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

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LIAM

Celeste has tried my patience since our first meeting when she was the snarky hourglass goddess, refusing answers about Ivy and accusing me of faking my death. But I’ve also summoned superhuman strength to extend patience at times, contrary to my instincts.

Too many fucking times.

When I stepped away because I knew how firm her parents stood on her not being mine.

When I allowed her to leave my home to date other men. Twice.

When I gave her space to heal and come to terms with her place in our family.

Maybe I should practice more patience now. She lost two men dear to her, had to cut communication with her family when those relationships had already been on rocky ground, was held captive, and discovered that Easton Lancaster is alive and that her brother was murdered. She’s barely reacted to most of that. I know her mind is spinning, trying to make sense of it all. Numb to the chaos and anguish.

But I can’t stand by while she reels and not insist that she clutch me. Trust me. I want her talons so stuck into me, and mine in hers, that removal would be excruciating. Deadly. I hoped we were already there. We don’t have the luxury of time. This life doesn’t afford that. She’s claimed. That comes with expectations.

Expectations she’ll fail if we don’t reconcile shit between us quickly. A wishy-washy attachment could get us both killed, so things have got to change.

I think she loves me and just won’t admit to it. If I thought she didn’t, this would be different—my approach anyway. I spent half my life begging people to love me. I’m not doing that again. So, if there’s no love on her end, I’ll have to get creative and chain her to me. I crave those words from her though. Other than her in my arms, I’ve never wanted anything more. But either way, she will learn to believe in us, to have faith in me, and to fight for us. Insisting upon that is me loving her even if she doesn’t understand the gravity of what we’re up against. It’s the only way she’ll survive.

My methods may be flagrantly brash, but everyone in Celeste’s life hides things from her in a wad of cotton candy. She needs to face the brutality of this world as much as she needs to believe in the protection I’ll provide.

The steam room. The bloody shower sex. The warning of what I’ll do if a man touches her. All to show her who she’s getting. Deep down, it’s what she longs for. I saw it the night with Dustin Barclay. She was aghast that I threatened him but turned on. For once, someone didn’t prance around what they wanted. It scared her but enlivened her too.

She was groomed for a life of looking pretty and applauding beside some fake fucker at a podium. What a waste of a smart, talented, and strong-ass woman. I might be a dark angel, spreading my version of Hell like a forest fire, burning those who are slightly more wicked than me with an unrepentant smirk on my face. But I see her, not just the polished sparks she’s been taught to flaunt, but also the blackened embers she struggles to snuff out. I’ll be the guy who stokes them, who snicks open my Zippo, tosses it to her, and revels in the warmth of her sweeping flames. She was born to set this world ablaze.

Contemplative. Compassionate. Strategic. Drawn to affliction. Finding power in pain. It’s seared into all she is, visible to anyone wise enough to delve into her depths.

To others, she’s champagne and caviar.

To me? Deep brown doe eyes sparkling with the lustrous glint of a hungry demon.

Gotta feed my naughty girl.

So, today, she starts training. Her first lesson will begin with her bare to me.

After hooking up all the cameras and alarms here to my computer and phone, I soothe any leftover angst with a snick, flick, flame while sauntering back upstairs to find my little demon. When I open the door, she’s stepping out from the bathroom in a sexy leather lingerie contraption. It hides little, a spiderweb of invitation. Tits bouncing. Full hips curved. Fuck-me heels elevating her legs so every soft bend is sultry and buoyant. But the most bewitching detail is my bite mark adorning her collarbone.

Christ Almighty.

Of course, no matter how sumptuous she looks, she didn’t obey.

“You were told to be naked,” I say sternly, masking any trace of the lust consuming me. My cock did not get the damn memo though—revolting painfully against my jeans zipper.

“That’s not what you said.” She struts to the far side of the bed, swaying that succulent ass with every fucking step. “You said clothes off. They are.” She’s got me there. An impish grin tips the corners of her mauve-painted lips. “Besides, you packed lingerie and regular apparel at a ratio of five to one.”

I smirk. That I did. “Your go bag should have you ready to go.”

“Right,” she deadpans. “Every getaway needs a girl in a pearl thong.”

