Page 17 of Caught By the Kingpin
There’s a shift of her skin on mine as she nods, then takes an inhale. Stops. Again. Taking a breath as though to begin talking, but doesn’t.
“What is it?”
She hides her face against my chest, her soft cheek pressed to my pectoral and speaks into my skin. “Was that using me?”
“Oh, cara.” She has no idea. “Yes. And I’ll use you in other ways too, don’t worry.”
She lets out a shuddering sigh of what sounds like relief.
“I’m looking forward to using your beautiful body in filthy and depraved ways that make you cry for more.”
“Really?” And there’s uncertainty in the question I don’t fully understand.
I stroke down the silk of her hair, reassuring. “I’ll also treasure you.”
Now I’ve had her tucked into me like this. Now I’ve made her come, the hunger isn’t diminished. The sharp edge is off, but now my desire for her is deeper, wider. It’s the ocean flooding up a brackish estuary. I thought I was obsessed before, but it’s worse now. I love her.
She’s told me what she wants: to go to Scotland, as far away from here—and me—as possible. And while I’ll make that first part happen for her, there’s no way it will involve me letting go.
I hold her closer to me and press my fingers into her waist. I breathe in her sweet strawberry and vanilla scent.
“You’reminenow. Mine to give orgasms to.” She sighs and rubs the corner of her mouth to my skin, the hair shifting beneath her lips. “Mine to care for. Mine to adore.”
8
FELICITY
We lie together for a long time in the library. His big solid chest reassuringly my pillow and his arm my safety belt. I don’t know whether I slept there, or what time it was when Marco slid my hoody back down, carried me upstairs and laid me into his bed. I was too exhausted and sated to think. But I remember his presence and rumbling voice telling me, “Go to sleep. It’s been a long night.”
I’ve never slept in the same bed as anyone. He’s warm. Big, too. I hadn’t thought of sleeping by myself as lonely. I’d just accepted it was cold, and tucked myself into a ball most nights and waited to fall asleep.
Being his means that he tucks me into his bed and spoons his body to my back. Slipping into oblivion with Marco at my back… That’s different. For the first time in my life I’m not alone when I lose consciousness.
I wake to the scent of Marco on the pillow, salty ocean and musk, but no warm presence behind me. Cracking one eye open, I regard his bedroom with trepidation. It’s austere and simple, only softened by the yellow light of dappled sunshine. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a woodland and I watch as a red and white and black bird swoops in and lands on a tree trunk.
He lives in the countryside, or has a garden so big it might as well be the countryside.
A bird feeder is hung high in the branches of a tree just outside the window, close. It’s covered with half a dozen little birds of all colours, pecking away. They dive and squabble, their wings a blur. The birds with gold, red, and black markings stay on the feeder, jostling and feasting. But the little pink, white, and grey birds hang back, waiting for a gap then darting in to snatch a bit of food before beating their wings to fly away.
They all have their strategies, and have come to get their breakfast, confident in their provider.
Huh. Big scary mob boss likes to watch the birds.
And kidnap girls, give them orgasms, tell them they’re his, make them think they’ve lucked out, then leave them alone. Why didn’t he just allow me to escape?
“You’re awake.”
I scramble to roll over, clutching the covers to my chest even as relief floods into me. Marco is sitting in a blue armchair wearing a crisp white shirt open at the neck, revealing a strong, tanned neck and the dip between his collarbones. He has a laptop on his knees and is wearing black-rimmed reading glasses. And his mouth—the same mouth that he put on my pussy last night until I screamed with pleasure—turns up in a slow smile. It starts in his eyes and spreads across his face in a slide of light and heat like the sun rising on a summer’s morning.
He removes his glasses and although I have a pang for the loss of his casual hot professor look, the better view of his pale blue eyes makes up for it. He appears happy to see me, and it makes me shy. I don’t know what to do with this approval. I’m not used to it, and am half expecting to be told off for sleeping in, but he nods to his side of the bed.
“There’s breakfast for you.”
I turn and find a neat wooden tray covered with dozens of mini pastries, a cafetière of coffee, orange juice, a bowl of melon and strawberries, and what looks like blueberry muffins. My stomach rumbles in response and Marco’s laughter washes over me, warm and affectionate as I blush.
“All my favourites,” I mutter into a croissant, snatching it up before it’s taken away.
“Always.”
