16. Natasha
16
NATASHA
W hite-hot relief floods my veins, and liquid pleasure washes through me in time with my sprinting heart. Killian’s cock pulses inside me with each burst of cum, and I throb with pleasure as I milk him of every last drop. He fills me up until the slick wetness comes trickling out, coating my thighs with our mingled release.
“Damn, you feel so good,” he rasps, stilling inside me.
The gruff sound of his voice sets a flutter to life in my stomach. And my clit twitches in response. Something about Killian is dangerously intoxicating, addicting. It took nothing for him to quell my fury about this morning’s proposal. And in its absence, an overpowering desire consumed me.
I can feel his heart pounding in rhythm with mine, he has me pinned so thoroughly against the alley wall. His breath comes hard and fast from the merciless way he fucked me. And my core tightens just thinking about how recklessly he took what was owed.
I breathe heavily, trapped between his powerful arms. And when he presses his lips to mine, I can’t help but melt against him. Kissing Killian should not feel this good. But God, it does.
Slowly, he eases out of me, setting me lightly on my feet as if I weigh nothing. Then he reaches behind his head to loosen the wire I attempted to strangle him with.
As soon as my hands are free, I snatch my leggings from him. And he gives me one last smirk as he tucks himself away and closes his slacks.
Then he stalked to the entrance of the alley without a backward glance.
Frustration spikes in my chest at his cocky departure. A confidence that says he knew he would have me despite how close I came to actually killing him this time. Another forty seconds, and he would have blacked out.
Quickly cleaning myself up with my panties, I slip the lacy fabric into my small black-leather backpack. Then I pull my leggings back on without underwear and creep to the corner of the alley so I can watch him rejoin his dinner companions.
The hulking brown-haired, blue-eye behemoth who is his silent right-hand man looks uncharacteristically exasperated with Killian as his boss approaches. And he mutters something about how the cocky Irishman shouldn’t be disappearing on them like that in public.
The young woman with them—a pretty girl I would describe as attractive in a cute kind of way rather than strikingly beautiful, like Tatiana—can only be Killian’s sister. They have the same green eyes and pale Irish complexion, though Killian lacks the smattering of freckles that make his sister look well over a decade younger than him.
“What are you doing skulking around alleys at this time of night?” his sister scolds, gesturing in my direction.
I shrink back to ensure neither she nor the hulking bodyguard beside her spot me. And I just catch Killian’s deep, rolling laughter.
“Is there ever a good time to go ‘skulking around alleys’?” he counters. “I thought I saw something, but it was just a stray cat.”
I bristle, recognizing his euphemism for me since he’s called me a little tigress on multiple occasions. And he casts a glance over his shoulder, flashing me a wicked grin.
“You’re ridiculous,” his sister insists, rolling her eyes. “Can we go home now? I could seriously use a bath and bed.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Killian teases, opening the back door of the black Escalade they stand beside. It’s not the sleek blue Bugatti I’ve seen him drive before, but then, I doubt the flashy sports car would fit all three of them.
His hulking right-hand man rounds the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. And Killian slides into the passenger seat as soon as he closes the door behind his sister. As they pull out into the slow-moving traffic, I follow them with my eyes. When they reach the end of the block, they take a right.
What is it about Killian that’s so maddeningly appealing?
I can’t put my finger on it.
But as I watch him drive away, an odd realization hits me. I think I actually want to uphold my end of our bargain tonight—even though I could walk away this time and Killian wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.
More and more, I find it hard to deny that I have feelings for Killian. Sure, he’s wild and brazen and reckless. Uncouth even. But something about his confidence is so alluring. His silent strength that he only uses against me when I’m coming at him with all I’ve got.
His playful mischief drives me crazy, but it also draws me in. Tempting me to smile. He’s playing with me. Constantly. And for some strange reason, I think I’m starting to like it.
I like him.
Strange as it might seem, I like who I can be around him. For so much of my life, I’ve had to adopt a submissive, demure persona in public. It’s what’s expected of me as the daughter of a pakhan . And my father has always encouraged me to lean into the stereotype because it provides an effective cover for what I really do for our family.
But it means that outside of my parents and Tatiana, no one really knows me. Not the real me. They appreciate me as the soft-spoken young lady who hesitates to give eye contact and never speaks unless spoken to.
With Killian, that’s not true. He understands who I really am. In fact, he might actually know me more completely than anyone in the world. He’s seen my fiery personality. He’s tested my strength to its limits. He’s experienced firsthand how cutthroat I can be, and he still wants me.
Enough to marry me?
He sure made it seem that way when I brought up his proposal to my father.
In fact, he sounded like he wasn’t thinking about Tatiana at all when he mentioned it tonight. But is that just a part of his game?
I don’t know. And I shouldn’t care. Because he’s my family’s enemy.
Guilt twists my gut to think that I might have feelings for our adversary. My loyalty should be with my father, who’s supported my strength and independence from the very beginning. He raised me to be the woman I am today. And I owe him everything for loving all that I could be.
I can’t betray him over whatever it is I might feel for Killian King.
Deal or no deal, I need to dispose of the Irish mafia head.
