Carving Graves: A Dark Mafia Romance (The KORT Series Book 2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CELESTE

I’m not sure how to extricate myself from the web of tangled thoughts, images, and decisions that now govern my every waking moment. It’s not the trauma. Maybe that would make more sense. It’s the weeding through options—and strategies in which to approach those options—that plagues me the most.

It’s been ten days since I murdered a man. God knows what that psycho’s plan was. I’m not even remorseful. No idea what that says about me. I’d kill Scott Filmore again and again to protect myself. Not even a question in my mind about that.

It’s the cover-up and the broad view of all it represents that have my head spinning. The Carver name was a candle in the wind that night. Liam not only rescued me; he also kept my family legacy burning. And yet my parents feel I’m tarnishing it by staying here and consorting with seedy hoodlums—my mother’s classification in a recent call—and I can’t say a word in defense.

I’ve always been strong, but I’ve also dutifully played my part. Even when I pushed back, it was done with the understanding that I’d rebel for a night but conform for a lifetime. I don’t know how to tell my parents or grandparents that Liam is the future I want. That I’m not consorting with those seedy hoodlums; I’m one of them.

Purposefully fusing myself with them.

It’s not as though I’m blind. They straddle the proverbial fence of morality in such a drastic stance that I can’t negate my mother’s concerns. I just don’t share them. But anytime I try to broach the subject of staying here with either of my parents, I’m met with stern outrage from my father or a weepy quaver from my mother. It’s exhausting.

Defeating.

I don’t want to play Carver games anymore.

“Family meeting in thirty minutes,” Ivy announces over the house intercom. Her tone is fiery. Someone’s in trouble.

I’m never quite sure where I fall in the family stuff. I’m not officially part of their household, but I’ve been trying to do my part. Ivy wouldn’t broadcast it if it was private though.

Swinging myself out of the bathroom to press the All button on the wall speaker box, I respond with a swift, “Yes, ma’am,” and return to patting on a shimmery lip gloss.

I’m freshly showered after a workout with Gage. It was my first day back in the gym since the beating I’d taken to my ribs and hip. I’m still sore, but thankfully, nothing was broken.

Liam’s voice reverberates through the room via the house megaphone next. “Push it back to four. I have an appointment.”

“It’s not on the schedule,” Ivy chirps in a singsong reprimand. She runs a tight ship around here, cataloging everyone’s whereabouts, insisting on family downtime, scheduling shifts with Felicity, and ensuring everyone has adequate relaxation periods.

She’s become obsessed with monitoring the household’s stress level and exhaustion. A mother hen. It’s cute how they all fall in line, albeit with a fair amount of teasing.

“Don’t piss off the house manager, Graves,” Gage mocks.

“Good point, Big Guy. Sorry about that. I’ll be sure to register all activities going forward. You want me to log everything Ace and I do on the goddamn schedule, High Society?”

Leave it to Liam to make me blush from an intercom conversation.

The truth is, our schedule would be barren in that area since everything happened. It’s what I requested because of the injuries—not simply because of the physical pain. The bruises made me feel broken and powerless, and I didn’t want that to leak into our intimacy. Liam draws a new type of strength out of me, a strength that comes with unmasking. One that’s enlivening. His lips, his touch, his eyes on me are empowering. I wasn’t willing to lose that to Scott Filmore, so I asked for a reprieve until my body was stronger.

He heard every word I spoke and all the ones I couldn’t. He really does see me. I’ve never been loved by anyone—not in a romantic way—and I’m not assuming that Liam is in love with me, but he’s delivered exactly what I needed every step. He hasn’t coddled or pitied me. He’s respected me enough to offer space while still affording me the comfort of falling asleep in his arms and waking up in the same serenity every morning.

Tonight, I’ll be making up for our lost time. There’s a throbbing between my thighs, and considering the morning wood Liam attempts to conceal, the man deserves a damn medal. I plan to deliver big.

