15. Kiera
KIERA
I'm pretty sure I'll never be the same.
No man will ever live up to the incredible sex I'd just had with Emil.
In fact, my toes are still curled so hard, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to pry them back into shape.
Every muscle in my body feels like it's been thoroughly used, and there's a delicious ache between my thighs that reminds me of exactly what we did.
But I'm not going to let him know that.
"I guess you'll do," I say, trying to sound casual even though I'm having trouble putting sentences together at the moment.
Emil doesn't look too pleased with my response, and that makes me feel a little better. His eyes narrow, and there's a dangerous glint in them that sends a shiver down my spine.
"You guess?" he says, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. "Well then, I guess I need to do a little better."
Before I can process what he means, he disappears beneath the covers.
I gasp. I didn't think I could take any more pleasure from him. My body is already wrung out, oversensitive, and trembling from the multiple orgasms he's already given me. But then his mouth closes over me, and I nearly come off the bed.
His tongue is wicked, tracing patterns that make my back arch off the mattress.
His fingers join in, sliding inside me with practiced ease, curling just right to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
I grip his hair, probably too hard, and press him harder against me because I can't help myself.
The pleasure builds impossibly fast, coiling tight in my belly, spreading through my limbs like fire.
I practically scream when the orgasm hits, my entire body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. My toes curl even tighter than before, and I'm vaguely aware that I'm saying his name over and over like a prayer.
Then everything goes black.
Had I passed out?
I don't remember anything after coming until just now, when I wake up to an empty bed with sunlight shining in through the window. The sheets are tangled around my naked body, and there's a pleasant soreness everywhere that makes my face heat with the memory of last night.
I sit up slowly, looking around my bedroom. Shit.
I scramble out of bed, my legs a little unsteady, and find my clothes scattered across the floor. My underwear is nowhere to be found, and I have a sneaking suspicion Emil kept them as some kind of trophy. The thought makes my stomach flip with a mixture of irritation and arousal.
I take a quick shower, and when I'm dressed and somewhat presentable, I head toward the kitchen, following the smells of coffee and bacon.
Emil is sitting at the table, looking far too put together for someone who spent half the night doing what we did. His light brown hair is slightly damp, like he's already showered. Luca is at the stove, fixing breakfast, and the domestic scene is so unexpected that I pause in the doorway.
Emil's eyes find mine immediately, and there's a satisfied smirk on his face that makes me want to slap it right off.
"Good morning," he says, his voice low and rough in a way that reminds me of how he sounded when he was buried inside me.
My face flames, but I refuse to look away. "Morning."
Luca glances over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his bearded face. "Coffee?"
"Please," I say, moving into the kitchen but keeping my distance from Emil. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and lean against the counter, trying to look casual even though my heart is racing.
Emil's gaze drops to my legs, then slowly travels up my body in a way that makes me feel naked all over again.
When his eyes meet mine, there's heat there that nearly makes me drop my mug.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
"I'm fine here."
His jaw tightens slightly, but the smirk doesn't fade. "Here's how it's going to go," he says, his tone shifting into something more commanding. "You'll immediately be moved to my estate, where you can be better guarded. We'll be married in a month."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He leans back in his chair, looking completely at ease in my kitchen while my world tilts on its axis. "You're not safe here."
"I still haven't made up my mind," I say, setting my mug down with more force than necessary. "I want to marry for love, not money."
The smirk widens. "I thought sex was your main concern."
Luca chuckles, then pretends to cough as he brings a pitcher of orange juice to the table. My face flames so hot, I'm surprised I don't spontaneously combust, but I refuse to back down.
"That's one of the top priorities on my list," I say through gritted teeth. "Not all of them."
Emil's eyes darken with something that looks like approval mixed with desire. "And I didn't satisfy that priority?"
The memory of last night floods through me. The way he touched me, kissed me, made me come so hard I passed out. The way his body felt against mine, inside mine, the stretch and burn and perfect friction.
"That's not the point," I manage to say, though my voice comes out breathier than I'd like.
"Then what is the point?" He stands, and suddenly the kitchen feels much smaller.
He's so tall and broad, and the way he moves reminds me of a predator stalking prey.
"You want love? Love takes time, Kiera. But I can keep you safe.
I can give you pleasure like you've never experienced before.
" His voice drops lower. "And I think we both know I've already proven that. "
My hands clench into fists at my sides. He's not wrong, but I'm not about to admit it. "You're an arrogant ass."
"And you're stubborn as hell." He takes a step closer. "But you're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
"I'm not yours," I snap, even though my body is screaming the opposite. Even though I can still feel him between my thighs and still taste him on my lips.
His smile is slow and dangerous. "Your body says otherwise."
I grab my car keys from where I left them on the counter last night and head for the door. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like let him bend me over the kitchen table.
But before I can even reach for the handle, Emil is in front of the door, blocking my path. I didn't even see him move. One second, he was across the kitchen and the next, he's right there, his large body filling the doorway.
"Move," I say, trying to sound firm.
"No."
"Emil, I'm serious. I need to go to work."
His expression hardens, and for the first time since I woke up, I see the dangerous man beneath the satisfied lover. "Someone shot at you, Kiera. Until we know who and get the guy, you have to be protected. You're not going anywhere."
"The hell I'm not." I try to push past him, but it's like trying to move a brick wall. His hand catches my wrist, gentle but unyielding.
"Don't be stupid about this."
"Don't be controlling about this," I fire back. "I'm going to work whether you like it or not. I have a job, Emil. I have a life. I'm not going to hide away just because some asshole took a shot at me."
We stare at each other, neither willing to back down. I can see the war in his eyes, the desire to lock me away somewhere safe battling with something else. Respect, maybe. Or at least an understanding that if he pushes too hard, he'll lose me completely.
Finally, he steps aside. "Fine. But you're taking guards with you."
"Emil—"
"That's not negotiable." His voice is hard, leaving no room for argument. "You go to work, but my men go with you. They'll stay outside, keep watch. You won't even know they're there."
It's not ideal, but it's better than being locked up like some kind of prisoner in my own apartment. "Fine."
He catches my chin, tilting my face up to his. "We're not done talking about this."
"We're not done arguing about this, you mean."
His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and the touch sends heat straight through me. "That too."
Then he kisses me, hard and possessively, claiming my mouth in a way that makes my knees weak. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and flushed and completely off balance.
"Go," he says, his voice rough. "Before I change my mind and keep you here all day."
I practically run out the door.
Work is a nightmare.
The moment I walk into the office, everyone wants to know about Emil and our engagement. The newspaper announcement has made us the hottest topic of gossip, and it seems like every single person in the building has questions.
"Is it true he's a Russian billionaire?"
"How did you meet?"
"Can I see the ring?"
"When's the wedding?"
I do my best to politely dismiss their questions, offering vague answers and redirecting conversations back to work. But it's exhausting, and by lunchtime, I'm ready to scream.
I'm sitting at my desk, trying to focus on a spreadsheet that might as well be written in hieroglyphics for all the sense it's making, when someone gasps.
"Oh, my God."
I look up to see half the office staring toward the entrance. My stomach drops even before I turn around because somehow, I already know.
Emil is standing in the doorway, looking like he belongs here in his expensive black suit among the fashion company's trendy, artistic crowd. His eyes scan the room until they find me, and then he's walking toward my desk with that predatory grace that makes my pulse race.
In his hand is a small, wrapped box.