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Michael III
She mumbled solemnly. Stared into their twisted hands. Watched his thumbs brush hers absently. His cock straining his trousers. Shallow breaths working his buttoned blouse.
“You’ve filed already?”
“No.” Her gaze refused his.
“Are you going to?”
“Richard will work on me until I do—it’s so much more satisfying for him if it’s me to do it,” Finally, her eyes met his. “I told him we’d married during our first fight.”
“He hit you because of that?” he looked as solemn as he ever had. Somehow mourning the misfortune of his wife more than he had the fact he was on the very brink of jail time. Again. Yet she smiled. A small, wry smile.
“No.” Searched his eyes. “I said he has a god-complex and a tiny dick,” Before he could think any better of it, Vincent took the woman’s face between his two hands. Watched her smile fall. Breathed her anti
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