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  Once I have scrubbed my body and given myself enough time to squat over the drain, hoping any little Vincent’s find their way out of me, I get out of the shower, dry my body, and step into the dressing room.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I snap when I see him standing there.

  “Aftercare,” he says, trying to hide the disdain in his words.

  “I don’t need your after anything,” I snap, taking the black button-down shirt from him. “This isn’t mine.”

  “It’s gotten cold out.” He snatches it away, walks behind me, and puts my arm through the holes like I’m incapable.

  He walks around me and reaches out and tries to button the shirt,

  “Just leave me alone.”

  He grabs it and pulls me back toward him. “You think I want to be in here?” he asks as he works the buttons quickly and accurately.

  “Then why are you?”

  “I won’t be welcomed back if my Mistress doesn’t leave happy. Besides, you have no right to be bitchy to me. You stuck a finger in my ass.”

  “Two!” I snap. “I stuck two in your ass, and you liked it.”

  “And you came faster than any woman I have ever been with when my cock slid inside that cunt that clearly has never had a decent-sized cock inside it. Fucking strangled me.”

  “And you came faster than my first fuck,” I snap back.

  “Warren?”

  As soon as the name leaves his lips, I slap him across the face.

  His eyes widen in shock, and then he looks me up and down with contempt. “After I get what I have coming from you, I hope to never see you again.”

  “What is it you think you have coming?” I ask, sliding my feet into my heels, which he is knelt down and holding for me, even after slapping his face.

  I want to apologize. I have no idea why I slapped him …

  Yes, I do. I’m a slapper. It’s a prelude to the big fuck off … every time.

  “I’m going to fuck that ass until you beg me to stop. And even then, I’m not sure I will.”

  I no longer want to apologize.

  He opens the door, but when I try to walk past him, he grabs my hand and doesn’t let it go as he quickly walks toward the exit sign.

  Walking out a door we didn’t enter, I am momentarily confused. When I turn to look for the car, I slip on the wet pavement, and he catches me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbles under his breath as he carries me, cradled in his arms, to a waiting car.

  “Well, look at you. The perfect little submissive carrying his Mistress to the car. You’re sure to earn your return this way.”

  “Shut the fuck up before I drop you on the ass I’m going to tear apart.”

  “You wish you had a big en—”

  I stop before I say big enough because, let’s face it, it is.

  He looks at me, eyebrow raised as if he’s royalty looking down on a peasant. “Exactly.”

  He slides into the car, still holding me in his arms. When I try to move, he tightens his grip.

  “Stay the fucking part, mistress.”

  I sit stunned by the fact that I just did what I just … did. Stunned that his rotten words seem to be making me wet, or maybe it’s the little Vincents that certainly could still be making their way down from my fucking esophagus, because he was so deep. Soooo damn deep.

  I look at my shirt and realize it’s his. His dinner jacket is now over a plain white tee-shirt.

  “Thank you for the shirt,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispers back.

  I look up at him, and he closes his eyes and rests his head back against the leather seat. Then he pulls my head to his shoulder. It’s a sweet gesture … until he glances down to see I am looking up at him.

  “Don’t do it. Just shut up and let me rest.”

  So, I do.

  Chapter 7

  Until You Were Gone

  Vincent

  This is not fucking good.

  She’s passed out in my arms, and she’s only in them because I lost my fucking mind when it came to her. Still fucking losing it, because … aftercare?

  Why the fuck did I even say that? Because I wanted her in my goddamn shirt? And why the fuck did I want—no, fucking need—that? And why the fuck does Warren piss her off so badly after all these years? I need to know that, too. I want to rip his fucking dick off because it’s been inside her.

  I know one thing. It won’t be again. If it comes close, I will rip it the fuck out through his fucking mouth, the one that clearly fucked up the confidence a woman like her should have. Except when she’s being a bitch. Then she should shut the fuck up.

  Her … I fucking smell like her. I swear I would bathe in her cunt if I could. If she wasn’t passed out right now, I would let her shove three fucking fingers in my ass just to get her to ride my face again.

  Get it the fuck together, I tell myself, pressing my nose into her goddammed hair, which is the total opposite of my shit being together.

  Fucked.

  I am so fucked.

  She takes in a deep breath and her chest heaves. Then she holds it and lets out a kitten-like whimper. I wait for her to open her eyes. Those fucking things. As blue as the ocean and as deep as them, too.

  When she’s still holding her breath, I pull her tighter to me. Only then does she exhale.

  Her breath is hot, sweet, and …

  I fucking kissed her. I don’t kiss. I lick a neck, nibble an ear, but I don’t try to lick the inside of anyone’s mouth like I would a pussy, which … I fucking want to eat her pussy again now. Right. Fucking. Now.

  I hold her tighter because … I have no fucking clue. None.

  When the car is at the gate, I tell the driver not to pull in. Instead, I open the door and slide out, carrying her.

  I punch in the code, trying like hell not to drop her, and succeed. Then I simply stand there, waiting for the gate to close—it’s my fucking job. When it does, I quickly make my way through the shadows to the carriage house where she will sleep in my fucking bed, wake up next to me, and then I will feast on her pussy, getting her nice and wet before I fuck her in that sexy round ass of hers as promised.