Yep. That pair is sexy as hell. She’ll definitely be wearing those for me—the pearls should line up perfectly with her clit, so I’m anticipating a big, fat thank you.

“Now you’re getting it, Ace. But not any girl. Only you will do.”

Her teeth sink into her lip, the swell of her breasts rising with a caught breath. Wicked whiskey eyes fluttering with a flirtatious glimmer. My coy little cocktease.

I amble over to a leather club chair, making myself comfortable, legs spread wide, hands on my lap in preparation. There’s a staggering view of the Smoky Mountains beyond the wall of glass, but I only see her. “We have some matters that need addressed.”

“Do we?” She juts her round hip to the side, her espresso locks cascading over her shoulder to curtain her full expression—surely one of provocative challenge.

Fuck me, she’s mouthwatering. This will be fun but require far more self-control than I typically have. For her anyway. A test for us both. Sex was never like this before. An all-consuming event.

“Yes,” I state firmly. “Your doubt and sass need to be overcome.”

She tilts her head to the side, a roguish pout to her mouth, feigning innocence in the most salacious way. “And how might we go about that, sir?”

The honorific barely registers as she bends over the bed, adjusting a pillow or some shit. No idea. That’s not my focal point. Nope. That’s on the seductive wiggle of her ass.

She’s a lifetime of wet dreams in the flesh.

This little show looks to be her provoking me for a spanking. Not yet. She wants that too much. Instead, I dunk us into the ocean of resistance.

“Crawl to me,” I order.

That has her snapping upright with an incredulous glower. “Seriously?”

She blinks and glares, and I return the gesture.

A derisive huff falls from those plump lips. “I let you gag me, fuck me in public, and attack me like a feral animal when I was covered in some asshole’s blood. You’ve proven your manhood.”

“It’s not about me,” I counter. “It’s about you. Trusting me. Submitting. Those other times you did that, but you’re still holding on to reservations about us. So, this is important too. Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yep.” She simmers with a boiling scowl. “Joker.”

“Good girl,” I praise. I chose that because only the joker stops the ace. In reality, I’d slaughter the fucking joker, but the idea serves its purpose. “So, you need to do what you’re told or quit with your safe word. Delaying obedience is the same as being defiant.” I’m pushing all her buttons now. Entertaining. Also necessary.

She crosses her arms over her rib cage, the action pushing her glorious breasts up further.

Gorgeous.

“So we’re clear, I only ever submit to you because I enjoy it, not because I have to. Any power you have is only because I’ve bestowed it upon you.”

That has a full-blown guffaw leaping from my lungs. Fuck, I love this girl.

Once I modulate my reaction, I dust my thumb over my bottom lip, drinking in every inch of her shimmery skin—flushed and furious. “Noted, Ace. Although that’s what all earned submission is—a decision to offer it—baby girl. I’d hate to coerce you into it. Where’s the fun in that? I’d much prefer we come to an understanding.”

When I’m confident her eyes are planted on me, I steer us back to the vital task. “Now, crawl the fuck to me, like a good girl.”

She flashes a coquettish smile, bats those curly lashes, and I brace myself for her sassy-ass tongue to quip something impudent. But like she so often does, she surprises me.

Her tone is threaded with a heartfelt curiosity. “If you don’t want to coerce me, what do you want from me, aside from just needing to be the one in control? Why ask me to submit at all?”

Everything fades away, and for the first time, I realize I haven’t been immune to hiding either. I’ve ignored my past, pretended it wielded no power over me, but that’s all a fabricated refuge. There’s one thing I want. Wells and the guys know it. Ivy calls me on it the most. But I never admit to it. Not even to myself. Maybe because I could ignore the craving with everyone else. But not with her. So, I offer the unfiltered truth through slow, crashing heartbeats.

“I want you to choose me.” Thump. “I need to see it.” Thrash. “To feel it.” Pound. “To believe it.”

Her fingers scratch over her throat, those demon doe eyes teeming with pools of answers, but she doesn’t tell me what’s swimming in them. No. She drops to her knees, slinks to all fours, and crawls across the room. Hips and tits swaying deliciously. It’s easily the most erotic sight of my life. My dripping rock-hard cock is proof.

But it’s so much more. She is so much fucking more.

