Page 39 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)

Chapter thirty-four

Sinclair

I can’t stop thinking about it.

The cat. The estate. The scent-worn clothing. The feelings.

The image of Blackwell, a man who commands death with the flick of his wrist, carrying the cat carrier off that plane like he was carrying valuable goods to be illegally sold…it haunts me.

No one has ever gone that far for me.

And on top of all that, I know how his father is in poor health these days, and I feel bad for him.

Not for his father. No, no, no. His father is nothing to me.

But he’s someone to Blackwell, and the fact that it affects him, it affects me.

I’ve never thought twice about anything that does not directly affect me.

But I feel for Blackwell. The stress, the inevitable loss.

Something inside me wishes that I could do something to make it better. Like how he did for me with Blender.

To find his ‘cat’ and deliver it to him.

He hasn’t spoken to me since the day he brought home Blender. Not really, that is. He’s here, physically close to me, yet he feels miles away.

He continues to fall asleep in his office. I’ve peeked in on him, finding him passed out, shoulders tense, and brows furrowed like he’s bracing for an explosion. Scrunched up in a chair half his size.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding me, but why?

Is he pissed at me for trying to kill him?

Does he regret bringing me back?

Second-guessing it all? Me?

The questions echo louder the longer I go without answers, each one louder than the last, until it’s a full-blown cacophony inside my skull.

Tonight, I give in to the chaos. To the curiosity. To the pull.

Draped in my black lace robe, I flit through the halls on silent feet. The place is dead-quiet this late in the night.

When I reach the office, the door is left cracked open.

I nudge it and peek inside. There he is.

Shoes off, dress shirt unbuttoned and spread open to display the heart-shaped scar, sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms. One arm draped over his eyes as if shielding himself from the world.

From me. From whatever the hell he’s battling behind those lashes.

Blender is curled up on the desk like she owns the place. Like she’s claimed him in my absence.

Traitor .

I slip in and quietly shut the door behind me. I don’t even bother with stealth. If he’s going to wake up, he’ll wake up. But I move slowly, more from reverence than fear. There’s something sacred about this moment. About seeing him like this, unguarded and unaware.

He looks exhausted.

No. He looks wrecked.

I climb over him with calculated movements, straddling his hips with my knees tucked around his sides. His body stiffens instantly, and his hand shoots up like instinct, clamping around my throat. His eyes wild and vigilant.

I don’t flinch.

We just stare at each other.

The room is bathed in low amber light, the soft glow catching on the sweat beading at his temples, the harsh cut of his jaw, the faint red rim of sleep-deprived eyes.

My heavy breathing picks up with his. His hand tightens, thumb pressed to my pulse. Like he’s waiting for me to crack. To run. To prove I’m still the danger he thinks I am. But I don’t.

Instead, I lean down slowly, letting my lips hover over his. Close enough to touch but not touching. Just enough space to feel the heat. Just enough to make his pupils deepen.

Then I kiss him. Slow. Sure. Seething with every unspoken word we’ve both been swallowing for so long.

He doesn’t hesitate. He kisses me back with all the torment he’s been bottling up, with all the questions neither of us knows how to ask, and all the answers we’re too afraid to give.

This could be a mistake. But right now, it’s the only thing making any sense. And neither of us is willing to stop. It’s far too late for that.

My hips begin moving, grinding into him. His hands vanish into my hair while mine roam the hard lines of his chest and abs. Tracing the jagged edges of the heart I gave him.

Then I tear my lips from his, and we pause, breathing heavily, eyes dark and drowning. He’s almost wrecked when I remove myself, but it’s fleeting when I drop to my knees and go for the waist of his pants. The moment my fingers brush the silk of his length, his eyelids droop.

I’ve only done this a few times. I’ve always felt it degrading.

On my knees, their cock shoved down my throat.

As if they were in control. But the way Blackwell is quickly unraveling right before me, watching my hand as if it were hypnotizing, I see it everywhere in his face.

In his mouth, by the way his bottom lip hangs slack, as shallow breaths come in short repetitions.

In his cheeks as they flush. Even his body slumps like he’s been darted by yours truly again.

I see that it’s I who is in control.

Wrapping my fingers around his cock, I stroke the soft skin, paper-thin, stretched over the firmness. I gawk at it and pull up and down with a closed fist. His breath hitches, and my eyes snap up to his. He’s now watching me with a daring look.

I focus on his cock again, my hand stroking it, and a bead of cum dribbles out of the top. It glistens like a beacon, causing me to lick my lips, suddenly famished.