“Freckles,” Ty whines through a chuckling plea that floats through the air as I slip into my cashmere lounge pants and fitted shirt. “I beg you to put a stop to his madness before he starts sharing details that make my ears bleed.”

“I’m reviewing said schedule now,” Liam chimes, always content to instigate. “Based on our latest text thread, barring us from several areas of the house, it seems you and the Chief have left off some extracurricular—”

“Jesus Christ,” Wells hisses, overriding Liam’s goading. “It’s two in the afternoon. I’m trying to work. Shut the hell up, and we’ll meet at four.”

A laugh flows out of my lungs as I twist my damp hair up on top of my head. When the bedroom door flies open, I’m still smiling at the goofy banter that infiltrates each day here.

Until Liam’s resolute hazels land on me. Gone is the gentle guy who’s been cradling my troubles.

He’s all dark angel meets golden god. Cocksure and suave. Ready to pounce.

And I am a willing prey.

In two rapid strides, he’s on me. Long limbs snaking around me, fingers weaving into my hair to tilt my head at his desired angle, breath cascading over my skin.

Chills and bumps. Feverish thirst.

His lips ghost over mine with a hum, as though I’m a memory, the kind that yellows over time. Faded and amber. Memorialized nostalgia. Crinkly edges and staticky sound. Scents deeply rooted and sharp. A returning. I recognize it because that’s how it always feels when his eyes drink me in. Like he’s trying to recall a time that meant everything.

One snapshot of meaning.

And I get it. Why he said, “Let everyone fucking see what I’m doing to you,” at the stables for our first kiss. Why he finger-fucked me in a crowded restaurant. It’s a claiming. Sure. But it’s more than a simple testosterone-fueled marking. And completely contrary to the way I’ve lived with my never let them see mantra.

I’ve been in hiding.

He wants to imprint us on every place, every experience. He’s photobombing my whole damn life, and I love it. Even before I understood what was between us, he was the image I couldn’t ignore, the most stirring part of every frame.

“I thought you had a meeting,” I whisper against his mouth, my fingers perusing the sculpted edge of his chest and back, corded dips of his flexed biceps.

“I do.” His dimple winks at me as his cheek plays with a lopsided grin. “I’m really good at multitasking.”

I arch my back, my breasts serving him a taunt while I refuse to give in to this kiss first. The crackling zaps of anticipation are intoxicating, stealing all the oxygen in the room. “Prove it.”

He chuckles under his breath, as drunk on this lust-filled expectancy as I am. “I’m about to, Ace. Gage said your workout was strong. Feeling good?”

A trace of his distressing worry is laced into that check-in. Finding me in the hotel that night wounded him too. He doesn’t say it because, like all the other men in this house, he carries himself as though he’s impenetrable. But I saw it, felt it—him unraveling when Wells told him it wasn’t his fault. I see it now, swirling inside his moldavite beauties.

The sight of his concern trumps my need to have him fold first. My tongue darts out to lick at his lips before I press into him. He doesn’t hold back, swallowing the whole of me, enmeshing us into one essence as our sultry moans mingle to become a melodic symphony. Every fiber within me is ignited, every insecurity I’ve been harboring disintegrating to ashes. But much to my dismay, he doesn’t linger there with me.

“That tastes like a green light, Carver.”

I bite my index finger, my eyes capering over him in a sheer, torturous pause until I can’t handle my own punishing wait. “All systems go, Mr. Graves.”

In a blinding flash, he scoops me up, cradling me in his arms and pecking my nose. “Fuck, baby. Am I glad to hear that.” Jaunting toward the door, he wrenches it open and carries me into the hallway. His face is bold with purpose, pace ambitious with intent.

“Where are we going?” I ask, wondering why he revved me up and then ditched the perfectly good bed back there.

“You’ll see. Patience, Carver.” He smirks, cuddling me into his steel pecs with a deep inhale. “You smell like cashmere.”