Our gazes collide, locked through every steady plod forward. A lifetime of burden and insecurities splinters into the jagged pieces of all I’ve ever known, fleeing from my chest in an unexpected pardoning. Maybe she’s not the one being taught here. This has everything to do with me. Does she have any idea how she’s rammed through every wall I ever erected? How she’s become the stronghold I never thought I’d have?

Only her.

“Fuck, baby girl. You’re breathtaking. So pretty on your hands and knees for me.” The words tumble out in a clumsy reverence, but I’m not alone in that emotion.

Hers threatens to spill onto her cheeks, something monumental shifting between us. She knows exactly what this means to me. What she means to me. It’s all there.

The poetic mosaic of our shattered beginnings.

Our first night together by the pool, she told me that brokenness is the beginning. The root. The reason. I’d never thought of it that way—how a craggy spearing can be the catalyst to our rising from the carnage and rubble. My girl’s an insightful genius. It’s when I first noticed both the pain she harbored and the respect she had for it. A quality that made me fall for her.

Our days have been fraught with stress and torment, harm and healing. It’s not ideal. We haven’t had any normal couple time. I’m not sure that’s even possible with the life I lead. But it’s perfectly us. This moment is evidence. How else would we have gotten here?

As she crawls to my feet, I scoop her up onto my lap, wrapping myself around her as I temporarily abandon the rest of my lesson to simply hold her.

“That’s it, Carver. My precious girl,” I rasp into her hair, pulling back to cradle her face and press my lips to hers. It’s a slow and sweet devouring, my tongue tangling with hers in lazy probing, anxious to discover whatever is welling in her coffee-colored beauties.

Her arms curl over my shoulders, returning this leisurely exchange of transparency with a hint of fervor she can’t conceal.

“Do you get it now?” I ask, my forehead against hers, palm stroking her silky strands. “Feel it? How you’re my everything?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her lips in, always attempting to maintain composure. “I was just so scared.”

I’m not certain she’s referring to us because she’s been through far too much. Maybe this is still about her family, or maybe it’s because she’s connected to that damn book that is no doubt a gold mine worth killing over. Both issues I plan to remedy.

“Tell me,” I insist, situating her to straddle my thighs and nipping at her lower lip. “Why were you scared?”

“So much has happened. It’s had my head all screwed up about us. The strain with my family is so hard, but … I didn’t think you were the type to settle down,” she confesses, hands clasping at the nape of my neck, mouth quivering. “And I—”

“I’m not,” I admit, and her face blanches, so I quickly add, “I wasn’t until you, but you turned me into an addict. I’ll never give you up. Ever. Which I’ve said about a hundred times. You should listen better. I hate repeating myself.”

Her head lolls to the side, resting on her arm as she giggles. It’s one of the most lavish sounds I’ve ever heard from her, aside from her whimpers and moans. But as that laughter dissipates, she straightens, wriggling over my lap, her wetness soaking into my jeans, dividing my attention.

Her throat works on an exaggerated swallow, telling me she’s no less distracted, mouth sticky with a parched yearning when she finally speaks. “Maybe you need to do a better job of driving your messages home, Liam.”

“There’s that sass I’ve warned you about.” My eyebrows arch in reproach as my fingers slip beneath the thin leather strip over her pussy, stroking through her heat to the cadence of her moans. “You’re drenched, baby. Is that from crawling to me? Or because you know the punishment for that smart-mouth? Or because you’re finally free?”

“All of it,” she pants, squirming in a plea for my fingers to forgo the teasing circling of her opening and thrust inside. “But it started as soon as you told me to crawl.”

Fuck me.

“There’s my dirty girl.” I plunge three fingers inside her, relishing the delicate flicker of her eyes, the parting of her luscious lips, the muted song of her muffled purr. “Fuck my hand, Ace, and tell me why you resisted.”

Heavy lids hood her gaze as she rocks into my hand, voice gravelly and strained. “I hate feeling weak.”

“You’re anything but.” I pinch her nipple, evoking a sexy yelp. “Submissiveness isn’t weakness. Is that how you felt?”

“No.” She rakes her teeth over her lip, growing closer to her peak. “Anytime your eyes are on me, I feel strong, desired.”

