Chapter 17 Sophie #2
He smiled. “That pleases me.”
Good lord, if he said it like that, I might live the rest of my life to please him.
“Your turn,” I rasped, my heart hammering under my rib cage.
“When I got home, I took off my suit and headed for my bathroom. Turning on the water, I stepped into the shower. I wrapped my hand around my cock and jacked off, picturing your full mouth around my cock.” Breath swished out of my lungs.
“It’s the hardest I’ve ever come.” His dark eyes held mine as he ran his fingertips down my cheek.
“Imagine how hard I’ll come with you underneath me. ”
His gaze dropped to my lips, and my sex clenched.
My whole body heated, imagining him thrusting into me, and a shiver rolled down my spine.
He isn’t even subtle about it—every look, every deliberate pause screaming that it’s only a matter of time.
Before I could decide whether to bristle or bolt, his expression shifted. The heat in his gaze dimmed, replaced by something guarded.
A faint frown creased his brow as he stepped back, creating space between us like a line he’d abruptly decided not to cross.
He blinked once, resetting himself, and said, “We should get going.”
I stared at him.
We—What?
Kian turned toward the door and called out something in Albanian, his voice clipped and authoritative. Almost immediately, the door opened and Amir stepped inside, already reaching for my suitcases.
“The car is ready,” he muttered. His eyes swept over Kian with the thoroughness of a bodyguard taking inventory, surveying him for blood, bruises, or anything out of place.
I couldn’t contain my eye roll.
Grabbing my purse and clutching it, I turned back to Kian, still flustered while trying to understand the sudden change in atmosphere.
“You attempt to kill me, Kian,” I said loud enough for Amir to hear me, “and you’re a dead man.”
His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk. Amir shot me an unimpressed glare.
And all along, I knew resisting this man and his charms under the scorching Albanian sun would be hard, but under his roof would make it impossible
But rather than voice my thoughts, I smiled sweetly and said, “I’m so ready. Let’s go.”
Kian’s villa was practically a Mediterranean mansion, perched high on a cliff overlooking the sea, all pale stone and sun-warmed terraces.
At least fifteen acres of manicured grounds surrounded it—olive trees twisted with age, bursts of bougainvillea spilling hot pink over white walls, and narrow gravel paths winding through fragrant rosemary and lavender down to the beach.
Beyond the outer gates, the property bordered my hotel, but the villa itself felt like a world apart. A very private world apart.
I slowed as we stepped inside the luxury home, my eyes struggling to keep up.
“This place is—” I started.
“Big,” Kian said dryly, shutting the heavy door behind us. “Yes.”
I shot him a look. “I was going to say ridiculous.”
He huffed a quiet laugh and motioned me forward. “Come on. I’ll show you around before you get lost.”
Inside, cool terracotta tiles spread beneath my feet and sunlight streamed through arched windows, turning the white walls almost golden.
Linen curtains stirred lazily in the breeze and dark wooden beams crossed the high ceiling like something out of a magazine spread I’d never be able to afford even on my generous salary.
“This doesn’t even feel real,” I murmured.
“It’s still just a house,” he said.
“A house with a view that could steal your breath.”
He led me through a palatial living space, then into a kitchen that looked like it belonged to a professional chef. Copper pans hung overhead, marble counters gleamed, and beyond it all, French doors opened onto a balcony propped over the cliffs and overlooking the sea.
“God, if I had a fear of heights, this would be my least favorite spot.” I stopped at the railing, gripping the stone edge. “You actually live here?”
“Work,” he corrected. “Living implies leisure.”
I laughed softly. “You’re difficult.”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Don’t hold it against me.”
We returned inside and I stopped briefly by a closed door.
“This is my office where I spend the majority of my time,” Kian said. “Whenever you need me, you’ll find me here or in my bedroom.”
“So you’re telling me your life is basically work and…” Don’t say fucking, don’t say fucking. “…sleep.”
He gave me a knowing smirk. “Something like that.”
We moved down a quieter hallway lined with artwork and old photographs. My gaze lingered on one of them, a photo of a little girl wearing a head scarf.
“Are those your—”
“No,” he said immediately.
I blinked and turned toward him. “I didn’t even finish asking.”
“You were going to ask if that’s my daughter.”
“I was not,” I lied.
“Then what?”
I scoffed. “Well, I’m not going to ask now after you so rudely interrupted me.”
“Sophie, ask your question.”
“No.”
“Zemer, don’t act like that. I apologize for assuming. Now ask your question.”
“No, you missed the chance to know—”
He slipped a hand along the back of my neck. “You argue too much.”
Then he pressed his lips against mine—hard, brutal, and demanding. My whole body melted into his as he brushed his tongue against my lips, demanding I open for him.
I ground my hips into his hard body, mimicking the glide of our tongues. My breathing grew ragged as my breasts rubbed against his chest every time I swayed into his kiss. Hot pressure built inside me and I moaned into his mouth.