That has a giggle leaping from my throat to wet the skin of his neck. “I’m wearing cashmere, so your olfactory perception is superb.”

“Nothing to do with what you’re wearing,” he rasps, marching us down the hall to a room past the gym, which is an area I never wander to. Once we’re inside, he locks the door behind us and steadies me on my feet.

“I forgot you guys had a sauna,” I say, taking in the vast spa-like room—rich bamboo on the ceiling and floor; marble walls, veined with copper and steely blue; fiber-optic lighting.

We’re standing in a relaxation area outside the glass doors to the steam room. Inside, there are several wood-slatted benches and lounge beds, covered with cushions. It smells like the ocean—coconut and a salty breeze.

“Yeah.” He hedges there, watching me like he’s deciding something, but he must abandon whatever it is. “Ivy hasn’t used it much since the doctor thought it best to avoid it during her pregnancy.”

“That makes sense. So, you’re multitasking in the steam?” I waggle my brows.

“Yep.” He fists the hem of my shirt and peels it over my head. “First task, we need to get you out of these.” He tucks his fingers into my pants next, stooping before me and shucking them off my legs with my panties. I hold on to his shoulders and step out of them. He tosses my discarded garments onto a chair from his crouched position, pointing a demanding finger at me on the one-word command, “Bra,” as his tongue meets my inner thigh.

I unclasp my bra like the obedient, brazen minx I am as he wedges my legs open with his knees. Lapping and sucking and flicking.

“Jesus,” I hiss, raking my fingers through his hair and bracing my shoulders against the wall.

One of his hands squeezes my ass while his other teases my opening, dancing around the plunge I’m so desperate for him to take. He may be on his knees, but I’m the one at his mercy.

Zealous. Wanton.

“Goddamn, Ace,” he growls. “I’ve been craving a taste of this sweet pussy. That was your last reprieve. This cunt is mine.”

“Yours,” I concede as he pumps me full with two fingers, his tongue lashing and whirling my clit in decadent, ravenous loops while he moans his own satisfaction. Standing here, naked, legs spread, whimpering through this ecstasy, while he holds all the power is new for me. “I’ve never … not this … until you,” I pant.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing that. Except I want him to know what an extreme act of trust this is for me. I’m certainly no virgin, but I’ve never allowed myself to be in the weaker position. No one has ever been so hungry to savor me though.

His eyes float up to mine, brimming with understanding and vulnerability. With his fingers still romping inside me, his tongue pausing its languid circling, he issues another order. “Come for me, baby girl.” Lick. “Come all over my face.” Swirl. “I’ve got you.” Pump and lap. “I’ve always got you.”

It’s his words—his promise—that render my undoing as much as his touch.

“Fuck, Liam.”

And as the room fades and spots like a starry night, my spine tingles, my knees buckle, and my body is rendered utterly boneless. Orgasms should not be a standing sport.

“That’s my girl,” he soothes, dragging me down to his lap. “So beautiful.” His fingers never cease their dance as I quiver, falling to a jelly-limbed mess in his embrace.

“Holy shit,” I croon. “Not sure what we’re multitasking, but you owned it like a boss.”

He smiles against my temple, planting kisses in my hair. “That wasn’t the multitasking. That was the pre-meeting welcome snack.”

It takes me a hot minute to get my wits about me, but once I do, I’m left confused. “You really have a meeting?”

“Sure do. In about ten minutes.”

“Okay.” My eyebrows knit together, the bafflement growing. “Are you stowing me inside the sauna while you take your meeting?”

His laugh bounces off the walls, swaddling me in enticement for whatever he has in store. My heart rate relinquishes the tranquility obtained from my release and ratchets higher in search of more.

He stands up with me, his own attire melting to the floor. The man can undress at record speeds. “I’ll be joining you. That’s the multitasking. The question is, would you prefer to be a good girl and stay quiet during my call, or should I bind and gag you?”

That, combined with his tanned and chiseled godlike form, does nothing to temper my spiking pulse. But it does everything to pique my interest. “How long will the call be?”