“You’re both, Celeste,” I say, squeezing her tits one at a time, more aggressively, while my other hand continues the assault on her clit, shoving her toward the precipice. “So strong and so desired. I’ve never wanted anything more. Trusting me is brave.”

Despite her impending climax, she flashes a sardonic grin. “Brave and a bit insane.”

Right on cue.

In a blink, I withdraw my fingers, sling her across my lap, massage her ass, and spank each cheek, reveling in her reddening skin and the enthusiastic whines emanating from her. It’s not quite right though, so I leap from the chair and toss her onto the bed. She lands in that crawling position I’m so fond of with a shocked squeal. Well, a deflated version of it, which needs remedied.

“Ass up, Carver,” I demand.

All too eager, she flattens her chest against the Egyptian cotton comforter, the most delectable side boob billowing out. Her round, blushing ass greets me with a thrilling jiggle, goading me. Unable to resist, I lurch forward and bite, to which she trills a melody of shrieks and moans. Standing back to examine my work, I about lose my goddamn mind.

Christ, she’s a vision.

“Fucking hell, baby. You’re stunning, wearing my teeth marks. Let’s get some more handprints on that tasty ass, so you look like the good little slut you are.” I graze my knuckle over the hole no one’s ever entered—she confessed as much a few weeks back. “I’ll be fucking you there someday soon too.”

She shivers against my touch, but I move quickly to kneading her plump ass cheek, pulling up to deliver a hefty smack.

Again and again.

Knead and spank. Knead and spank.

Until she’s crying out and utterly soaked. Her arousal trickles down her inner thighs, so I have to go in for a savory sample.

“Jesus, you taste good. Candy apple.”

Both of us groan, and she writhes against me in an attempt to maneuver my tongue to where she wants it.

So greedy.

That in itself is an act of trust. She let me devour her our first night together. Finding out she hadn’t indulged in that with others was good for my soul. I don’t need all her firsts. I’ll be her last. But I’m happy to be the man who wrecks her in all new ways.

“Beg for what you need,” I coax, shucking my clothes and stroking my throbbing dick. Stretching over her, I tangle my fist into her mussed hair and yank until she side-eyes me. “Beg.”

In harmony with my rough command, she hisses out, “Fuck, Liam,” full of an understood imploration for more, but for clarity’s sake, she adds, “Please. More. Fuck me.”

Exactly what I want.

“Only thing more beautiful than me branding your skin is you desperate and begging, stuffed with my cock, my cum leaking out of that pretty pussy, my name a prayer on your perfect lips.”

Unbuckling the sides of her leather dominatrix getup, I whip it off and flip her over. She won’t be needing that. But those fuck-me heels can stay on.

“That’s our understanding, Ace.” I mount the bed and kneel over her face, shins pinning her biceps while I swipe my twitching cock over her mouth, the precum painting her lips like a seductive gloss.

Her tongue darts out to swirl the head with an intoxicating moan as she sucks and licks, like she’s starved for me.

Fuck, she’s a dream.

“There’s my good girl.” I move backward, resisting the urge to fuck her throat.

She garners too much power from that, which isn’t the current goal. She needs to find strength in me, in us.

My impatient dick bobs above her glistening cunt. When she kicks her hips up to meet me, I swipe through her sopping heat, teasing her into that submission she resists.

“I am the only fucking thing you need, the only plea that ever leaves that talented, sassy-ass mouth. Understand?”

“I think I have what we both need,” she jeers, her fingers slithering over her stomach, lower and lower, until they slink over her finely trimmed hair and dip inside her entrance, grazing my cock in the process.

I smack her breast, admonishing her. “No touching yourself unless I grant permission.”

She arches into the sting. My girl leans into pain. Craves a side of degradation with her praise. Seeks both the savage and the tender. Even gets off in public, knowing we could get caught. The urges she was taught to drown but secretly thirsts for.

A goddamn masterpiece. Fucking made for me.

She swirls her fingers on her clit, defiant whiskey eyes daring me as she says, “You’re such a dick, Graves, but I love you.”

And the earth ceases to spin. Every crack and crevice of my fractured beginning fuses into the treasure of those three life-altering words. Actually, nine. I love the whole damn sentence.

“Yeah?” It’s all I can manage.

