Chapter 9 #2
She squeezed my hand. “If you thought the fantasy would be over once the world found out a Donovan was married into a crime family, why did you even marry him?”
“Because I love him.” My reply came quickly and was spoken with such conviction she had no choice but to pull me into a hug.
Throughout the week I shared with my other cousins all the trepidation I felt about telling my parents and they were all very supportive. Especially Hannah who vowed that if I was shunned from the family, she would disown them in protest. I loved Hannah and her lover girl self so much.
In fact, I loved all of my family members, even the ones I knew who dabbled in the gray areas of life.
Bailey’s husband, Devlin, and my cousin, Trent, were trained killers.
Sure, they began their careers as soldiers, killing on the directive of the United States Military, but it hadn’t taken long for them to enter the murky waters of being mercenaries.
Even with families stateside and legal job titles they still considered assignment requests.
Cade and Suri’s husband, Pierce, were both federal agents, killing was a part of their job title and a skill they never hesitated to use outside of their paycheck.
Hell, even my father had been part of a secret collective group designed to keep the balance between the legal and illegal activities on the East Coast. People aren’t always what they seem, and that isn’t always a bad thing.
Those thoughts lingered in my mind throughout the day and into early evening as I transferred the now cooled-off almond pound cake from the pan to a crystal cake plate and lowered the matching dome covering over it.
Fury liked to have dessert after his evening meals.
Me and my sweet tooth had no designated time to indulge, but I liked preparing things according to his preference.
The sound of beeping from the security system alerted me to his arrival. He had a key to my house just like I had one to his.
After moving the cake to the island, I grabbed a dish towel to wipe my hands.
I was just setting it down when he entered the kitchen.
The soft smile that touched my lips the moment I heard the alarm system spread into one that was probably as bright as the bouquet of yellow roses he held.
“Oh, they’re so pretty.” I couldn’t help but state the obvious.
He rounded the island looking as fine as ever.
I swear this man was better looking each time I saw him.
Today he was dressed in navy blue slacks, black tie-up Ferragamos, and a white dress shirt.
The suit jacket I was certain he wore to work this morning, was most likely tossed over the back seat of his fully restored ’67 Camaro convertible, along with the tie.
The top two buttons on his shirt were undone and beneath the silver Cuban link chain he always wore I could see the top edge of the cross that was tattooed on his chest.
“Pretty flowers for the prettiest woman I know,” he said, his medium-thick lips spreading into a smile I’d come to adore.
He stepped closer. What I guessed to be about three dozen fragrant roses rested between us.
“Are you trying to ensure you’ll get lucky tonight?” I teased.
Grinning, he set the roses on the counter, right beside the crystal cake case. “Baby,” he said, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me against him, “when you greet me wearing a silk robe, I know I’m gettin’ lucky.”
Dropping my gaze to the peach robe that was belted tightly at my waist and fell to my kneecaps, I shrugged. “I guess you’ve got a point there.”
He gripped my ass with both hands, and I snaked my arms around his neck. “But I’m not complaining.”
I wasn’t either, especially not when his lips touched mine.
His tongue was instantly in search of mine and I welcomed him.
I loved kissing this man, loved his hands on me while his tongue stroked over mine.
He was a drug, a potent ass one that left no room for fighting addiction.
His mouth was as masterful as his touch and his stroke.
He even smelled like sin—the citrus and woodsy notes of the cologne I knew was his favorite, was now mine too.
I cupped the back of his head, and he slipped his hands down from my ass to the backs of my thighs.
He didn’t bother breaking contact to move the cake and flowers first, just used my body to push them back on the big island so he could set me onto it.
The connection of our mouths was never severed as I opened my legs and he stepped between them.
The kiss grew deeper, nastier, our teeth clashing briefly before our tongues continued their assault.
I gripped his shoulders, wanting the shirt gone so I could feel his taut skin at my fingertips.
One of his hands moved to the back of my neck, clenching it while the fingers of his other hand dug into my ass.
We both gasped when he finally ripped his mouth from mine, only to trace his tongue over my chin and along my jaw.
