Chapter 4 #3
My chin lifts despite the trembling in my limbs. “Maybe I’m just bad at planning ahead.”
“Or maybe,” he takes another step closer, and I feel the warmth radiating from his body like standing too close to a flame, “you’re exactly the kind of woman who does whatever it takes to survive. Those are my favorite kind.”
I take a shaky breath.
I should step back. I should remember that I don’t know this man, that I’m vulnerable and alone and probably making the worst decision of a night already full of terrible decisions.
But something about him roots me to the spot. Something about the way he’s looking at me—like I’m not a pawn or a possession, but something far more interesting—makes me want to stay exactly where I am.
“I wish…” The words escape before I can stop them, hanging in the charged air between us.
His eyes darken with an intensity that steals my breath. “Yes? You wish what?”
I swallow hard, my heart racing for entirely different reasons now. “I wish I knew who you are.” My voice comes out breathier than I intend.
The smile that curves his lips is slow, devastating, and promises absolutely nothing good.
“Careful, little dove,” he murmurs, reaching up to brush a tear from my cheek with a gentleness that contradicts everything else about him. “Wishes have a way of coming true around here. And some prices are higher than others.”
His touch lingers for just a moment too long before he withdraws, and I’m left standing there with my pulse thundering and my skin burning where his fingers grazed my face.
He leans in close. His wide body blocks the entire room from view.
My world narrows down to only him. His mouth finds the soft slope of my jawline, and I tilt my head to offer more skin for his welcomed kiss.
Warm lips press against my flushed skin.
I shudder in a breath and take in the new experience.
My hand comes up to caress the line of his jaw.
Smooth. Chiseled. I inhale deeply and commit his scent to memory.
“Tell me your name,” I urge. “I’ll give you one in return. Might be mine, might be the name of the man who made me cry.”
I’m feeling brave again.
He steps back, giving me room to breathe, but his eyes never leave mine. His smile is nearly my undoing.
“Rafael Milano,” he murmurs so damn seductively the virgin walls of my pussy clench.
He fingers the fringe of my shawl like he wants to use it to pull me full within his grasp. I’m up for it, but I’m also scared he’ll remove the shield I have in place to keep people from asking too many questions. I don’t need the truth of my life bursting this sexy bubble.
My brain stutters a second and falls back on his name. I mentally pump the brakes. I recognize his name and my chest grows tight.
The realization hits me like cold water. This man isn't just another wealthy patron. He's the one who grants the wishes. The one who holds the power of life and death over the desperate souls who come begging at his altar.
My father’s enemy looks at me expectantly unaware of who I am.
Which is good and double good. Good, because I’m not in danger of being kidnapped or worse.
And double good because that means he won’t be scared of touching me.
It’s an unspoken law that no one touches the Governor’s daughter.
Which is why I’m still holding a V-card at my age.
“Your turn, little dove.”
“Kiara.” I lie smoothly, holding my tone steady. Revealing my real identity, if he doesn’t know it, would be foolish. Deadly even. I’m in no hurry to become kidnapped and ransomed by one man while being forced into marriage by another.
“Kiara,” he repeats, catching a wayward tear with his thumb before it can slide past my jaw.
The touch is gentle, at odds with everything about him, and it sends a shiver racing down my spine.
"Are you sure you don’t want to tell me who made you cry, little dove?
Do and I'll make sure they never hurt you again. "
The promise in his words should terrify me. It doesn't.
“You can't fix what's wrong with my life,” I whisper. “No one can.”
“You'd be surprised what I can fix.”
His thumb traces along the curve of my jaw, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. My lips part on an exhale that sounds dangerously close to a moan, and his eyes darken as they drop to my mouth.
“Kiara.” He says the name I gave him like he's tasting it, savoring each syllable.
Adangerous smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair with a possessiveness that makes my knees weak. “Whisper your wish to me.”
Instead, I find myself swaying toward him, drawn by a force I can neither name nor resist. “Is that what you do? Linger outside the wish room to play the knight in shining armor?”
His laugh is low and dark and utterly devastating. “This is a first for me, as it is for you.”
Something snaps in his expression. For a moment I can’t identify it, but then I understand. His control gives way to hunger.
I should pull away. Should demand he release me and let me leave.
The words hang in the candlelit air between us, heavy with promise. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, and I bite back a whimper as sensation sparks through my nerve endings.