Just as quickly as it started though, the kiss ended. “Why did you stop?” I sputtered, then remembered myself and took a step back.
Dammit, how in hell would I resist this man if I was already ready to jump his bones?
“Someone is coming,” he said, his voice perfectly calm while I struggled to catch my breath. But as my pulse slowed, I finally heard footsteps echoing down the hall and rapidly approaching.
We both turned as Amir stepped into view, his expression unreadable until his eyes flicked between us and one eyebrow rose slightly.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“No,” Kian said.
“Yes,” I said at the exact same time.
The man’s mouth twitched.
Kian sighed. “What do you need, Amir?”
“An email came in, so whenever you’re ready…” Then, because his bodyguard was a smartass, he added, “Or not ready. Whatever.”
Kian nodded once. “Wait for me in my office.”
Amir turned his attention to me. “Welcome to the villa,” he said simply, watching me like I might lunge and take out his boss.
The thought had crossed my mind, just not in the way he was imagining. My ideas were far less violent and significantly more distracting.
“Thanks,” I muttered, my cheeks burning.
I exhaled slowly, mentally slapping myself.
Get. A. Grip. Woman.
Kian placed a hand on the middle of my back, resuming my tour. “Last stop.”
We made our way up to the second floor and stopped at a set of doors. He opened them and stepped aside.
“Your luggage is here already.” He pointed to the suitcases sitting in the middle of the room. “So is breakfast, or lunch, whatever you want to call it.”
The stainless-steel tray, capped with a matching cover, rested on a marble table.
“Wow, you really think of everything, don’t you?” I muttered, breathing in the scent of coffee and eggs drifting over. “Are you like that in… hmmm… every aspect of your life?”
I took in the stunning room. Pale stone floors, a massive bed dressed in crisp white linens…
“Sophie,” he said lightly, “are you wondering whether I think of everything when it comes to sex too?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Well, now I am. Thank you so much for that image.”
He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”
Of course, he still hadn’t actually answered the question. Typical. I narrowed my eyes at him, equal parts annoyed and intrigued.
I blamed it on having too much time on my hands, though deep down I suspected it might be more than just that.
“So this room is all mine?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I walked in slowly, turning in a slow circle as I soaked it all in. After three months of cramped European hotel rooms, this was such a treat.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, glancing up at the ceiling where a large white ceiling fan circulated the air. “If you’d told me up front that my bedroom would be equivalent to ten hotel rooms, I would have come last night.”
He grinned and notched his head to the side. “The bathroom’s through there,” he said, and I followed his line of vision. “Sitting area on the other side. Balcony stays locked at night.”
I looked at him. “You sound very serious about that.”
“I am.”
I waited a beat for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I asked, “Anything else?”
“My room’s next door.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Not sure if that should be comforting or deeply concerning.”
“Yes.”
I laughed despite myself. “Yes to both?”
The corners of his mouth lifted.
“I have work to deal with,” he said, already stepping back toward the door. “Someone can help you with your things if you wish. Feel free to explore the house.”
“I can handle my own unpacking, and rest assured I’ll be exploring the house. No weird dungeons or kinky rooms, I hope?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.” He opened the door and headed down the stairs, leaving me in the luxurious silence.
Before I could dwell on the knowledge that he’d be sleeping right next door later tonight, my cell phone vibrated in my purse and I dug it out. There was a message from Violet.
Violet: Why are you hanging out with a silver fox killer?
Me: I moved into his villa.
Bubbles appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Violet: ???
Violet: Elaborate, please!
I sighed. Why couldn’t people take my messages at face value?
Me: He thinks it’s safer.
I couldn’t well admit to her what I told him.
Violet: But you don’t know him. He might be a killer.
Me: Hence why I sent you his information. But the likelihood of him killing me is slim since he’s saved me twice already.
Violet: Now I really have questions.
I sighed again, realizing I might have opened a can of worms.
Me: He saved me from a snake and some drunk at the bar. Nothing crazy. Just don’t tell my cousin anything unless I die.
The last thing I needed was to get interrogated by Kristoff too.
Violet: There’s so much wrong with this exchange. But you got it.
Me: The man is so hot.
Violet: The passport photo was kind of blurry. Care to share a better photo?
Damn, why hadn’t I thought of that? I could stare at it the next time I used my vibrator. It would be a satisfying visual.
Not as good as the real thing, my mind whispered.
Me: I don’t have one, but trust me… he’s criminally hot. He’s definitely a DILF.
Violet: WTF is a DILF?
I rolled my eyes.
Me: Daddy I’d Like to Fuck.
I sat on a chair and opened the tray filled with food and dug in while contemplating how to fill another day without the job I loved.
I searched for distractions—anything to replace the adrenaline I used to thrive off of—but nothing really fit.
Every substitute felt hollow, like a bad trade for the intensity I’d lost.
Except for one.
And the DILF down the hall had no one to blame but himself for riling me into this pent-up state.