5. Finn
5
FINN
I fecking love having Millie over my shoulder. She hardly weighs anything, and her breasts are so good on my lower back they should be illegal. If you could bottle the happiness singing in my blood right now it would sell in Kilburn pubs for thousands a shot. It would make me another billion, but I’d never do it.
Millie is all mine .
“Cute place you have here,” I comment as I walk around to the front door, hardly even taking a second to admire the sea view.
I have to duck to enter the house—being six-foot-five has its disadvantages—and I’m careful with my pretty little burden as I navigate the old-fashioned small spaces. There’s a cute and comfortable snug on one side, with bare stone walls, a log-burning stove, and deep sofas. I turn the other way, into a traditional kitchen with a wooden table and a range cooker that has herbs drying above it.
Selecting the most padded of the chairs, I go to drop Millie from my shoulder, and my hand presses onto her peachy arse, and feck.
Feck.
My cock is solid. I’m filthy to want a girl who’s only twenty-two.
It takes me a second to recover as my brain stutters, and I have to drag my palm from that curve to put it at the small of her back. I kneel and set her into the chair, then look straight at her—a novel view when I’ve been seeing her on a CCTV screen or from the corner of my eye—as she wriggles and peeks out from the hair that pulled out of her ponytail and swung over her eyes when I tossed her upside down.
She watches warily as I reach out, but doesn’t draw back. I snag a blonde tendril—it’s soft as silk—and brush it behind the shell of her ear. Then the other.
I’ve got her. She’s mine for seven days. And if I have my way, for life.
“What are you going to do?” she asks timidly.
“Let’s have a cup of tea first, and we’ll see what happens now you’re my captive, hmm?”
“I don’t want tea, and I don’t have any money.”
“English hospitality is bollocks,” I say, shaking my head.
Her eyes go wide. “Agreed. You could just release me, and save the bother?”
No.
“You created this situation,” I point out dryly.
She flicks her gaze to the door surreptitiously, so I go and shut it, locking it with the key she left on the table and pocketing her phone and the car keys as well. That will make it tricky for her to leave, given she’s in handcuffs, and I don’t want to restrict her too much. Unless it’s necessary.
“The key to the cuffs?”
Pressing her lips together, I think for a second she’ll refuse.
“In the end pocket of my bag,” she admits eventually, and I correctly identify the pale-blue duffle bag as hers. With her looking on, it feels like an intrusion of privacy as I peer in. Somehow knowing she’s observing my obsession makes it feel dirtier than when I was tracking her phone and watching CCTV.
There are white cotton knickers, plain tees, and a sundress. Fuck, I’d love to take her clothes and rub them against my cock like the pervert I am.
But I fish the flimsy little key out and pretend I haven’t just fantasised about her as I slide it into my other trouser pocket.
“Are you going to run again?” I ask conversationally as I close the bag and put it aside.
“Yes.” Her voice is defiant.
“Don’t run.” I wink at her. “Let’s have breakfast together first.” I stand and open the fridge and cupboards, finding utensils and pots and pans, and then find something I didn’t expect. I grin.
“Fancy waffles?” I pull out the waffle maker.
Millie blinks at me, then straightens her back. “You want me to make them? You’ll need to release my hands.”
“Ah no, pet.” I like having her at my mercy far too much for that. “How do I know you wouldn’t kidnap me again?”
“That’s as likely as you rating this cottage five stars in your verified review.”
“You could absolutely earn five stars with your hands, pet.” She blushes and savage delight rips through me that I’ve affected her. “But it’s not worth the risk,” I add. “For a mafia boss to be kidnapped by a pint-sized girl like you once is embarrassing. Twice…”
She snorts.
I’m enjoying this far too much.
Unable to hide my smile, I grab ingredients and find the other items I need from the cupboards.
After a few minutes, and when I have creamy batter in a jug, she mutters, “You really know how to make waffles?”
“Are you doubting my culinary skills as well as depriving me of my liberty?” I pour the mixture into the hot iron.
“You played along!” she protests, not letting me get away with the lie.
Because I think I was half in love with you, and I’m further now because you’re smart and sweet and resourceful. And kind—feck—so kind. You were going to help your brother despite him being a fecking eejit.
“A moment of weakness.” I’m powerless to resist her. “What if it gets out that you kidnapped me?”
“It won’t.” She wriggles in the chair.
“My reputation will be shot to bits.” I peek at the waffles and the scent of warm, sweet dough fills the air. Perfect.
“I’d never tell anyone!”
“And then there’s the issue of compensation,” I continue, flipping the golden waffles onto a plate.
“Compensation?” she repeats cautiously.
“You kidnapped me.” I scatter the berries on the top, adding a dollop of butter, then drizzling honey over the whole lot.
“I don’t have anything to pay you.”
“No?” I bring the plates over, and pull up a chair in front of her, the table to the side.
“Didn’t you hear me in the car?” she replies with a touch of impatience. “I’m skint. We have to sell this house because my brother is so in debt. I’ve got nothing.”
“Nothing but your beautiful self.” I cut a piece of waffle and spear it with the fork, then offer it to her mouth. “Good thing I don’t need money, huh?”
Her gaze pings between my face and the sweet treat I’m offering her.
“Do you like waffles?” I check.
“Yes.”
“Me too.” We have that in common. See? Soulmates. “So what’s the issue here?”
She squirms. “I don’t normally have them with so much honey and butter. Lots of sugar is bad?—”
I shove the piece of waffle into her mouth to put a stop to such nonsense.
“Do not fecking continue with that thought,” I growl as she stares at me in shock. “Eat.”
