Obsession (Sinners of New Orleans #3)

Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Adrian

T here’s a dark-haired vixen running circles through my mind when I should be focused on my work. On my revenge. But there’s nothing in my head except the taste of Madi’s lips, the sweet noises she makes when I bury my tongue in her cunt, the way her eyes rolled back when I thrust deep inside her.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try to pull the addiction from my head. I’ve never been addicted to anything; no vice has ever been strong enough to wrap its claws around me and dig in.

Until her.

“Congratulations.” Fede’s voice breaks through my inner turmoil. “You’re officially on Sam Costello’s defense team.”

I’ve been so wrapped up in Madi, I almost forgot what’s been happening outside the four walls of my house. There’s a civil war, and I have myself trapped in the midst of it. Trapped is the wrong word. If I play all my cards right, I won’t be trapped at all.

I’ll be the one pulling the cards from the bottom and toppling the tower.

“Good job,” I say to my brother. Fede stops in front of my desk, his head tilting as he looks me over.

“You look…better.”

I’m still bruised, mostly in places my suit covers, but I am better than I was a week ago. I have a sneaking suspicion my newly doting wife has something to do with that.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “What else?”

“Sam wants to meet with you. I scheduled an attorney client meeting at the prison for you tomorrow. One p.m.”

“Good.” I lean back in my seat. “I think it’s about time I talk to the Costello prodigy, see what his angle is in this thing.”

Fede slides into the seat across from my desk. “Are you going to do what he’s asking? Get him out of prison?”

A small smile rises on my lips. “If I get Sam Costello out of prison, he’s going to kill Damien Romano.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Fede asks, not following my logic, yet.

“Not at all. That’s one more Costello man gone. And if I follow him…then I can put him right back behind bars. If I’m lucky, him and John Vitale.”

Fede grins as he processes my plan.

We’re only a few chess moves away from having all the Costello men dead or in prison.

At the end of the day, the only one left standing will be me.

Royal Street is a hub for artists, so it seems fitting that Madi’s studio is among them. According to Marcus, Carmine Sr. bought the studio for Madi as a birthday gift when she turned eighteen, much to Marcus’s chagrin. He was more worried about marrying her off to someone than her being able to explore her passion.

I never cared one way or another if she had the studio. But now, knowing that she spends most of her days here or frolicking through the French Quarter suddenly has me curious about what my little minx is doing in here all day.

I nod at David as I turn the knob on the studio door, finding it open. Ever since John kidnapped me and killed the guard I had on Madi, I’ve had David watching her. Not that I think John or Sam would do anything to hurt their cousin, but still, it bothered me that they were able to get so close.

The door opens right up for me, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to chastise her for being so reckless as to keep the door unlocked, but then I spot her. She’s at a wheel in the back corner of the studio, wearing overalls that are coated in clay and nothing but a sports bra underneath. She’s a little temptress looking like that. Even covered in the gray mud that runs up her arms, I still want to pick her up, bend her over the table in the center of the studio, and have my way with her.

She’s too distracted by her work to notice me, which gives me a moment to look around the studio. It’s filled with stuff. Paint bottles, abandoned canvases, cups of brushes, buckets filled with who knows what, some of them open with gray sludge spilling over the sides. The whole space seems to have a dusting of old clay everywhere. I find a shelf with colorless pieces that look like they’re drying — bowls, mugs, planters. And then on the shelf next to it looks to be finished pieces. I laugh when I see them. There’s a whole shelf of mugs with what looks to be boobs carved into the material. On another shelf, there are ones with the breasts molded to the outside, complete with little nipples. Some have uneven boobs and there are even a few where one breast is missing entirely, instead in its place is what looks to be a scar. For breast cancer, I assume.

“What are you doing here?” Madi’s voice sounds panicked, and I watch as the piece spinning on the wheel collapses beneath her fingers. She huffs and lets her foot off the pedal, bringing the wheel to a stop. Grabbing a rag from the table next to her, she wipes the gray sludge from her hands and stands, looking at me.

“I came to visit my wife. Is that a crime?”

“No.” She exhales a long breath. “I just wasn’t expecting you.” She finishes cleaning her hands and tosses the rag to the side, landing back on the table.

“Is that ruined?” I nod to the smushed piece on the wheel.

“Yeah.” She nods. “But I’ll reuse the clay, turn it into something else.”