“I intend to make it quick,” he says, stroking his irate cock.

The head is downright enraged, neglected for far too long, leaking precum and oh-so eager. I bend down and lick it up, craving his salty taste.

Liam palms my head with a grunt. “Christ. None of that, Ace, or I’ll miss my meeting.” Stepping away, he opens the glass doors and ushers me inside. “So, what’s it gonna be? Am I fucking a bound-and-gagged brat during this call or my quiet good girl?”

The thick, muggy air envelops me immediately, along with the yearning to finally give him everything today.

“Let’s go the brat route.” I’m not exactly the submissive type. At least, I never have been, but I’ll try anything once.

His grin alights his whole face, dimple confidently flashing me, lazy dirty-blond locks in that perfect mess.

God, he’s stunning.

“That’s what I was hoping for,” he admits. “I’ve never thought much about gags, but I’m looking forward to this. Hop on.” He pats the lounge bed, dragging me to the very edge, and holds up a red silk scarf. “Ball and bit gags are sexy as fuck, but I’m not sure about them in here, in case the drooling and the steam inhibits your breathing. Just this scarf as a reminder to stay quiet. Good?”

I nod, but he sets a stern gaze on me.

“You need to verbally agree to everything, baby. Okay?”

“Yes. The scarf is good.”

He shows me what else he’ll be doing, acquires my go-ahead, and then proceeds with more instructions. “We’ll establish a safe word later. For today, since you’ll be gagged, you’ll hold this rubber ball. If at any time you need to stop, for any reason, you let it go. You drop the ball, and everything ends.” He tips my chin up to him, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “My first priority is always you, Ace.”

That might be the sweetest sentence anyone has ever spoken to me. He probably has no idea how his words are entangling my heart, melting me into a puddle of mush during the instruction portion of our multitasking sexcapade. But top billing, being someone’s priority without ulterior motives, is suddenly a desire I never realized was deep and dormant inside my bones.

He rolls the scarf, securing it over my tongue and tying it snuggly behind my head. While my breaths are already shallow due to the heat, breathing isn’t an issue with the scarf, but the way it keeps my mouth from closing will prohibit speech. Once it’s in place, he guides me to lie back, fastening a cuff to each of my wrists that connects to a band hooked on the wall behind me. Looks like this steam room is kink-approved. And I am so here for it. I’ve never had the right conditions to explore the way I wanted to. No one has ever made me feel this safe and cherished either.

His Adam’s apple bobs through a swallow, eyes glistening. “You’re so goddamn perfect, Celeste. So gorgeous for me. Bound. Gagged. Eager. And mine.”

His.

He places the ball in my palm, holding his hand over mine and kissing my forehead. “Eyes on me. Always,” he says, voice so thick and husky that it shoots right to my clit.

I arch my back, so he tweaks my nipple with a growl, sucking the other into his mouth to grant me a prickling tingle. Shivers rocket through me in spite of the heat. I need him. Now.

When he releases me, he grazes his knuckles over my cheekbone while ogling my bound and insatiable state. It’s all so much more. The steam, the sweat beading over his rippled abs, the greedy pearls of arousal seeping out of my pores, and the intensity of his gaze. It’s everything.

He grabs his phone, which is tucked into a protective pouch, and links it to the built-in speakers. The wonky ding of their connection sounds as he moves between my legs, slinging them up onto his shoulders.

“This—you trusting me out there, baby. Letting me feast on that sumptuous cunt. And here, now. This.” His eyes meander over me as he glides the head of his rock-hard cock through my slick heat. Up and down, like our first night, when he teased me until I begged. “I don’t take it lightly,” he says, and I see the veracity in his statement. “I take care of what’s mine, and I will deliver on every ounce of trust you gift me. Remember that. And remember your ball.”

“My first priority is always you, Ace.”