Because our family’s reputation—and welfare—depends on it.
That’s when the thought hits me. Technically, after my night with Killian, it’s a new day. I could have sex with him, wait until he’s asleep, and kill him before he wakes.
The realization eases my warring conscience about my loyalty to my family. And at the same time, it raises a new kind of conflict that tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I don’t like the idea of murdering Killian in his sleep.
Not that I haven’t done it before—killed men while they were unconscious. And I didn’t give a second thought to snuffing out their light. But those men were strangers, obstacles in the path to my family’s success.
They weren’t sinfully attractive Irishmen who knew how to make my body come alive. And they certainly weren’t Killian King.
Sighing, I slip out onto the Brooklyn street and blend in with the pedestrians on their way home for the night.
It won’t be too far to walk to Killian’s estate from here, and I’d rather take my time. I don’t want to seem too eager about getting there. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a flicker of anticipation at what awaits me there.
The night air is crisp in the early part of spring, the warmth from the day melting into the sidewalk as the cool darkness settles in. And my flats pad softly along the hard cement, though I take up a brisk pace.
Some fathers might worry about letting their daughters walk the streets of New York alone at night. But not mine. Tatiana might be another story. She’s too recognizable. I’ve made a practice of fading into the background. I’m the less eye-catching, less important younger daughter of Boris Sokolov. Which makes me far less of a target.
And no petty criminal would stand a chance against me. Here, on the neighborhood streets of Brooklyn Heights, I won’t run into anyone I can’t handle. In truth, there are few people in this world I couldn’t handle.
It just so happens that Killian is one.
And it drives me crazy to know I can’t best him—even as it excites me to think about trying again. Though I refuse to admit that it’s because of what comes after…
Night has fully fallen by the time I reach the front entrance of his gated community. And I slip behind the shrubbery surrounding the high walls so I can swap out my dressy green tunic shirt for a formfitting black one that will serve as the top half of my bodysuit tonight.
I pull it from my bag, quickly trading shirts and slipping my mask on before slinging my backpack over my shoulders once more. Then I find the now-familiar foot and handholds that will get me up and over the community wall in under five minutes.
Sticking to the shadows, I stalk from one yard to the next. It’s earlier than I’ve tried breaking in before. But the area seems to be a quiet one. And most houses are dark aside from a few bedroom lights along the way.
Things get significantly more complicated as soon as I step onto Killian’s property. With ten men on constant patrol, I have to time my infiltration just right. Otherwise, they’ll spot me even if I’m dressed to blend in with the night. Because the spotlights that cast out across the lawn shift and move to the slightest motion. Like a prison system, only to keep intruders out.
I take my time, watching and waiting. And to my right, the waves that break against the rocky beach soothe me, telling me there’s no rush. I have all night. I could get used to that sound. So calm and reassuring. I can see why Killian picked this mansion for his home.
It hardly feels like we’re in the city out here. And yet, within ten minutes, I could be in the middle of Brooklyn’s bustling nightlife.
Movement catches my eye on the second floor—Killian entering his bedroom from the bathroom. Shirtless, which he always seems to be when he’s in his room. A fact I don’t seem to mind. Dark ink colors his broad, muscular chest and shoulders, traveling all the way down his arms to the backs of his knuckles. The art follows the lines of his body perfectly, accentuating just how fit and powerful he is.
And I swallow hard to avoid having to admit that the sight of him makes my mouth water.
I’m so distracted momentarily that I almost miss the perfect opportunity to make my move.
But I drag my eyes away from his lit window just in time to spot my opening.
I quickly sprint across the lawn at a crouch.
The lights follow me, chasing my trail but just a second too late.
I make it to the shadows beneath his balcony just before the next guard rounds the corner. I duck low, hiding behind the bush that’s barely big enough to block me from view. Holding my breath, I remain perfectly still and silent until the guard is gone. Then I swiftly unfold my body and lightly jump up, catching the edge of the balcony with my fingertips.
Bringing my feet up, I curl my body until I can feel the concrete balustrade above me. Then I hook one knee around the pillar and twist. As soon as I can reach it, I grasp the railing. And in one swift move, I pull myself up and over. Then I drop onto the balcony floor, dipping behind the ledge before anyone can spot me.
I take a moment to catch my breath, scanning out across the yard to ensure no one is raising the alarm. Then I keep low as I creep toward the sliding glass door of Killian’s room.
It opens willingly tonight—no need to pick the lock.
But as soon as the gap is wide enough for me to slip inside, a large, rough hand catches mine, pulling me through the doorway.
I gasp as my palms connect with Killian’s sculpted chest. One strong arm wraps around my waist, and two fingers hook beneath my mask. Green eyes burn into mine as he pulls my disguise off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. Then his lips find mine, searing against my skin as he kisses me passionately.
“What took you so long?” he demands, holding me firmly against his marble-carved body.
“Did you miss me?” I tease to mask the butterflies that erupt in my stomach. But the breathy sound of my voice gives me away.
He chuckles darkly and scoops me into his arms. “You have no idea.”
And without bothering to turn off the lights, he deposits me on his bed.