When I close my lips around him, he hisses through his teeth, and his hands fly up to my hair. His fingers flex, but he doesn’t fist it. He simply cradles my head as I begin to bob my head up and down. Taking him as far back as I can, then sliding it along by tongue back to the tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, followed by muttered words in Farsi. To hear him muttering words uncontrollably, it does something to me. Something I could never try to explain. But it has me working him harder. Desperate to bring him endless pleasure.

His fists curl, and my head is yanked back, his cock popping out of my mouth. He glowers down at me as he holds me there, still on my knees. It was so abrupt, I can only gawk up at him, silently questioning if I had done something wrong.

His grip on me softens the same time his face does. “Come here,” he rasps, reaching for me.

I meet him halfway, standing to my feet, and he pulls me over his lap, my knees hugging his hips.

His fingers disappear into my hair again, gentle yet with sexual intent.

We’re both transfixed, unable to look away.

Then he breaks a smile and pulls me in for a searing kiss that has my toes curling and my hips rocking.

His tongue licks mine and he uses one hand to cup my ass, lifting me. I reach between us to angle his cock, and he fists my ass to slam me down on it.

The air catches in my lungs as my body takes over, doing whatever feels so natural. Bouncing up and down, my arms wrapped around his neck. Our kisses become sloppy and uncoordinated, and I have to break away to breathe.

My head falls back, and my mouth drops open as pleasure blooms in every inch of my body. It really is like a fucking high when he’s inside me. As if I would do anything for this feeling. Anything .

He drags his lips and teeth and tongue along the column of my neck, and I feel myself creeping towards the edge.

I crane my neck forward, and my forehead touches his.

Our faces tilted slightly downward to watch, mesmerized by where our bodies come together.

My pussy wrapped snuggly around his cock.

The length of him sliding in and out. Shiny and wet.

We pant in tandem, and my muscles begin to coil as I teeter on that cliff, so close to the precipice. He takes over, fisting my ass, and thrusting his hips upwards when my body locks up, continuing to fuck me.

I moan and whimper through it, then find his mouth with mine to kiss him unhurriedly while I quiver over him. My body gives a couple more twitches, then my eyes pop open as I’m airborne.

He strategically places me up on my knees on the cushion of the loveseat, my back to him.

My head falls back on instinct when he comes up behind me.

His body connects with mine, and he kisses my shoulder where my robe has slid off.

His arms wrap around me, and he fists one breast, and his other hand coasts down the center of my body where my robe splays open, and his fingers meet the apex of my thighs.

His lips trail lazily all over me as he starts playing me like a fucking fiddle with his skilled fingers. “Sinclair,” he whispers in my ear, sending a physical chill over me and a wave of arousal.

With his fingers still moving, he slips his cock back inside of me and presses in until his hips meet my ass. Then his other hand clamps down on my hip, and he begins slamming into me. My ass slapping against him and my breasts bouncing heavily.

I moan when he removes his hand from between my thighs to hold my throat. His fingers wrapped around, giving it a firm grasp. It bleeds more lust from me than when his hand was on my pussy. The animality and carnality of it.

His breath is hot in my ear as he moves inside me. Then he groans in my ear, and it’s the most beautiful sound. It has me seeing stars and gushing all over him. His hips move faster, his cock slamming into me harder, and the fleshly fulfillment again has me limp.

His fingers flex around my throat, and his nails dig into my hip.

I bite through the pain, and it sends me an aftershock.

It rocks me, and I scream out and convulse.

He groans more and then pistons his hips faster and harder until he exhales on a shaky breath, stilling behind me.

He sucks in sharply when he pulls out, barely, then slides back in.

Two more times, twitching here and there, then he finally stops.

We’re both breathing hard, his chest bumping into the back of my shoulders. His hands are still holding my neck and hip, as if he’s unable to let go. That we both might crumble if he does.

Then his lips find my shoulder, placing soft, sensual kisses along the ridge of it. When he pulls out, I feel wetness dripping down my inner thighs. His hands soften before both of them go to my hips to guide my feet to the floor, and I slowly turn around to face him.

His shoulders are still rising and falling with labored breath, and his body is slick with sweat. I cannot believe how fucking devastatingly handsome he is. How sexy he is. How evil he is not.

I can feel my head spinning, and I begin to spiral like I always do when things get too heavy between us.

He must sense it because he takes me around the waist and lowers his head to hover his lips over mine.

My eyes automatically close, and my breath stills, as does the world around us. Everything falls silent.

It feels like an eternity before he kisses me.

We don’t speak, we don’t leave the office. We end up curling up on the small loveseat, his fingers toying with my hair, my body draped over his, and I fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart with my head on his chest.