“That’s kind of…beautiful.”

“Yeah…” She smiles a little, just the corner of her lips tilting up. “That’s kind of what I like about this place.” Turning from me, she grabs something else from the table. For a second, I think she’s about to strangle me with the wire that’s connected with two small wood handles on either end, but she goes to the wheel, using the wire to remove the demolished piece. Once cut from the wheel, she tosses it into one of the sludge buckets and goes to the sink to wash her hands.

“So,” she says, looking over her shoulder, “did you need something?”

“I just wanted to see the place where my wife spends all her time,” I say as I take a step toward her.

“Jealous much?” she asks with a sly grin.

“Me? Jealous?” I chuckle darkly. “I seem to be jealous of everything you touch, princess. Of everything you lay your eyes on. Anything that gets your attention. Maybe I’m just a jealous bastard, but I want all of your focus to myself.”

Madi’s tongue darts out to wet those pink lips. She watches me like she’s not quite sure how to respond to that declaration. “You’re gonna get that nice suit dirty.”

“Fuck this suit. I’ll just buy another one.”

A laugh leaves her mouth, and I love the sound of it. I want to hear it again and again for the rest of my life.

I toss the suit jacket, letting it land on a dirty chair. She’s right; by the time I leave this place I’ll be covered in the clay she loves so much. There’s nothing wrong with that, though, I think, being covered in something she loves.

I stalk toward her, and she presses her back against the counter. When I reach her, I use my arm to swipe the counter behind her clear.

“Adrian!” she squeals as I lift her onto the surface.

“Whatever I broke, I’ll buy you new ones. Ten of each if you want.”

There’s that giggle again. It sounds like heaven from her lips, and I relish it.

I unclasp the fastens of her overalls, tugging the denim material down until it reaches her hips. She lifts them for me so I can free her from the fabric. She’s left in front of me in the black sports bra and a pair of hot pink cotton panties. There’s something alluring to me about how they don’t match, about how simple the cotton is, it even has a little bow on the front. I flick my finger over it before I tug the material off.

“This too.” I nod to the bra. Madi does that one, pulling the fabric over her head and freeing her magnificent tits. I lean forward, running my tongue over one nipple while I use my hand to pinch the other. Her head tilts back, a sensual moan crawling up her throat. I feel her hands come around me, pulling me closer.

Licking my way up from her nipples to her mouth, I want to taste every inch of her. She smells like sweat and clay mixed with the jasmine body wash she uses every day. I inhale deeply, committing the scent to memory.

“Adrian.” My name is spoken so low and filled with desire, it stirs a beast within me. I want to hear it again. I pinch one of her delicate nipples.

“Say that again,” I demand.

“Adrian.” This time, it’s even more sexual, sawing through any threads of control I have left with ease.

My mouth finds hers, taking it in a bruising kiss. This is harder than I was the first time. She was a virgin, and I wanted to take it easy on her, not bruise or damage her. But she’s not a virgin anymore.

“I want to taste you,” I speak into her mouth, my arms wrapping around her body and pulling her from the counter. I’m not even thinking about the concrete floor as I lay her down. The only thoughts in my head are centered around tasting her sweet pussy again.

I part her legs, crawling between them. As soon as my tongue runs over her cunt, her back arches off the ground and her fingers find my hair. As I lap at her core, she rewards me with sweet sounds.

“Adrian, fuck yes!” My name on her lips will never get old; the sound is its own aphrodisiac, and when she comes, it’s the euphoric sound.

“I need to fuck you,” I growl as I lift her hips and position myself between her legs. Her eyes look up at me in a daze as I push into her. She’s wet and ready for me, another delicious moan falling from her parted lips as I fill her to the hilt. Pulling back, I thrust in again, losing myself in her already.

My thumb finds her clit, stroking her like a violin to elicit more of those sounds. Her pussy squeezes my cock like a vise, and I know I’m seconds from combusting.

“That’s it, princess. Milk my cock like a good little slut.”

Madi screams my name as she comes, her pussy convulsing around me until I follow her over that edge.

The cold concrete floor feels good against my back as I roll off my wife. She has a glow about her, fully satisfied, as she curls into my side.

The shelf of boob mugs looks at me, and I can’t help but laugh as I press a kiss to her head.

“What’s with all the tits?”