  After that … I have no fucking clue.

  I’m done.

  My head is pounding, reminding me why I don’t drink whiskey. I awake, feeling the sun against my skin and smelling her pussy on my face. I lick my lips, hoping to get just one more taste, and then I roll over and she’s not there. It pisses me off.

  “Paige!” I yell, causing my head to hurt worse than it already did.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I get up and walk around, looking for her. There aren’t many places to look, so it takes all of two fucking seconds.

  I decide she probably headed to the house and grab my phone, seeing it’s fucking ten AM already.

  “Shit,” I say on a sigh.

  I shower, dress, and hurry to the house.

  When I walk in, both girls look at me, eyes wide, and then they all but run to me.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  Francesca giggles nervously. “Our dad’s here.”

  “Not funny, Cesca,” Antoinette grumbles.

  “He’s staying, right? Like, forever?” Francesca asks.

  I have no fucking clue. My assumption is yes, but I don’t want to give them false hope.

  “Well, did you ask him?”

  “No, she asked him, if a boy was mean to her, if he’d kill him, too,” Cesca says in disgust.

  “Well …” I scratch my head, having no clue what to say. This isn’t my fucking department. It’s Valentina’s or Josephina Steel’s.

  “Well nothing. It was rude. Now he’s probably gonna leave again,” Antoinette, the normally quiet one, snaps.

  “He told me yes, so I think he’s staying.” Francesca sticks her tongue out at her sister.

  “Mom may not let him. She’s mad.”

  “I think
your best bet is to talk to them, but—”

  I stop when I see Paige walk into the room with her suitcase.

  “Give me just one minute,” I tell the girls.

  I hurry to the door Paige rushed out of and yell from behind her, “Where are you going?”

  She stops and looks back at me. “Home.”

  “You just got here,” I remind her, walking up to her.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I ruined your plan to stick that … that … thing in my butt,” she sneers, but her tone isn’t as nasty as it normally is.

  When I see a tear slide down her face from behind her sunglasses, I freeze.

  “Don’t you fucking leave because of me. Your friend may need you now more than ever.”

  Her plump bottom lip pouts out. “She knows I have to leave.”

  “You told her!”

  “This has nothing to do with you, okay? This has nothing to do with avoidance, or clubs, or fingers, or …” She stops then whispers, “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “You ready?”

  I turn toward Melyssa’s voice and see Sabato walking behind her.

  “Yep.” Paige smiles as more tears fall.

  “I wish you’d let me go with you,” Melyssa says, wrapping her arm around her waist.

  “Valentina needs you. The girls need …” She stops and shakes her head. “You know I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” I call after her.

  She turns around, face in a frown.

  Fuck.

  “What I mean is—”

  “It’s obvious that these two need a chat,” Sabato cuts me off.

  I hear glass break then Valentina yells at Franco.

  Sabato laughs, “More than obvious that the girls need a distraction.”

  Just then, they both run out of the house. “Can we come, too?”

  “Where?” I ask in confusion.

  “To take Aunt Paige to the airport, since Cesca made Mom mad,” Antoinette says, storming toward Paige.

  “How about you girls and Vincent take Paige to the airport?” Sabato suggests with a shit-ass grin.

  “Fine by me. At least no one can blame me when I’m not here,” Francesca snarls.

  “I think I should go with Paige,” Melyssa tells Sabato.

  More glass breaks in the house, and then I hear Franco laugh.

  “Was that my dad?” Francesca starts giggling.

  “Come on, you two. I could use a distraction.” Paige wipes her eyes then reaches out for them.

  “Will you get my bag please, Vincent?”

  “Me or my …” I stop before I say dick.

  We have come full circle.

  On the way to the airport, the girls ask a million questions about why Paige is going home.

  I learn her father had a heart attack yesterday and will require a triple bypass. Her mother is partially disabled due to an accident, and Babička, her grandmother, has dementia. Paige’s brother, Pace, is running the family business, so someone needs to help with transporting and watching out for the women.

  I also learn that the girls adore Paige, and I can tell she adores them.

  When we pull up to the private jet, she kisses and hugs the girls while I get out to grab her bag. When she walks around the car to get it, she looks at me, but I can’t see her eyes.

  Instinctually, I push her sunglasses up and see she probably hasn’t slept, and I see the pain that she hid from the girls.

  “I’m sorry about—”

  She stops when I totally lose control and kiss her.

  Yep, I fucking eat her mouth, and she fucking lets it happen … until she realizes she shouldn’t.

  “Last night …” She shakes her head.

  “Was the most fucked-up night of your life?” I ask and am graced with a smile. “Mine, too.”

  “Sorry,” she sighs out.

  “If I hadn’t wanted to be there, I wouldn’t have.”

  She nods. “Thanks for letting me off the hook.”

  “Oh no, you’re not off the hook. When I make my way stateside again, your ass is mine.”

  When her lips quiver, I feel like an asshole, but it’s true. I will have it.