Achingly slowly, she closes her lips and chews. A little mew of pleasure comes from her throat as she swallows.
My cock twitches at the sight of her. The sound she makes is so innocently sexy, I want to eat her whole.
“Good?” I ask, and she presses her lips together, unsure.
Taking another chunk of waffle and berries, I deliberately dip it into the honey and butter.
“Open,” I snap when she doesn’t respond immediately.
And this time, she does as I say, and her eyelids flutter closed, covering those pale-blue eyes as she enjoys the treat. I don’t move my gaze from hers as I eat some myself—enjoying us sharing our food—and cut another piece of waffle ready for her.
She opens her mouth willingly for the next bite, and my cock responds with predictable enthusiasm at the sight of her pink, glistening tongue and soft lips.
I only get harder as she eats more, and it’s almost unbearably intimate. The way she’s helpless and accepting, I can’t help think about what else I could see if she’d like in her mouth while her hands are restrained. Unbidden, the image of standing, undoing my belt, releasing my cock, and gripping her hair to shove my length between those sweet lips of hers, has me leaking pre-come within seconds. The thought of the feel of the back of her throat, fucking her face as she moaned and her eyes watered, until I erupted, and she swallowed it all down like the good girl she is?
Oooof.
Nothing has ever been as perfect as treating her to breakfast, but maybe telling her to suck my cock, and having her greedily take it all, would be.
When I steal mouthfuls of waffle, she watches me with the same intensity as I view her. And yeah, it could be she’s trying to escape, but her blown pupils and the way her eyes linger on my open collar. And my hands. She looks again and again at my forearms and the tattoos on my right wrist that are exposed every time I reach out.
The waffles are excessively sweet, with a hint of salt from the butter and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll taste even better.
“What do you want as payment for your inconvenience?” she asks eventually, as we get to the bottom of the waffle stack.
I’d like you, body and soul. Optional decorative bow as you give yourself to me .
“Sure, look.” It’s a measure of how much she affects me that I use the Irish phrase that’s nothing more than a hesitation device. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Will a week be long enough for her to fall in love with me? Probably not, given she’s a pure little angel, and I’m a blood-stained kingpin who has been stalking her, and is fifteen years her senior.
I cut the last bit of waffle in two and scoop up the honey and butter pooled on the plate before bringing one piece slowly to my mouth, enjoying how her eyes track my movements.
“Second best way to eat honey,” I say with a smirk, hoping she’ll understand my implication. “I love sweet and salty.”
She blinks at me, not blushing or showing any sign of recognition, and I chuckle. My girl might be a nurse, but she’s innocent, it turns out. I’m curious about how inexperienced she is.
Unfortunately, all that attempted seductive-shit backfires, and the sugary liquid drips onto my chin.
Smooth, Finn. Real smooth.
I’ve lost all my seduction game, and I’d say it was years of women throwing themselves at me and disinterested celibacy, but it’s not. It’s Millie.
Using my thumb, I catch the droplet and suck the sweetness meaningfully from the pad.
Her breath hitches and I hide my satisfaction by sweeping up all the remaining honey onto the last bit of waffle. It’s soaked in it.
“Open your mouth, pet.”
“I’ve had enough,” she says with panic in her voice.
“I’ll say when you’ve had enough,” I rumble. One more mouthful won’t hurt her if she really is full, but I doubt that’s the issue.
“It’s too much.”
“I don’t think so.” The forkful of honey-covered waffle is beginning to drip and I hold it to her lips. Insistent.
She trembles as she opens her mouth this time, and her breath is uneven as I slide it in, the honey smearing over her lips. It’s as slow and sensual as how I’d fuck her for the first time, and a groan reverberates from my chest as she takes what I give her.
The smallest movement risks me coming in my pants like I’m seventeen, not thirty-seven.
Millie makes everything new.
“See, too much sweetness isn’t a bad thing.” My voice is husky. We’re both affected by this.
A drop of honey slides from her lips, and I see her feel it, reaching with that pink tongue… And missing. It tracks down her chin.
“Looks like you’re having the same issue as I had,” I tease. “Admit you love the sweetness, and I’ll help you.”
“This isn’t fair,” she grumbles, pressing her lips together, failing to get the honey. “You could use your hands.”
I lean forward and say in a low voice, “You telling me I shouldn’t?”
“I’m saying you should release mine.”
“Come ’ere to me.” And while the phrase just means “listen” in Irish slang, Millie takes it adorably literally, and leans forwards, big eyes gazing up.
“I won’t use my hands. That’s equal, isn’t it?”
I lean across, bringing my face closer and closer. My good, brave girl doesn’t back down, but her pupils go big as I draw closer. I examine her closely. Perfect peaches-and-cream complexion, stained with a touch of pink. Cute, button nose. Her lips are a dusky rose-red, and so plump they’re made to be kissed. Those freckles I want to taste.
My mouth waters.
Her long pale eyelashes brush up and down as she watches me.
“What are you doing?” she asks as my breath ghosts her cheek.
“Helping you with that honey.”
“What?” she protests breathily.
“Without my hands,” I explain. Then I tilt my head and give a slow, leisurely lick over her honey-covered chin, all the way to her lips. It’s dominant, and carnal, and deliberately showing her that I can do whatever I want with her right now. She’s utterly in my control.
She gasps, and lets out a soft little whimper.
I ease back, and I’m gratified to see her chest rising and falling quickly. She’s as affected by this chemistry between us as I am.
A satisfied grin tugs at the sides of my mouth. I’m supposed to be playing at being annoyed. Her harsh captor taking revenge. But she’s so fecking sweet, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for a taste of her everywhere.
I lick my lips.
“Delicious.”