With that, he thrusts inside me. It’s achingly slow yet still so impassioned. Both of us drenched in equal parts sweat and desire. Those hazels say even more than his beautiful proclamations. And all I want is to get lost inside them. To reside within that midnight forest for all time.

A shocking ring blares over the speaker, invading our moment and somehow making it that much more enticing at once. My chest heaves with a thrill, which causes Liam to chuckle on another painfully slow thrust.

“Hold on to that, Ace. Be a good girl for me.”

He taps the Answer button on the phone. “Hey, Frank. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m in the middle of a hot yoga session.”

My eyes open so wide with panic that the steam swarms them with a sting.

Frank? Like my father, Frank?

“Hot yoga?” My father howls.

Holy. Fuck.

“Gotta say, that’s unexpected, Graves. I got the sense from Wells that your training regimen was more hard-core.”

“Oh, I like it hard all right. It’s definitely hard right now.” A mischievous grin blasts across Liam’s face as he maintains his easy rhythm through his double entendres. “But I find hot yoga really gets me in the perfect … zone.”

Oh. Good. God.

His eyes flit from mine to my hand. The ball. He’s reminding me I can intervene at any moment. End this call. My choice. Like the gag and restraints. I squeeze the ball, the dewy rubber clinging to my skin. Not yet. He promised he’d deliver on my trust. I’ll see what he’s got.

“So, do you have a development for me?” my father asks as Liam massages my clit in the sensual cadence that always shoves me over the euphoric precipice.

“Yes,” he replies as his other hand kneads my breast. He pumps inside me, his pace agonizingly delicious.

Oh. Dear. Jesus. I don’t want to come with my father on the phone.

“But not on the case,” Liam tacks on.

Case?I didn’t know they were working on something together.

“I’m not sure I understand,” my father says, the telltale jingles of his drink prep in the background. If he’s relaxed, he’s fixing a Manhattan. Stressed—Johnnie Walker Blue, straight. If he could see what was really happening, the bottle wouldn’t suffice. Glass clinks through the speaker before he asks, “What other development would you have for me then?”

I tighten my fingers on the ball, too heady to understand why I don’t simply drop the damn thing. This insider’s peek at my father’s business is interesting though. He’s never allowed that. This is all so crude and bizarre, but too alluring to pass up. Even on the brink of an orgasm.

I’m as warped as Liam. What the hell is wrong with me?

A stream of perspiration trickles down Liam’s face, raining through his golden scruff, dripping onto his rigid, inked pec, and pooling around his taut nipple as he says, “I know you and Ava are concerned about Celeste.”

That begs my attention. Is this call about me?

My father’s voice softens, stabbing me with a pang of guilt. “Of course we’re concerned. Has something else happened?”

“She’s fine,” Liam says with a wink. His tempo picks up in aggression, thumb rollicking with a fervor over my clit as he slams into me. “In fact,” he continues with a haughty smirk, “she’s perfectly fulfilled, which is why I’m telling you that your concerns are unnecessary.”

“Well, that is appreciated.” My father sighs. “She’s been quiet since Scott Filmore went missing. I know they hit it off, but we’re committed to getting her back out there. Finding a good fit for her. Someone safe, especially since she’s refusing to return home in the meantime.”

I can’t hide the deflation hearing that brings. A harrowing weight whomps my chest, pinning me to the lounger with far more constriction than these bindings. Tears spill through my lids, or maybe it’s the steam, but Liam ceases the finger tango on my clit and pinches both nipples until an unbidden whimper soars out of me from the heavenly zing—one he masks by clearing his throat.

When my alarmed eyes spring open, Liam points a V at them and back to his own, reminding me to keep my gaze hitched to his. To trust him.

“That’s the thing,” he says, hazels fierce and ardent. Lust. Determination. Compassion. “She won’t be getting back out there. Celeste is mine now.”

