Page 101 of Devious Obsession
I try various search terms, trying his full name with Aspen’s, or her mother’s—Mari, Dad said, although it’s short for Marina.
Actually…
I glance down at Aspen again.
He didn’t say she was a Monroe. Although Aspen clearly took that last name because of her father. I think he said she was a Saldo?
Dakota and Lennox have the last name Saldo, too.
I guess their mother learned from her mistakes the first time. Is he even on their birth certificates? It wouldn’t help her with child support, but itwouldgive her some distance from him in any custody battle. Unless he demanded a paternity test… but something tells me this guy won’t want any form of DNA on file.
Finally, a result comes up that includes Marina Saldo, Peter Monroe, and Aspen. It’s a tiny little blurb, just covering church activity. It’s included in a piece about the recent happenings of a church in one of the Chicago suburbs.
I scan it until their names pop up.
We extend our hearts and prayers to Aspen Monroe, who joined our One Sacred Church through baptism on Saturday morning. Aspen’s parents are Peter Monroe and Marina Saldo. Her godfather is Cillian Monroe. Welcome, Aspen!
There’s that name again. Cillian.
He called her.
Godfather… and uncle?
I bite the inside of my cheek and set my phone aside. I’ve got a million more questions, but I don’t think a simple Google search is going to bring up the kind of answers I need.
I’ll find a way to make Aspen tell me.
And if she won’t… I’ll find someone who will make her.
29
ASPEN
My head aches. That’s my first thought.
The second is the pleasure between my legs, my pussy throbbing like I’m on the cusp of an orgasm. And then the feeling intensifies, and I whimper. It sweeps through me, obliterating my thoughts. I squeeze my legs together, only to find them held open by two hands on my inner thighs.
I lift my head and squint in the low light.
Steele’s between my legs, his head buried against my skin. His grip on my thighs tightens ever so much, like he’s ready for me to rip my limbs away. But then his tongue pushes into me.
“What are you doing?” I groan, my fingers sliding into his hair.
He pulls up just a little, kissing my pubic bone. His gaze travels up my body, lingering on my breasts under the t-shirt I don’t remember falling asleep in, and finally stops on my face.
“Having breakfast,” he says. “I woke up starving.”
I collapse back to the bed as he leans back down.
“Steele.” I don’t know why I’m saying his name.
Everything is too sensitive. My headache lingers, but it’s really my hunger to come again that makes my hand return to his hair—to tug his lips back to my clit. He obliges with a grin, his tongue flattening on the sensitive bud.
“Oh God,” I moan.
He stops just shy of pushing me over the edge, climbing up my body and shoving my t-shirt up as he goes. He licks my nipple. I drag my nails up his neck and wrap my fingers in his hair. I love that his hair is a little longer in the back and top, because my grip is solid. And I use it to guide him up my body.
Steele growls, going with my pulling but trailing his lips across my skin. Over the shirt that’s now caught around my neck, up my throat to my jaw. He shifts his hips, aligning with me, and I make some desperate noise.
