Bad Bishop: A Dark Mafia Romance (Society of Villains Book 1) - Chapter 37

Chapter 37 My wife was fucking with me. She wore a sheer lavender minidress to her mother's birthday. It hugged her breasts and waist snugly, flaring just above the navel to cover her growing tummy. Her supermodel-worthy legs were on full display, endless despite her short stature, shimmering with whatever cream she put on after her three-hour baths. Lila looked both divine and royally pissed off. She didn't speak one word to me the entire length of the drive to Long Island. Didn't greet me like she usually did, either.

In our bedroom, with her legs spread, waiting for the first of at least three orgasms I awarded her each day. Was it healthy for me to spend a few hours each night dedicated to the sole purpose of making my wife scream with pleasure? Doubt it. But it was fun. And fun was a concept foreign to me before Lila brought her sweet little cunt into my life. "You gonna sulk much longer?" I momentarily tore my eyes from the road so she could read my lips. Her gaze was fixed on her window, and I knew she saw me in her periphery and decided to give me the silent treatment.

Was it nice that I denied her an orgasm this morning? No. Was it the end of the fucking world? Also no. Lila started making demands I never agreed to fulfill. Like giving her a full report of where I was, when, and for how long. Not only was it not in my nature to accommodate this kind of fuckery, but it wasn't safe for her to know the details most of the time. Granted, there were nicer ways to get my point across than leaving her high and dry. Too bad I wasn't feeling very nice at all. Especially when I was reminded of the baby in her belly.

Her pregnant stomach stood between us at all times, reminding me someone else touched what was mine, spilled his seed inside her. We drove through mundane traffic and arrived at the Ferrantes' gated community. By the heavy patrols and snipers, I gathered the Keatons were already here. I parked at the fountain, surrounded by bulletproof vehicles the size of a house. I rounded the vehicle to open the door for my wife, who ignored my outstretched hand and strutted out on three-inch pink bottomed heels.

Her bum was magnificent, her hair so soft I wanted to be buried inside it, and I resisted biting my fist as I followed her, swelling inside my slacks. Servants opened the doors for us, and we were led to the candlelit drawing room, where champagne glasses were clanking. Antique furniture bathed in soft golden hues. Classical music floated from the surround system. Yet another luxury Lila couldn't enjoy. I detected President Keaton sitting with Vello and Luca in the far corner of the room, engaged in conversation. Francesca, his wife, was draped across his lap.