physically and spiritually.

To ease into her heart in place of him was unforgivable.

He hated Ely's ghost. He could never measure up to the memory of a war hero.

He hated her. He hated himself most of all.

He should have run the night he put that bullet in his father.

Should have fled straight to Mississippi, swept her up, and disappeared into whatever life they could have built together.

A few years later, she had betrayed him, yes—and he had punished her for it.

Oh, yes. But she was never a victim. She was an Elliott woman, fierce and strong, and unbreakable.

She was Henry Freeman's daughter, tough and made from grit like her Big Mama. He learned that, too.

Now, in what should have been the happiest time of their lives, he'd told another unforgivable lie. Tonight, he would have to confess and risk suffering the same devastating loss he'd endured years ago when her trust had shattered like crystal in his hands.

Could he survive losing her again? Would he?

Should he even try to keep her, knowing what he'd faced, what he'd done?

Should he?

Or should he let the Wolf of Harlem take over?

Lock her away, go after his daughter next.

Steal them from their lives, family, and identity.

Give them a new one. His baby girl, Sandra, would forgive him for his sins.

Of that, he was sure. But his Kathy? Her memory was as long as the Nile.

She’d never let him get away with it, unless he gave her no choice.

So, it was decided. No matter the punishment or consequence. He’d keep them both with him, always.

Breathing in her scent, memories crashed over him. The soft weight of her pussy when she rode his dick, the molten heat of her sex when he was inside of her, and his cock stretched, reached deep into her soul.

The plunge she took with her jezebel moves as her nails cut red stripes across his chest as she fucked him good, perfect in every way.

The rise and fall of her breasts, once small before childbirth, but perfectly perfect after, as she arched back in abandon, lost to everything but breath and sensation.

How her nipples swelled to the size of grapes when her neck stretched and her head dipped further back, and breathing was a labored chore for them both.

The way their lovemaking stripped him bare of pretense, quieted the chaos in his mind, and anchored him to something real.

Something sane. Their bodies had always spoken truths their words couldn't manage.

His hands began to undo the tie to her cover-up.

She stirred. His palm eased down to her bikini bottom.

She moaned. His middle finger slid through the hairs over her pussy to slide between the plump lips of her sex and touch the dewy love button at the hooded center.

She shuddered. Eyes opening. She moved to stop him.

He put a hand over her mouth to silence her and let his finger go in.

She struggled at first. Modest. Not wanting to be seen.

“Shhh… don’t fight me. They are right there. They’ll hear, they’ll see,” he whispered.

Her eyes stretched upward, and she peered at a few crew members inside, setting up what would be lunch for them.

If she made a noise, they could look their way and see her half-open robe, and his hand in her bikini bottom.

He pumped his finger in and out of her channel as his erection pressed hard and long against her butt. Kathy’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. He wanted her. More of her. All of her. Just in case this was the last time.

Kathy surrendered. She opened her eyes when he began to masturbate her clitoris with the precision only he could do to make her cream.

She stared at the workers, praying they would not look as she shuddered and kicked her feet, then her eyes fluttered shut again.

The new wave of heat and ecstasy crashed through her vagina up into her core all at once.

“Let me in,” he whispered and licked her ear.

She wanted to object, but he had her. There was no escape. If the ladies doing the cleaning looked over, she’d be mortified. She dared to open her eyes again.

They were gone.

She relaxed, and her bikini bottom was ripped off, and he was fucking her from behind. Surrender was her greatest reward.