Sparrow

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they said. Brock’s leash was shorter than my temper, and I made sure that I was always three steps ahead of him.

And that I always had the upper hand.



I FINISHED OFF the disastrous day by paying a visit to Catalina, thinking I’d let off some steam and give her a piece of my mind about Sparrow’s inappropriate wedding gift.

Catalina was my Friday piece and only long-term mistress. Tonight was an unscheduled visit.

It was a risky thing, like anything else worth doing. Brock worked late at the restaurant on Fridays. I always made sure he was extra busy those days so I could play with his wife, even though a part of me really did want him to find out.

Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood for f*cking. Maybe it was the Callaway, and maybe it was the fact I knew I’d be going back to a penthouse full of Sparrow, a chick I didn’t know or like. Hell, maybe it was just me growing bored with my mistress’s crazy antics.

Catalina was a virus encased in a sexy dress. Easily spread, but you know that shit is bad for you. There was a time—it was long ago—that she made me believe she was an innocent little lamb, in need of rescuing. Today, I knew she was the person people needed to be protected from.

Either way, I was feeling extra devilish. “Kneel,” I ordered coldly when she walked into her dark bedroom.

She jumped, surprised and startled by my presence, but then quickly dropped to her knees, her breath already growing heavy. I pushed myself off the window sill I was leaning against, closed the short distance between us and slammed the door shut so her son wouldn’t hear. Her cleavage rose and fell with the rhythm of her breaths. She wanted this so f*cking bad, it was almost a turn-off.

Looking down at her, I unzipped my pants. “Now suck.”

She didn’t budge. The bitch wanted to play, but I wasn’t game. I repeated my request.

“No. Do me first.” Her voice was shaky.

My jaw twitched. I didn’t have time for this. Fisting her dark hair from the base of her skull and yanking her closer to my junk, I murmured, “If you won’t, Sparrow will. I’ve been meaning to test-drive her.”

Her lips pinched, and she drew a long breath before moving her face to my cock. A quivering hand wrapped around my shaft.

My threat had worked. Cat had a problem, and her problem was me. I was her ambition, her love, her hate and every other feeling occupying her cold little heart. It was sad, but true.

After I came, I zipped up before she even had the chance to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Slumping onto the floor, she dragged her gaze up to see if I’d return the favor.

I was not a good lover. Always took care of myself first, never thought twice about the women I was with. Women overlooked my moody behavior and shortcomings because I never gave them a chance to object. And Cat? She f*cking lived for my cruelty. Loved it, lusted after it. The more monstrous I was, the hotter she was for me.

So I was the nastiest to her.

That particular night, I was in no mood to do her, let alone go down on her. I hadn’t gone down on a woman in years.

When I started for the door, she peeled her eyes away from my face, crawling on the floor, clasping my leg. “Don’t go to her,” she whined in decibels more fitted for a slasher film.

My cum was still dripping down her full lower lip and onto Brock’s carpeted floor, but she didn’t seem to give a damn that her son was downstairs and could probably hear her. I shouldered into my jacket as I watched her squirming at my feet. Recently she’d started crying. A lot. Cried when we f*cked, cried when we didn’t, and especially every time I left. Surprisingly, I didn’t enjoy seeing her like this. I seldom enjoyed the misery of the weak—it was the resilient that I wanted to bring to their knees.

I spat out my toothpick, watched it roll under their bed and shook my head at her. “You’re a mess.”

She sniffed, bending her head down. “It kills me that you’re with her now.”

“Don’t butt into my shit, Cat. You have a kid to take care of and a life outside this cushy arrangement. We can stop if this is getting to be too much for you. I’m not the only person in the world with a dick. Your husband’s got one, too.”

“No, no.” She got up to her knees, looking like Alice Cooper, the mascara running down her cheeks in chunky strikes. Her palms were pressed together and she matched my pace, crawling on her knees.

Make no mistake, she loved this mess. Would never quit this affair, this drama, or me.

“I’m good. I’m just…you know, with you getting married and…” Her eyes fluttered shut as she heaved a sigh. “You’re right.” She shrugged, forcing a cunning smile as she got to her feet. “It’s just something I need to get used to.”

I would give her a piece of my mind about that slutty gift. But not tonight.

When I walked out of her house, Sam was in the living room, watching a cartoon in the dark, clutching a teddy bear under his armpit. “Bye, Mr. Troy,” he muttered almost to himself, eyes still glued to Bugs Bunny and Road Runner.

I grunted in response.

I was the scum of the earth.

The biggest scum on the planet.

And still, I couldn’t help myself.



SO, WHEN I GOT back home, poured myself a drink and heard Sparrow’s little feet climbing down the stairway, I decided I’d done enough damage for one day and spared her the truth about our marriage.