My heart thumps, pelting my sternum so vehemently that I’m surprised we can’t see it, like one of those dramatic cartoon characters whose lovestruck organ boings out of their body. The conversation I’ve been avoiding is happening while I’m in the most vulnerable position imaginable. In a sea of offered choices, Liam swiped this one out of my hands. Maybe I should be furious. Enraged. I’m not. It’s oddly liberating.

My father roars through the speaker, “I already told Wells that I do not want—”

“It’s not up for discussion, Frank. This was simply a courtesy call.” Despite the amorous expression cloaking his features, and the labored breathing from the steamy sexercising, Liam’s voice is sharp. Authoritative and commanding. So fucking hot. “I’m not asking permission, but I do respect how much you mean to your daughter. That’s why I’m letting you know where we stand. Do not try to set her up, pressure her to be someone she isn’t, or expect her to pursue goals that aren’t hers. She will not shed one more goddamn tear because she feels she let you, Ava, or the Carver name down. That all ends today.”

I’m both aghast and swooning. No one talks to my father that way. I love my parents, but I’ve never felt so seen. Liam hasn’t witnessed one tear regarding my family. I made sure of it. But they were still shed. The hollow despondency still wreaked havoc. No matter how hard I worked to disguise it, he saw it all.

I want you to see me. I’ll still keep you guessing, but no more games.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” my father bellows.

Liam sinks into me with such salacious ownership that my hips leap off the cushion to meet him, our eyes locked in some otherworldly realm.

“I’m the man taking your daughter,” he snipes. “Her well-being is mine to watch over now. And as such, anyone who interferes with that will be removed from her life.”

“You goddamn son of a bitch! You think you can threaten me, Graves? That she won’t leave you in the dust when she finds out?”

Ordinarily, the rage infusing my father’s tenor would shatter me, but lying beneath this formidable man, who has tethered my hands and tied my tongue, I’m freer than I’ve ever been.

“Ahh, Frank. We might not know each other that well, but surely, you’re aware that I don’t threaten. I inform. You want a relationship with her? You show your support and accept that she belongs to me. That’s the only way.” Liam swallows thickly, stretching up to graze his thumb over my lower lip, fingertips skimming over the scarf to caress the skin above it with more adoration than I’ve ever been met with. “And as far as Celeste goes, she’s well aware of everything I shared today, and I don’t think she has a damn thing to say about it.”

He’s completely unhinged, and yet I’ve never felt more cared for in my life.

Clicking off the phone without waiting for a response from my father, he addresses me. “No more pressure, baby girl. It’s just you, me, and our family now.”

Our family.

I nod, my eyes still on his as he fucks me so vigorously that he obliterates all coherent thoughts and gravity, light and dark. The armor I’ve worn for everyone cracks into shambles as he slams inside me again and again. I’m so wet; I’ve coated him completely. The sound of our skin slapping, our bodies fusing and becoming one, coils around me tighter than the sticky cuffs on my wrists.

“That’s my good girl.” His hoarse timbre coasts across my molten skin, delivering me star by star to an utter evisceration until infinite rapture ensues. “You did so good, baby. Look at you. So radiant, coming on my cock.”

He’s everywhere. Above and below. Around and inside. In the salty breeze and humid blanket. Every sense is heightened to him. The hooks rattle as my muscles tighten, screams bleeding through the scarf, back bowed off the clammy cushion, heels digging into his shoulders.

His ski-lodge spice melds with the coconut spa—the sultry scent of our wrecking. And with a grunt that crashes through the hazy air, he trembles through his own release, unraveling with me until all I see is him.

All I feel is us.

While still inside me, he unclasps my restraints, snaking an arm under my back to bend me into him and untying the gag before he seizes my lips in a possessive kiss that ripples through me, my aftershocks still fierce.

“I’ll always show up,” he whispers against my lips, fisting my damp hair. “No matter what happens, that’s what you hold on to. You’re mine, Ace. I’ll never let you go.”

Perhaps that should sing out like more of a threat than a promise. But all I hear is a sentiment I thought I’d never feel.

I’m seen, and I belong.