When he pushes me past my bursting point, I come apart in his arms, pleasure exploding inside me. He keeps up his pace as my pussy grips him, convulsing around his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Meg,” he mutters, closing his eyes and giving one last thrust. I open my eyes in time to see him tense and groan with his own orgasm. I flex my muscles as he moves slowly, trying to give him every last drop of pleasure I can.

Finally, with a sigh, he drops on top of me. I embrace him snugly, dropping a couple of absent kisses on his shoulder.

When we’ve both recovered, but we’re still relaxed, he tells me, “We should do that again in a few minutes.”

I snort, rubbing his back tenderly. “We should keep doing it all night long.”

“I like the way you think.”

My second Sunday dinner is a vast improvement over the first.

Mia and I commiserate in the kitchen. Elise doesn’t join in, and I wonder if we should try to include her more. I’m still not super sure what’s going on with her. The understanding seems to be that she’s Adrian’s, and she sits to his right at dinner now, but they never touch or give any indication of togetherness.

When she goes to the bathroom, I nudge Mia to get her attention. “What’s the deal with those two?”

“Which two?” she asks, wrapping foil around a pie crust.

“Adrian and Elise.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shakes her head, lightly rolling her eyes. “It’s super confusing but Vince really likes Adrian so he won’t gossip about him, and also Vince just isn’t big on gossip at all. Now that I don’t live at the castle, I have no idea what goes on at court.”

I snort at that. “Mateo’s court. Does that make me the queen?”

“I think it does,” she verifies with a smiling nod. “I’m at least a knight’s wife.”

“And you have the king’s favor,” I add lightly.

“Well, knights are dashing, but I’m not gonna say no to new baubles.”

“I’m sure someday Vince will have bauble money. He’s young.”

“I’m not complaining,” she says. “I joke about the shoes, but it’s more than worth living without them to have peace of mind. Though I feel like you’ve mellowed Mateo a little. It’s nice that he has something to occupy his time other than playing with all our lives.”

“I like to think I’m much more fun to play with.”

Mia grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

“You guys should move back,” I decide, dropping my knife into the sink. “Then we could hang out all the time.”

“No,” she drawls, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

“You sure you don’t need to think about that?” I joke. “Was it really so bad living here?”

“I just don’t want to tempt Mateo.” Glancing my way quickly, she adds, “Not that way. Well, kind of. I don’t know. I just think it’s best for everyone to leave things the way they are. Besides, I have a car now, so I can come over anytime we want to hang out.”

I don’t like the implication that she thinks he would stray, but I decide it’s just because she doesn’t know him the way I do.

We serve our men and take our seats beside them. Mateo doesn’t drop any new bombs, so we all get to enjoy our meals tonight.

I can’t help wondering if there’s been any update though. I don’t feel comfortable asking Mateo about the “business” side of things, but I would really love an update on the Antonio Castellanos situation. Mia’s my only trusted ally, and she doesn’t know any of that stuff either. Adrian surely does, but that’s a step too far—I won’t ask him that.

Chapter Sixteen

“I knew you were bad, but I didn’t know you were this bad.”

Mateo licks the last of his vanilla ice cream from the spoon, then nods at me. “I’ll understand if this is too much for you.”

I got a much bigger serving of ice cream than he did, so I plunge my spoon in and get ready to dump more into my mouth. “You never even finish your dessert at dinner. I never took you for a midnight ice cream sneak.”

“I have cravings.”

Wiggling my eyebrows as I lean into his side on the big, comfy couch, I say, “Oh, so do I.”

He smiles, leaning forward to put his empty ice cream dish on the coffee table in the sitting room, then sinks back into the couch and wraps his arm around me again.

“Why is French vanilla so good?” I ask, shaking my head as I stare accusingly at the spoon. “You shouldn’t encourage me to eat ice cream in the middle of the night. I have dresses to fit into.”

“I figured if I couldn’t sleep, you shouldn’t either,” he returns.

“How kind and thoughtful,” I joke.

“Those are the first words people generally use to describe me.”

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