I get Ryan home and put him down for his nap, which takes surprisingly well. He’s starting to acclimate to this new way of life, and it makes me happy as hell to see him growing.

But I’m worried sick about Connor, so any joy at getting Ryan down easily is swallowed up by thoughts of what’s happening with the Gallos.

Connor could be dead right now. I pace around my living room, freaking out. He could be murdered, his body floating in the Schuylkill river right now, face down and riddled with bullets. The Gallos could do that to him, murder him right in the middle of the day and dump his body and still get away with it. I hate them so much but I don’t know what I can do.

They have the police in their pockets. My parents have been complaining about how much power our cousins have for so long now that it’s completely ingrained inside of me. I can’t think of Philadelphia without imagining the grubby hands of Mario Gallo strangling it to death.

And by extension, strangling Connor.

That stupid, gorgeous man. He loves his son so much that he’s willing to stand up to the only people in the whole city that could easily kill him without a second thought. It’s so fucked up and tragic. He worked so hard to find Ryan, only to be blocked by me at first, forced to take a paternity test before I’d even let him see the boy. And when finally I’m starting to relax and trust him, the Gallos come and slit his throat.

And now he’s gone. I feel like there’s a wound inside of me.

It’s shocking how hurt I feel. I’d mourn anyone killed by the Gallos but I feel this extra deep desperation for Connor, a sort of feeling that I didn’t know I even had. I was beginning to trust him, beginning to want him, beginning to…

There’s a knock at the door, pulling me from my train of thought. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s the Gallos, here to finish the job and to take Ryan away.

Well fuck that. I won’t let them do it, at least not easily.

I go grab my biggest knife from the kitchen, my heart thumping. I’m so afraid, and my hand’s shaking, but I’m not going down without a fight.

I go to the door and pull it open, knife clutched, knuckles white.

Connor grins at me, head cocked. “You cooking?” he asks.

I drop the knife and throw my arms around him. He pulls me tight and hugs me close and I breathe his smell deep into my lungs.

“I thought you were dead,” I say. “I thought they took you, killed you… I thought they were coming for me.”

He nods against me. “It’s okay. Come on, let’s go inside.”

I let him take me into the apartment. He shuts the door and gathers up the knife, putting it away. He sits me down on the couch and sits close.

“They just wanted to talk,” he says. “I met with Mario.”

I blink. “Harper’s dad?”

“The old man himself.”

I let out a breath. “Wow. I haven’t seen him since I was a little girl.”

“Let’s hope we keep it that way.”

I bite my lip, leaning against him. All those feelings are still swirling inside of me, begging for a release.

“What did he want?” I ask.

He keeps my gaze locked with his. “He wanted to make a bargain for Ryan.”

“And?”

His smile is sad. “I told him they’d never take my son.”

I release the breath and throw my arms around him again, relief flooding me, and before I can even think about it, I’m kissing him.

He kisses me back, but this time I don’t stop. I pull at his shirt, bringing it up over his head, my body pressing against his. He grunts and pushes me back against the corner of the couch, pulling my shirt off, kissing me desperately, kissing my neck, my ear, making me dizzy with desire.

It’s like coming up from being under water for too long and taking that first deep breath. He rushes into my lungs as his hands touch my body, and I had no clue that I was so deep under water, drowning so badly. I had no clue he’s the breath I needed.

His hands move down and roughly unbutton my jeans. He tugs them over my hips and I groan as his hands slides down the front of my panties, finding my already wet clit, rubbing me softly.

“I know you’ve been thinking about this since we first met,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ve been desperate for it, but I’ve kept it from you.”

“You’ve kept it from me?” I ask him, panting with pleasure. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“Not at all.” His other hand pulls my hair. “I could have had you whenever I wanted you.”

His fingers slide inside of me. “Fuck, Connor.”

“That’s right. You’ve been dripping for me since we first met, even back when you didn’t know me. And now you’re getting a taste of what you need.”

I groan and I hate him but he’s right. I groan and lean forward, pulling him tighter against me as I bite down on his shoulder. He grunts and laughs softly and I let out another moan as his fingers pusher deeper.

“I like when you pretend to be mad,” he says softly. “Or are you trying not to wake the baby up?”

“Both,” I admit. “You asshole.”

He laughs against, lips rough against mine as his fingers keep fucking me, sliding deeper inside as I move my hips, my hands in his hair, moans in his mouth. I can barely control myself and all I know is I need this so badly it almost hurts.