  “You’ll let Valentina know about your father?”

  Tears immediately fill her eyes.

  “If he’s anything like you seem to be, he’ll be just fine.”

  She nods.

  “I want to kiss you again.” I grip her soft hips.

  She shakes her head. “It’s best you don’t.”

  “For who?”

  “For me.” She pulls her shades down. “I’d prefer to leave here with confidence gained from last night and no stupid ideas of it happening again. I need a clear head.”

  I don’t tell her again that I will have that ass, or that I’m pissed at her right now, because her confidence may be solid, but mine’s a little fucked up. Instead, I grab her bag and pull it to the plane where the captain takes it. Then I watch as she looks back when she is halfway up the stairs to the private jet.

  “Safe travels.”

  She nods then continues up the stairs.

  “Fly safe,” I tell the captain.

  “Will do.”

  As soon as I get in the car, the girls are on me like fucking interrogators for the Italian polizia.

  “You kissed Aunt Paige,” Antoinette starts.

  “She was sad,” I defend.

  “Do you love her?” Francesca asks

  “She needed a friend.”

  “Why was she wearing your shirt this morning?” Antoinette questions.

  “She spilled a drink on her dress at dinner,” I lie.

  Francesca giggles. “Why didn’t you two come home with the other adults?”

  “We aren’t adults.” Why the fuck did I say that?

  Francesca laughs so hard she snorts.

  “She’s pretty and tall,” Antoinette states

  It’s not a question, but I reply with, “She is.”

  “So, you think she’s pretty?” Francesca asks.

  “I think all women can be pretty.”

  “She has large breasts,” Antoinette comments.

  I want to correct her, to tell her that they aren’t just large, they’re huge, but I don’t. I still have fucking control of this.

  “Do you like big bazookas or little?” Francesca asks through her laughter.

  I hear Antoinette smack her before saying, “Shut up.”

  “Mom’s boobs aren’t as big as hers.”

  “Everyone’s are different sizes,” I tell them, trying to sway the conversation again.

  “Dad was naked this morning,” Antoinette states.

  Holy fuck. I run my hand through my hair in frustration.

  “Mom had on a shirt. His, I think. Do you think so?” Francesca asks.

  “I didn’t see her, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “Do you think he was naked, or just not wearing a shirt?” Francesca inquires.

  “I’m sure he just wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

  She comes right back at me with, “Did you wear a shirt to bed?”

  “No. It was hot in the carriage house.”

  “That’s why Paige had his shirt on,” Antoinette tells her sister.

  “No, I told you—”

  “They aren’t adults,” Francesca interrupts laughing. “They wouldn’t doooo sexy type things.”

  Damn her, she’s mocking me.

  “Blue or brown?” Antoinette asks.

  “What?”

  “Blue or brown?” Antoinette repeats.

  “Blue?”

  “Tall or short?” Francesca asks.

  “Tall.”

  “Big or little?”

  “Which one asks less questions?” I am all but ready to jump out of the car.

  Antoinette sighs. “You love us.”

  Fucking shit.

  “I care about you very much.”

  “That’s the same as love in Vincent talk,” she tells Franc
esca.

  “White or dark?”

  “Dark.”

  I watch them look at each other in the rearview mirror. Thank God they are quiet … for two seconds.

  “When are you gonna get a girlfriend?” Francesca asks.

  “I don’t want one.”

  “He’s gay,” she tells her sister.

  “I am not gay.”

  “He’s not gay.” Antoinette rolls her eyes at Francesca.

  “Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend then?”

  “He slept with Paige last night; close enough,” Antoinette tells her.

  “I didn’t sleep with Paige last night,” I lie … again.

  “Riiiight,” they both say.

  “I didn’t.” I demand they believe me.

  “Then why was she running out of the carriage house when we were outside this morning?” Francesca asks.

  I see Antoinette elbow her.

  “What were you two doing outside this morning?”

  “Now you’re gonna get us in trouble,” Antoinette scolds her sister.

  “We were just trying to get some fresh flowers and grapes to make a pretty breakfast in bed for Mom and our dad.”

  “You don’t do that alone, ever again, you understand me?”

  “We called you.”

  “Did not,” I retort.

  “Yes, we did, and you didn’t answer. And then we didn’t wait, and then Paige ran out of your place with your shirt on aaaand no shoes. And Paige always has on the prettiest shoes.”

  I pull off the highway and turn quickly into a parking lot. I know the place. They have the best Italian Ice.

  Throwing the car in park, I tell them, “Get out.”

  They both laugh and do just that.

  I am definitely going to miss them.

  Chapter 8

  Love Myself

  Paige

  It’s been a week since Dad’s surgery, and I’m emotionally and physically drained. We have almost lost him three times, twice in surgery and once more since. He was supposed to come home tomorrow, but he now has an infection, so they are keeping him. He’s miserable, which is understandable, but very unlike him.

  I look at the clock. It’s only four in the afternoon, yet Mom and Babička are resting. I can’t say that I blame them. We spent the entire day there, leaving the house by seven in the morning to make the doctor’s rounds and getting back at around three-thirty.