CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

~ Stephano’s POV

“You got a problem with that, Stephano?”

Elvis's voice pierced through my ear like a butterknife trying to act like a dagger. A pathetic attempt, really. I smiled.

I had a problem, alright. A very tight, dripping, slick, warm kind of problem, standing just a few feet away from me, wearing guilt like perfume, her thighs pressed too tight together for someone who hadn’t been properly wrecked in hours. And he was standing beside her like he owned her.

Owned what? My goddamn leftovers?

I adjusted my cuff, not because it needed adjusting, but because if I didn’t do something with my hands, I’d reach...