His grip on my neck tightens, tilting my head back as his mouth descends toward mine.
The first brush of his lips is electric. Soft, testing, completely at odds with the barely leashed violence I can see coiling in every line of his body. I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sliding past my lips to claim me with slow, devastating strokes.
I've been kissed before. Fumbling attempts by boys who didn't know what they were doing and didn't care to learn.
His free hand finds my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard inch of his body pressed against mine. The evidence of his arousal burns against my belly, and a moan escapes me. It’s a sound I've never made before and one I didn't know I was capable of making.
He swallows it like it belongs to him. Like I belong to him.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse pounds frantically. “You taste like desperation and defiance,” he murmurs against my skin. “Like everything I've ever wanted.”
“Idon't—” I can't finish the sentence. Can't think. Can only feel as his tongue traces the column of my throat, as his hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me even closer.
“Don't what?” He bites down gently on my earlobe, and my knees buckle.
Strong arms catch me, hold me up, keep me from falling. When I look into his eyes, they're blazing with a hunger that makes me feel powerful and terrified in equal measure.
“Don't stop,” I whisper. “Please.”
His groan is primal, possessive. He captures my mouth again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. This kiss is pure need, pure want, pure claiming. His hands roam my body like he's memorizing every curve, every dip, every secret place that makes me gasp and arch into his touch.
I fist my hands in his jacket and pull him closer, closer, needing more of this feeling, this fire that's consuming me from the inside out. His tongue strokes against mine in a rhythm that makes me think of other rhythms, other strokes, and wetness floods between my thighs.
As if he knows, his thigh presses between mine, giving me something to grind against. The friction against my aching core makes me cry out against his mouth.
“That's it,” he growls. “Take what you need, little dove.”
Ishouldn't. But my hips have a mind of their own, rolling against his thigh, chasing the pleasure building low in my belly. His hands grip my ass, guiding my movements, controlling the pace until I'm trembling and panting and barely able to stand.
“So responsive.” He pulls back to watch me, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “So desperate for someone to touch you properly.”
“Rafael—” His name is a moan on my lips.
“Iknow.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, and the tenderness of it nearly undoes me. “But not here. Not like this. You deserve so much better.”
But he doesn’t stop.
His grip becomes possessive. He moves me faster.
I relinquish all control and let him help me find my end.
I ride the mafia king’s thigh and when my climax hits, his lips find mine.
He consumes my cries of pleasure as the waves of heat thrash against my insides.
Everything clenches with need to feel more than a quick release.
“Rafael…” I beg again, though I don’t know what I’m asking for exactly. I just need more.
He slowly steps back, and I nearly collapse without his body to hold me up. He catches my hand, steadying me.
“Not like this,” he says again and my heart breaks.
“Until we meet again, little dove.” His eyes hold mine, dark and promising. “And we will meet again. That much I can promise you.”
A strong tatted-up finger strokes the edge of my cheek. I know this man is the very definition of off limits, but he makes it hard not to throw myself at him and just take him up on the offer I see dancing behind those beautiful dark eyes.
I gulp in air to keep from blurting out an offer of a one-night stand.
A corner of his lip tilts up reading my nervousness due to my lack of confidence and I make no move to explain the truth behind my trembling fingers when he reaches for my other hand.
I slip my palm over his. I watch in the dim light as this complete stranger places a warm kiss on each of my knuckles.
Releasing me, he pulls a red rose from a nearby vase and places it gently in my hand.
“To remember this evening by, little dove.”
With that, he’s gone, disappearing through the red door as silently as he appeared, leaving nothing behind but the lingering warmth of his scent, the feel of his lips on my skin, and a new kind of ache in my chest.
“It’s not the rose I’m going to remember.” I mumble to myself.
I press my hand to my heart, willing it to slow, and realize with startling clarity that for one brief moment that I forgot about Magnus Sterling entirely.
I forgot about everything except the dark promise in Rafael’s eyes.
A promise that felt like the beginning of something I don’t have a name for yet.
Desire. Want. Lust.
Those three feel fitting yet superficial.
I draw in a shaky breath and glance back at the wish box, wondering what will happen next.
Because that man didn’t feel like simply a coincidence.
He felt like a wish come true, but I can only hope fate is not playing with my heart.