Page 116 of Moros

“I don’t care if we’re on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow.” I rasped, withdrawing, only to slam into her again so hard, the truck rocked. “Make—me—come.”

Sitting up, I pulled one of her dark nipples into my mouth.

“Fuck, fuck—oh fuck!” She mumbled, trying to free her hands.

Luckily, the sound died in the distance, but I wouldn’t have cared. She came roughly, trapping my dick inside her. I couldn’t have stopped even if the whole world was watching.

That did it for me—that caused my fingers to weaken and release her.

She shoved me over to my back, just as my entire body tightened. The sound that escaped my body was raw, primal and we couldn’t have explained it if someone came checking.

I tightened my arms around her back, holding her down against me, pushing my dick deeper inside her, feeling every reaction to each spurt.

“Shit.” Ryanne panted, digging her nails into my chest. “Khadri, I think I’m going to die?—”

“How about I make you come again and find out?” I growled, rolling us over.

She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“We’re going to get—I mean—caught.”

I licked my lips and bowed for her untouched nipple.

20

RYANNE “SHORTY” LARWICK

The guards rolled Paul in his wheelchair into the room and locked the wheels. Though the guard wanted to stay, Khardi talked him out of it. He promised to wait outside the room while we finish this last bit of business with him.

Though nervous, I was able to swallow that.

Khadri was by my side and for the first time in my life, I had someone who truly had my back, no matter how angry he’d been at me.

No matter that he’d told me he didn’t trust me.

Those words coming from him broke me—but that was the kind of thing I’d kept to myself. We hadn’t address that since that moment in Jamaica.

Deep down, I knew I couldn’t keep running from that talk.

Still, there he was, standing not far from me, arms folded across his chest, watching Paul intently.

There he was, standing tall and strong, on alert, waiting for Paul to do something—try anything.

When Paul saw me, he tried to scream for the guard but when he became hoarse, he realized he would have to deal with me whether he wanted to or not.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.” I told him. “But my father insisted and since you’ve taken away all the other things I could do for my father, you’re going to sit your ass there and listen.”

He said nothing.

I showed him the letter so he could see it was sealed and hadn’t been tampered with.

When I ripped into the envelop and unfolded the letter, a photograph fell out. It was a photo of my parents together—my mom in a simple white dress and my father in a suit, no tie. My heart soared—I never had a picture of them together.

My mother stared at my father with the kind of love I was always jealous of people for. Her eyes bright, the smile on her lips threatening to swallow her entire world.

My father held her like she belonged to him—that everything he had and would ever be belonged to her.

I smiled but set the photo on the table before lifting my eyes to the letter.