I let my head fall back, knowing what he wanted before he could speak the words.
He dragged his mouth down the line of my neck and over my collarbone.
Tongue and tiny nips of teeth that sent tingles all through my body.
“Been thinking about you all damn day,” he whispered, then dragged his teeth over the swells of my breasts. “I’m always fuckin’ thinking about you.”
His fingers found the belt, untying it before I could take a breath or think of a response to his words.
Pulling back slightly, he stared down and groaned.
I was wearing the most scandalous piece of lingerie I’d ever seen.
It arrived inside one of four boxes delivered to my door on the morning of our one-year wedding anniversary.
The burgundy box inside of the shipping one was filled with glittering gold tissue paper that I had excitedly pulled out and tossed somewhere in my bedroom.
I squealed the second my fingers touched the first of three burgundy velour pouches with the word entim in a swirling gold font on the front.
Delphine Broussard was an up-and-coming Haitian designer whom Fabian and I had met during a trip to New Orleans.
This set sported open cups with a sheer scalloped lace underbust and matching crotchless panties with a cage back.
I’d been afraid that the garter belt and wraparound leg garters wouldn’t fit my thick thighs, but they slid on perfectly and if my husband’s second grunt as he dragged a finger over the edge of the garter, was any indication, they looked perfect as well.
“This is the last one,” he said, dragging his eyes up to mine.
My hands had dropped to rest on the pectorals I longed to slide my tongue over and I nodded. “Yep, I’ve worn all six outfits now. Guess that means you’ll have to buy some more.”
Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he moved his palms to my breasts and squeezed. I moaned as my nipples hardened against his skin and the pricks of pain from his grip, made my pussy throb.
“As good as this looks on you, I’ll buy the whole damn store.” Dropping his head, he replaced one hand with his mouth, sucking as much of my F-cup breast into his mouth as possible.
“Shit, baby,” I gasped the second his teeth joined the delicious assault.
He clasped them over my nipple and bore down just enough to have me trembling beneath him. Pulling back, but not breaking the contact, his gaze sought mine and I stared down at him through half-closed eyes.
Fuck, this was sexy. My dark nipple between his teeth, his other hand full of my other breast. The lust in his eyes mimicking the heat pulsing through me. I definitely loved me some him.
A loud ding startled us both and we froze, then laughed.
“Saved by the bell,” he said, licking his lips as he released his hold on my breasts. When he began pulling my robe closed, I frowned.
“Yeah, I guess the oven alarm stopping us is better than the smoke detector when the rolls burn.”
He pulled my belt into a tight bow, then put his hands to my waist to lift me off the counter. I skirted around him to get to the oven so I could, in fact, save the yeast rolls I had in there. When he smacked my ass, I yelped.
“Pretty, sexy as fuck, and you can cook. I definitely hit the jackpot that night at the warehouse.”
Tossing a look over my shoulder as I pulled on the oven mitts, I saw him leaning against the island now, hands pushed into the front pocket of his slacks. “You mean the night three men were killed and your brother was shot?”
“That bullet only nicked him, thank the Lord,” he replied while I opened the oven and pulled the tray out. “And the three your crew bagged up and transported to see the lilies, deserved that shit for trying to rob me.”
A smile touched my lips even though what he just said wasn’t funny at all.
I was just floating in this feeling that this was how it could be every day.
Fabian coming in from work, me having dinner ready, us talking openly about our work.
Me being able to ask the questions and make the observations that I’ve had to hold in for so long.
“Why do you call it that? Them going to see the lilies?” I asked, setting the tray of rolls on the top of the stove. I reached for the bowl of butter I’d melted before putting the rolls in to cook, then pulled a cooking brush from the drawer.
“My mama loved lilies. When she passed, the owner of the funeral home acted like he didn’t want to service ‘people like us.’ He’d actually said that racist shit out of his mouth.
KC and I left that day. The next morning, I bought that shit.
Fired him and his staff, then had Maleeka’s friend, who owns a staffing company, fill all the open positions.
By the time we buried my mama a week and a half later, the sign on the front had been changed to Lily of the Valley. ”