Page 17 of Kissed By Shadows

“You are a very good girl, Peaches,” Hunter purrs, and my wide gaze snaps towards him as my thighs clench and fire races along my veins. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

I must be in some kind of lust stupor—who calls a practical stranger a good girl?—because when he reaches out to take my hand in his much bigger one, I don’t protest. Nope. Instead, I clasp my fingers in his, even though he made me get on my kneesin front of his seconds and suck him off just so I could be safe. What kind of fucked-up Stockholm syndrome is this?

He gives my hand a squeeze, setting butterflies fluttering in my stomach, before he leads me back through the office space and back into the living room, then through the door into the kitchen. I’m going to need a fucking map of this place.

He flicks a switch, and the space is flooded with low light, bright enough to have me squinting as I adjust after the darkness of the flat, but not enough to completely blind me.

“What would you like to eat?” he asks, leading me over to the island and pulling out one of the high chairs. He keeps hold of my hand, helping me up onto it, and it’s so gentlemanly that my lips twitch, a smile wanting to break free. “What’s so funny, Peaches?”

“I didn’t know gangsters could be gentlemen too.” The words blurt from my lips before I can stop them, my free hand flying up to cover them.

One side of his lips quirk, and he tugs my hand up, placing his soft lips to my skin and pressing a kiss there. My lips part, my skin flushing at the gesture, especially as his deep green eyes lock on mine.

“Gangsters can be a great many things, Iris,” he whispers in that sinfully deep voice of his, my entire body shuddering at the sensual sound and the promises in it. Straightening up, he drops my hand, and my other immediately cradles it, my thumb tracing over where his lips brushed against me like a brand. “So, what’ll it be?”

I shift in my seat, thinking. “I’ve always wanted to try a grilled cheese sandwich,” I confess softly, my cheeks heating at the admission. I’ve read a lot about them, but we never really went anywhere that served them, my father preferring places with Michelin stars.

His eyebrows hike up. “You’ve never had grilled cheese?” My cheeks burn, embarrassment making my tone sharp when I reply.

“It’s not that unusual, but just forget it,” I snap, going to get off the chair, but he closes the small gap that was between us, his large hands gripping my hips and stopping me from leaving.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Peaches,” he growls out, but with an edge of softness that is reinforced when his thumbs trace patterns into the very bare skin that he’s holding. I swallow, my skin hypersensitive to every brush, his hands just above the waistband of my knickers. “I just thought…” he trails off.

“Thought what, Hunter?” I whisper, watching his Adam’s apple bob when I say his name. A sudden image of me screaming it like I did Nikolai’s as Hunter pounds into me leaves me a little lightheaded, and I sway slightly towards him.

“Thought that posh people had everything,” he answers, a flush creeping up his neck from under his black T-shirt and making the apple of his cheeks glow.

My eyelids flutter, the heat from a moment before dissipating like opening the front door in winter. “Not everything.”

My mind flashes back to a beautiful face, the scent of parma violets, and a laugh that lit up the entire room. I was five when my mum left us, too young to understand why she didn’t want me anymore or why I wasn’t good enough for her to stay. I’ve had little to no contact with her since, and last I heard, she was living her best life in Bali with some young pilot.

It makes my father’s recent actions sting all the more, his rejection—for that is fundamentally what it was—hurts because she sowed the seed that I’m somehow so flawed that I’ll never be enough.

“Hey, don’t cry, Peaches.” Hunter’s voice breaks through my swirling thoughts, and blinking, I suddenly feel the moisture onmy cheeks, one of his hands leaving my hips so his thumb can brush the tear away. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It wasn’t you,” I murmur, my voice sounding as broken as I feel inside. I look up at him, at his green eyes that I want to drown in, and the way his brows are furrowed in concern. “Why am I so easy to leave, Hunter? Why can I never be enough?” The words tumble from my lips, bypassing the common sense that tells me this virtual stranger doesn’t give a shit about my problems.

His jaw clenches, his large palm cupping my cheek as he stares into my eyes. “You are more than enough. Shit, the way you helped Willow? Most people wouldn’t have done that for a friend let alone some girl they found wandering the streets.”

“Then why does everyone leave?” The last part is a murmured sob, more tears falling, as if now the floodgates are opened, there’ll be no closing them. It’s not just my mother leaving me as a child, or the fact my father sold me off like an old coat. Nikolai left me too, and even though he says it’s for my own good, to keep me safe, I can’t help feeling the sting that he didn’t fight for me.

“Oh, baby,” he hushes, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his huge arms around me in an embrace that shouldn’t feel so much like home. My body responds immediately, my fingers gripping his shirt tightly as tears seep into the cotton fabric. “That’s a them problem, not a you issue. They’re fucking insane for letting you out of their sights for a moment. You’re more special than you know, Iris. You fucking glow, and I don’t just give anyone my protection.”

I scoff against his chest, breathing in his sharp rosemary and mint scent that soothes my aching soul in a way I probably should be worried about. But give a girl a break, sometimes we have to take our comfort where we can.

“It hardly came out of the generosity of your kind heart, Hunter,” I say, my sarcasm clearly amusing the fuck out of him as his chest huffs with a laugh.

“Best fucking blow job of my life, Peaches, and I won’t apologise for taking it.” My hormones are clearly all over the place because I should really be pissed at his words, but instead, Evangeline just purrs for the man, waving herself at him like some kind of bitch in heat. “And I think you liked being forced and liked having the choice taken from you.”

I stiffen. “Do you know how fucked-up that sounds?”

“It’s just kink, Peaches. We all have them,” he tells me, his large palm rubbing up and down my back in a way that has me sinking into him more, my fingers loosening their tight grip to splay against his firm pecs.

“Let me guess, yours is taking control?” I ask softly, my thighs going to clench only to find him in between them. How did I not notice that until now? Heat races from my core, which I now feel pressed up against his jeans, our bodies only separated by three layers of cloth.

“Among others but yes, I like to take control,” he tells me in a husky tone, the air around us shifting to something hot and almost stifling, leaving me desperate for something I’m not ready to admit.

“I don’t understand,” I ask, needing to shift the focus but also confused and wanting answers. “Given everything that’s just happened to me, why would I enjoy having my control taken from me?”

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