For a second, sanity almost returns to me. “We shouldn’t,” I groan. “Not here. He might come out.”

“He won’t,” Connor says, and drops down to his knees, and I know I can’t argue anymore.

He finishes undressing me before he starts to tongue my pussy. I grab his hair again and push him tighter as pleasure washes over me. He licks and sucks me, eating my soaking cunt, sending waves and waves of desire rolling through my skin. I need more, need it so badly it almost fucking hurts.

I feel his tongue slide inside as he reaches up and teases my breasts. I groan and arch my back, legs locked and shaking as he presses his fingers inside of me and sucks on my clit. I can feel sweat on my skin but I’ve barely done any work, just let him please me over and over again; make me moan his name.

“Fuck, Connor,” I groan, and he looks up at me with a smirk. He stands, giving me a break to catch my breath, as he slowly takes off his jeans.

His cock is long, thick, and hard. He takes himself in one hand, stroking it, looking at my body, and I feel a wave of intense desire and pleasure. I love being looked at like this. It makes my knees shake just letting him look at me, and I can’t help but slide a hand down between my own legs.

He steps forward toward me and I sit up at the edge of the couch, my hand still down between my legs. I rub my own clit in slow circles with my left hand as I take his cock with my right and slowly slide him into my mouth.

“Shit,” he groans. “Hearing you moan with my cock in your mouth drives me fucking wild.”

I don’t hold back then as I slide along his big, thick shaft. I can barely fit him in my mouth but I’m determined anyway, pushing deeper and deeper with every motion, suppressing my gag each time. His groans urge me on and I don’t stop, pushing and sliding and bobbing my head, letting my spit ride down along his shaft, pooling in my trailing hand as my other hand works my own clit.

“Fuck girl,” he groans, taking my hair and pushing me down. I gag but I don’t stop, tears in my eyes, desire ringing through me. “You suck cock like you love it.”

I pull back, gasping, stroking him with my wet hand. “I do love it,” I say.

His eyes flash and I go back to work, sucking him lovingly, tasting his tip and his shaft, letting him press himself deep down into my throat. He’s an animal and I love it.

He stops suddenly, grunting, and pushes me back onto the couch. His eyes are burning and I spread my legs to let him see my fingers sliding into my soaked, tight pussy.

He reaches down and grabs my hips and my hair, turning me over. I gasp as he gets me on my knees, elbows on the back of the couch, back arched and ass in the air. He palms my hips and presses his cock against me, and for a second I don’t think he’ll be able to fit.

But he presses himself deep between my legs anyway and I throw my head back, a groan of pure desire and pleasure escaping my lips.

He fucks me then, raw and deep. I groan and work my hips back, pleasure and pain mixing intensely in my mind, rolling down my spine and building in my pussy. He’s not gentle as he rips into me, slapping my ass, grabbing my hips, pulling my hair. I urge him on, moving my back and hips against him, needing to come so badly it almost hurts.

He pulls me back against him, one hand on my throat, the other teasing my clit, his cock buried deep inside. He kisses me over my shoulder and I moan into it as he works my clit faster, hand on my throat tighter.

“Fuck me,” I gasp, and I know I’m close.

He pushes me forward again and rips into me. I’m afraid we’re too loud but I can’t stop it now. He fucks me like an animal, my whole body ringing and sweating with pleasure, and finally it happens. The orgasm overtakes me and I come hard. I have to bite down on the couch just to keep myself from screaming as my whole body shakes.

He groans and strokes in me, deeper and faster, fucking me rough. I move my hips, barely conscious from my orgasm. He pulls himself back suddenly and turns me around just in time to come in thick ropes all over my breasts and chin. I duck forward to taste it as he finishes, groans slowly leaking from his lips.

His thick cock drips cum onto my chest and I lick it up, cleaning every inch. He leans forward and kisses me slow, tongue against mine, not caring that I just swallowed some of him.

We go into the bathroom together wordlessly. Ryan’s still asleep as we shower, touching each other gently, his lips against my throat. I’ve never felt so dirty and so clean and so damn satisfied in my entire life.

There are a ton of other reasons why this might be a bad idea, but I’m not letting myself dwell on them. Right now, in the moment, it feels too good to matter. All that other stuff, it’s just outside.

It’s waiting to get in, but it’s outside.