“Yes. I love you. So fucking much. So, I’m keeping you forever.” She issues that dose of her playful snark to temper the moment, but that distinction only swells my chest to an inconceivable expansion.

Since I can’t handle much more of that without crumbling, I dive flat on my back, roll her on top of me, and shimmy us up to the headboard. “That’s right, baby girl. You’re mine, but I’m yours. Always. Ride my cock like you fucking own it.”

She sinks down onto me with a unified groan, our gazes locked through every magnificent stretch and bounce, caress and whimper.

“All mine,” she croons.

“All yours,” I confirm, splaying my hand over her throat and dusting my thumb over her pulse point as my focus drops to our connection. “Look at you, sucking me up, taking me so good. Do you see this? See how fucking incredible we look? How we fit?”

She gyrates her hips in an agonizing rhythm, wrecking us both, her attention swinging to the same spot as mine—our perfect union.

“You used to ask me who I was.” Her eyes latch back on mine with a pant. “This is me, Liam. Us.”

“Right,” I husk, my chest cracking wide open for this woman. “You and me, Ace. How it was always meant to be. I see you. And, Jesus, baby, you were worth every agonizing experience it took to get to you.”

And as we both climb to the euphoric summit, a tingling warmth cresting in my abdomen, balls tightening, spine bowing with a seizing current, she sings out my name. And I know.

I’m finally fucking home.

Celeste and I have spent six blissful days together. I’ve fucked her on nearly every surface of this cabin. She’s, without a doubt, seeing stars more often than not. How I intend to keep it. But she’s also deliriously content with the in-between moments—her learning how to shoot, us cooking meals together, bingeing movies, and playing cards.

She always fucking wins. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

My Ace.

There’s been some heavier grieving periods too—tears for Arnold and Keith, the rift with her parents, worry about Ivy, Felicity, and the guys. Anger about Easton Lancaster and fresh anguish over Ben.

I’m honored to share it all with her, even the hard. I did that with Ivy, nursed her through the vicious aftermath of the role she’d chosen. Also an honor. But it wasn’t the same. As much as she leaned on me, Wells was the first sanctuary she sought. As it should be. I never pictured myself in that leading role with anyone. But being the haven for Celeste feels like a lifetime achievement. Like this is what I was meant for.

Gage and Rex are nearly here. They could have shown up four or five days ago, but I told them to give us more time. Once those books arrive, everything will accelerate into the speed of light again. I’m not ready to burst this bubble.

It’s twilight, the mountain still aglow by coral streaks of the withering day. In the center of our spectacular view, a fire crackles in the hearth, fending off the late winter chill. Celeste lies in my arms, back to my chest, studying the scene as we lounge in a recliner.

“Is sunset still your favorite time of day?” I ask, my fingertips drawing circles on the silky plane of her stomach beneath her rucked-up sweater. It’s cashmere. Fitting.

She’s every bit of wildflower and honeysuckle, cashmere and crotch rockets. Thrilling and divine. This is the tethering I never knew I needed, but I want to fucking bathe in every simple second. Submerge myself until every other scent is washed out by hers.

“Yes.” She swallows a breathy giggle, as though she’s expecting a dour reaction, so I don’t indulge it. “Not because it reminds me of goodbyes though. They’re no less inevitable now. More so, it seems. But the night isn’t so lonely with you. Not at all actually. I know you’re there in the darkness with me and after.”

That pinches my lungs, so I choke out, “Good, baby. You’ll never be lonely again.”

“Speaking of that,” she says with boldness, even as her voice is small, “we haven’t talked about some of those things, like where we’ll live.”

“No.” I twist her in my arms so she’s facing me, chest to chest. That way she can’t hide. “I was waiting for you to ask. What do you want?”

She glances away. “I want to know what you think first.”

Tipping her chin up to me, I wait until those brown beauties latch on to mine. “I like the safety of us all being together. And I know it would mean a lot to all of them for us to stay close. But we could build a house on the same property if you’d prefer. You’re my first priority.”

“I felt at home in that house—or at least wanted to.” She bites back a smile, but it’s there. Blooming into a fucking gleaming beam. “It’s kind of bizarre—all of us raising families under one roof—and drastically different from any future I pictured. But that’s what I love about it, so if you’re not opposed, I’d like to stay. I hope Ty and Gage do, too, when they find someone. That’s what Ivy wants.”

