Chapter 16
Sixteen
KILLIAN
I try my best to sleep alone in Lucy's bed. She's in her mom's old room next door. We slept in separate bedrooms because she's not ready to go all the way yet. When she suggested it, she also had this slightly resentful look in her gorgeous eyes. I know she's pissed at me for stubbornly insisting that this has an endpoint.
But what's the alternative? Let her into the mob world?
Unable to sleep, I toss and turn. I know Ronan is watching the property from the outside. I've set an alarm for four AM so we can change over and he can grab some shuteye. He's a loyal man, a good friend, and I trust him, but I still can't shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen.
I know I need to rest for the ball tomorrow evening. Uncle Frank sent out the invites earlier today via text. He's holding it at the swankiest hotel in the center of the city: a clear signal that there's going to be no violence unless he wants to bring the Feds swarming down on us. Even Uncle Frank isn't that stupid.
Most likely, he wants to schmooze the troops, wants to rally support. I stare at the ceiling, part of me wanting to go next door and be with my lucky charm.
Taking her to the ball might be a risk... but leaving her unprotected? Forget that.
I sit up when I hear her door open, her voice, quiet and hushed, "Good girl, don't bark. We don't want to wake our guest."
I walk to the bedroom door and throw it open. "Who said your guest was asleep?"
She looks smoking hot in her PJs, short shorts that cling to the curviness of her ass, and a tank top that shows her nipples poking through the fabric. "Did I wake you?" she asks, her eyes flitting to my chest.
I'm wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, every muscle going hard as I look at her. "I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts bouncing around my head."
"Ditto," she murmurs. "Don't laugh, but I was going to do some baking. Just for fun."
I grin, taking a step forward. "What are we making?"
"Are you sure you want to join me in my crazy midnight baking session?"
"No time like the present for a lesson."
"So I'll be in charge... is that what you're saying?"
I surge toward her, grab her hips, then slip my hands around to her ass and down over her thighs as I move in for a hot kiss. She gasps captivatingly as I lift her off her feet, then she curls her legs around me instantly and grinds against my pole.
"Killian," she moans.
"I know," I say between hungry kisses. "I should stop. But you're too damn addictive."
I carry her to the counter, sitting her down and pushing my groin against hers, feeling her lips kissing my stiff length through the fabric of our clothes. She sinks her fingernails into my chest, pushing herself away, pouting beautifully at me.
"I'm in charge, remember? And step one to making Irish buttermilk scones is not getting the food prep surface all... messy."
I smirk. "By 'messy', I assume you mean covered in your gorgeous release?"
"Ew," she says.
"Say that like you mean it," I groan, taking her wrist and guiding her hand to the outline of my aching cock. "Try feeling how wild you make me, how hard, and then tell me you seriously think 'ew' is the right response."
When I let go of her wrist, she keeps stroking up and down my length, moaning as she goes from my tip to my base. I take a shaky step back after a minute, seed rushing to my length, obsession gripping me and trying to make me tear down her shorts and reveal her virgin entrance.
"Good call," she says, hopping down from the counter. "Now, are you ready to be my baking assistant?"
"As long as you're okay with distractions..."
She bites her lip, looking down at my manhood making a tent of my briefs.
"I mean, I have to be," I go on, stepping forward and caressing her breasts through her top. "Your nipples poking through are making me so horny. It's like your body is begging for attention, begging me to..."
I lean down and suck her nipples through the fabric, then pull down her shirt and reveal her breasts. She gasps as I suck one of her nipples, then the other, pushing her plump, big tits together, groaning when I feel her trembling.
"Killian," she gasps.
"I know," I whisper, leaning back, finding her lips instead.
As we kiss, her naked breasts press against my chest. I slide my hands down her body and hold her hips tightly, greedily sinking my hands in. She pushes against my chest.
"I think we should get dressed if we have any chance of doing this."
I smirk. "You've got a point, but the issue is, you're just as sexy fully clothed..."
"It gives us a chance , at least," she moans.
"Let's try it." I grin. "Then you can boss me around."
We both get dressed. I return wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Lucy has changed into sweatpants and a hoodie. But with the hoodie still outlining her luscious lumps and the gray sweats showing the shape of her round ass, my steel is still solid.
"Job number one, we need to clean and prep our baking area."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, snapping off a salute.
She laughs. "You're such a dork."
"Only when I'm with you."
"Do you do much cooking?" she asks as I wipe down the surfaces. "In your restaurants?"
