Page 82 of With Spite

I groaned and leaned into him, finding his cock still hard.

My lips twitched, and his mouth was suddenly there, kissing the life out of me.

When he finally pulled away, we were both breathless.

But for me, for once, not in a bad way.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “No danger of another attack.”

“Good,” he growled. “We’ll keep this close today.”

My brows rose. “Are we doing it again?”

His lips tipped up at one corner. “You have the day off. I own my own business. I’m not seeing anything wrong with spending the day inside of you.”

My face flushed. “I’m on birth control. The implant.”

“Good,” he said. “That means we can keep doing this without feeling guilty about it.”

That we could.

That we could.

Nineteen

I’m a good person. Not a nice one.

—Hux to Bernice

Hux

I hated waking up the next morning without Bernice.

I’d spent the last two days with her, and it felt suddenly wrong that she hadn’t been there to wake up beside me for a third.

Except, when I woke up the next morning, it was to a soft knock at my front door that I knew somehow belonged to her.

When I opened the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, she took her time to allow her eyes to follow the length of my body.

She took in every inch before she pulled something out from behind her back.

She held out the little pink box and said, “Happy late birthday.”

I blinked. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

She grinned. “Your birth date is on your ID. And you had to give it to the lady at the store yesterday when you bought that permanent marker.”

Yesterday had been my birthday, and I hadn’t celebrated it like I always did.

I hated my birthday.

My mother always used to go big for our birthdays, but she’d always made it all about her.

None of us celebrated. And none of us celebrated each other’s. It was an unspoken rule that we ignored its existence.

“Oh, yeah,” I said.