“It is,” I confirm with a kiss to her forehead. “And it’s exactly what I hoped you’d say. I never had a family. Wells and the guys were my first taste. But Ivy really made us into one, and I can’t get enough. It wasn’t complete until you though. The thought of us all …” The rest of that sentence gets balled up in my chest.

“I know,” she whispers, sliding up my body.

Her tongue darts out to lick at my lips, eyes hitched to mine until they flutter closed while she captures my mouth in a scorching kiss that enwraps us both in sweltering heat. The best plan of attack to rectify that is to strip, but we’re cutting it too close.

“Don’t get greedy, Ace. No time to worship you the way you deserve.”

She laughs against my lips. “I would have suggested a quickie, but you had to go and call me greedy.” Her fingers crawl down to my already-hard cock, gripping with a torturous pressure. “Now, you’ll have to suffer all night.”

“Have you learned nothing, Carver? Having an audience for your punishment later only encourages me. You’re in for it now. Gage and Rex will be hearing you begging to come and screaming my name through the walls all night long.”

“Promises. Promises.” She rolls off me, her bratty brown eyes mimicking the motion while she gathers our discarded drinks and sashays to the kitchen. “I love it here,” she says, admiring the stars making their evening debut as she deposits the glasses in the sink.

“Wells bought this as an after-baby getaway for Ivy. It’s one of our grander safe houses.”

She whips around, mouth agape, eyes wide with regret. “And we stayed here first?”

I jump up and amble toward her. “Wells offered it, and Ivy would’ve backed that decision if she’d known about it. We take care of each other. That’s how this works. We could buy a hundred more houses. None of it matters.” Stopping before her, I sweep her into my arms and peck her nose. She’s so much tinier when she isn’t all done up. Heels are sexy, but I prefer her bare feet. “This. Moments. Memories. That’s all we want for each other. Wells wanted us to have this time because he loves us both.”

Her eyes swirl with so many unspoken emotions before she launches herself deeper into my embrace. Unfortunately, our canoodling is cut short by the alarm on my phone, alerting me to Gage’s arrival.

With one arm still coiled about her waist, I pull out my phone to check the camera, verifying it’s him. “They’re here.”

Her face contorts into a mixture of elation and sorrow. The night we left, Rex was busy handling arrangements for Keith and Arnold and dealing with their families. He didn’t make it back before we had to leave, so I smoothed it over with the knowledge she’d see him in a couple of days. She buries her face in my neck, her whole body vibrating with distress as I carry her to the foyer.

When I swing the door open, Gage is the first to greet us both—a kiss to my girl’s cheek before he wrenches her from me, hugging her and whispering something in her ear. A laugh rumbles in her throat, validation of how incredible our unconventional dynamic is. Gage gifts her a different sort of serenity. They all will.

Once he sets her down, she flings herself into Rex’s arms, immediately sobbing, and the poor guy unravels. I shut the door and usher Gage away, giving the two of them some privacy.

“How’d it go?”

He slants his head, brows furrowed into a line as he scratches at his inked neck. “Frank is out of joint over not knowing what the hell is happening with his daughter. Can’t say I blame him there.”

“No, but—”

Slapping my back, he halts my protests. “I assured him she’s safe. Didn’t divulge what she’s safe from or the specifications of what happened to Keith and Arnold. But he appreciated the personal visit, and it gave us an easy entrance to get the books.”

I eye the bag slung over his shoulder. “Got ’em in there?”

“Yep. And another gift for you and our girl, but I’ll give you these first.” He rummages through it, producing the five books Ben gave Celeste—The Da Vinci Code, 1984, The Illuminatus! Trilogy, The Camel Club, and The Rise of the Fourth Reich. “Does she have any idea what he was trying to tell her with these?”

“No fucking clue,” I answer.

It’s been almost eight years. Whatever she knows is buried with her brother. But finding this black ledger of corruption is essential to keeping her safe. So, one way or another, we’re digging it all up. I don’t say any of that though. Opting to keep it on how brilliant my girl is.

“Doesn’t matter. Ace is strategic. Calculated enough to get into the head of other players. All she has to do is think like Ben.”