"I handle the business," I tell her. "I've always been more comfortable with numbers, meetings, that side of things. I'm here as your humble student..."
"First, we need to measure the flour... properly ."
"You better tell me what you mean by 'properly' so I don't make any unforgivable mistakes," I say.
She points her finger at me. "It means, my humble student, that we spoon and level it. We don't scoop it. We don't want dense scones. I'll do that. You get the butter out of the fridge. I'll give you the privilege of rubbing the butter into the flour... wash your hands first. You must use your fingers."
"I think I can manage using my fingers..."
Her eyes grow wide, and lust-filled. The look is enough to make me ache. I rush forward again. The gasping, moaning noise that comes from her perfect lips before we kiss makes me even wilder. It's a noise that says she's been waiting for me to kiss her ever since the last one, like she's as hungry for it as I am.
We sink close together, my hand gliding up her leg, finding her sex and massaging it possessively. She moves her hand to my groin again, rubbing my thickness through my shorts.
"Killian." She moans. "How do you keep doing that?"
"It's you," I groan. "You're more addictive than sugar."
"Get the butter," she says in a commanding tone. "And no more funny business."
"There's nothing funny about how badly I need you, a stór ."
I get the butter from the fridge as she measures the flour. She then tips the flour into a bowl and places it down, takes the butter, measures it, then hands it to me.
"Okay, now, I want you to gently use your fingertips to rub the butter into the flour. Don't knead it. It's not bread... why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like you've never seen somebody baking before."
"It's your passion," I tell her. "I love watching you work."
"I think I'm going to love watching you work even more."
I chuckle, turning to the bowl. "Touché."
I put my hands into the bowl, working my fingertips into the butter and the flour. She stands close to me, peering down, inspecting my work. I can't resist the urge, though... which is a theme with us.
She gasps when I dab a ball of butter and flour onto her nose.
"Did you just assault your teacher?" she says, laughing.
"Maybe I did. What're you going to do about it?"
She dips her hand into the bowl. "Don't start something you can't finish."
She flings a ball of butter at me. It lands on my shirt. I laugh and rush toward her, sweeping her into my arms. "Why do I feel like this dish will never be done?"
"Because you can't control yourself, maybe?"
"Or it's because there's no point baking a dish when I've already got what I want..."
Another kiss, this time with more purpose, more intensity. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me, gasping when I carry her into the living room. I lay her on the couch, never letting our lips separate, my pole pushing insistently against my shorts.
"Killian," she moans, sliding her hand down my body, rubbing the outside of my shorts. "I want you. But I'm scared. This is so new to me."
"I'll be gentle," I tell her.
"You sound like you want to freaking devour me," she murmurs.
I kiss her neck, moving down her body. "I'll kiss and lick your horny virgin pussy. Lucy, you'll be so wet that you won't even have time to think about being nervous."
Her moans become more insistent as I move down her body. I grab her waistband, ready to pull down her pants, ready to see the wetness glimmering across her pussy.
It's almost a good thing the gunfire starts when it does. If it started after I got her pants all the way down, after I brought my mouth to her soaked lips and tasted her, I might not have been able to stop even then.
I leap to my feet when I hear the bang-bang-bang coming from outside.
"Hide," I roar, rushing her to the bedroom. "Don't open the door for anybody except me!"
I grab my pistol and run through the apartment, my heart pounding as I rush out the back exit of the bakery, looking up and down the street. The gunfire comes from the other side of the building.
I skirt along the wall, peering around the edge. Two masked men fire from the open windows of a dark car, presumably at Ronan. I can hear him firing back. I take careful aim and pull the trigger, dropping the motherfucker.
The other one yelps and quickly darts away from the window, reversing toward the end of the road. I sprint onto the street, aiming my gun, firing two more shots. But the prick spins and drives around the corner.
I keep my head on a swivel, disregarding the pounding in my heart, ignoring the ugly thoughts of what will happen if they have backup and they get to me before I can spirit Lucy away to safety.
Ronan’s front window is shattered, flecks of red all over it. I rush around to the driver’s seat, pulling it open. He’s holding his arm, and his left cheek is torn open where a bullet hit him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his words slurred. “The bastards took me by surprise.”
“I’m getting you to the goddamn hospital,” I snarl. “I promise, Ronan, whoever did this, they’re fucking dead .”
“Killian,” he whispers. “Get your woman. The fuckers… the flames…”
“The flames ?”
I turn, looking at the bakery. A fire is ripping through the counter, spreading quickly. I run as fast as I can.