Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

15. Emory

CHAPTER 15

Emory

W e sat in his car as husband and wife, engulfed in thoughts and past deeds, the silence thicker than the Arctic ice.

Killian drove through the city, streetlights flickering, and hardly saying a word since we entered the car.

Ever since we’d crossed paths again, it felt like we’d been playing a game of cat and mouse, circling, or sometimes ignoring each other, only for him to corner me at the end of it all.

Somehow it didn’t surprise me, and I internally cursed myself for lowering my guard. For relaxing with each passing month and growing convinced that he’d continue feigning we didn’t know each other.

I should have been smarter than that. Killian was known for his calculated ways. He had the patience of a saint and the ruthlessness of a devil.

But he underestimated me.

As we passed 59th Street and Central Park came into view, I recognized Uptown’s tall buildings surrounding us.

He didn’t explain where we were going, and I didn’t ask. And as the silence stretched, I realized how much more I preferred the Killian I remembered from six years ago. But clearly that man was long gone, just like that young woman that snuck out of his room like a thief in the night.

Regret filled me, for both of us, although I couldn’t and wouldn’t examine why.

And as the pressure between my legs started to build and the quiet suffocated me, I found myself breaking the tension.

“So are we going to live together now?”

“Yes.”

“That won’t look suspicious to my family at all,” I remarked dryly.

“Then don’t hide the marriage,” he retorted coldly.

I scoffed. He knew that if our marriage became public knowledge, we were stuck together for life.

“So living together. That’s it?”

His head tilted to the side, catching my gaze, holding it for a moment before returning it back to the road. “Yes, that’s it.”

I let out a frustrated breath. I wanted to know what he was thinking, what his plans were, so I could better prepare myself for what was to come. And no, I didn’t mean sex.

Killian had his right hand on the wheel, his bare ring finger a mocking reminder of what we had done. Granted, it was on the wrong hand, but still… No rings exchanged. His ex-fiancée’s wedding shop. We were doomed.

I didn’t know why it bothered me that we didn’t exchange rings, or why I even cared. I didn’t understand why it bothered me that we got married in a civil ceremony, except that it was common knowledge that Italians and Irish were big in reciting vows in the church, in front of God. It was hypocritical as hell, but it was only then that our families considered it as an irrevocable marriage.

This has an expiration clause , I reminded myself.

Maybe Killian had an ulterior motive. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to fuck my brains out before discarding me.

A frustrated sound traveled up my throat, but I kept it locked in.

None of this mattered , I told myself.

“I hope you intend to uphold my terms,” I said, furious with myself for even caring enough to ponder on Killian’s intentions.

“I do. Scout’s honor.”

A laugh bubbled in my throat, but I smothered it down.

“How about you give me a promise made by an adult criminal? Scouts are hardly a thing in our world.”

He took a sharp left, driving into an underground garage and pulling into a parking spot, then exited wordlessly. Before I could even unbuckle, he was around the car and opening my door, extending his hand.

Placing my hand into his, I slid out of the car, coming to stand in front of him. I had never hated my short frame as much as I did today, because even with my heels, I was forced to look up in order to meet his gaze.

“You have my promise, Emory,” he said, bending his head and brushing his lips against my earlobe. “As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I’ll uphold our agreement. But you’d best remember that if you break your vows, all bets are off.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Are you threatening me?”

He moved his hand to the small of my back and guided me toward the elevators.

“No, I’m just telling you how I operate, so we’re both on the same page.” He jabbed a card into a slot and the elevator door opened. We entered and stood as the elevator began its ascent. “If you run or hide, this time, dead or alive, I’ll find you.”

I met his gaze in the mirror of the elevator, but before I could think of what to say, the soft beep announced our arrival. The elevator came to a stop, and then the doors slid open.

Killian gestured for me to step out first, and I found myself in a spacious penthouse that overlooked Central Park.

“Welcome home.”

I was greeted by the sight of a huge living space with slick furniture, dark hardwood floors, and chandeliers. But the most eye-catching area was the entire wall facing the elevator. It was all glass that offered a view of a terrace and skyscrapers beyond the greens of Central Park.

An open kitchen took up the left side of the living area, and a massive dark wood table separated the dining room and living room.

Killian headed straight for the minibar in the corner of the large living room.

Bracing a hand on the table next to the elevator door, I slipped my heels off, stretching my toes.

“Drinking already?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Is that your way of dealing with a successful marriage ceremony?”

My tone was laced with mockery and maybe a hint of jealousy. The entire underworld knew about Killian’s disastrous wedding with Branka who had been kidnapped by Sasha Nikolaev in front of the congregation and the groom.

Killian pulled out a whiskey bottle and poured himself a glass. “Maybe?”

“Or are you regretting your impulsive, dumb decision already?”

He turned around, a smile pulling on his lips while his gaze burned like a lit match. “Never.”

A shiver ran down my back, and suddenly I felt like I had been caught in Killian’s web of charm and smiles, a web that I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

“Why the urgency to marry?” I questioned.

“Why so many questions?” was his retort.

He extended his arm in offering, and I eyed him, debating whether to press the issue. But in the end, I just padded toward him on my bare feet. I might as well sate my sexual frustration, and get laid. Six years was a very long time to go without sex. I had some catching up to do.

Wrapping his free hand around my waist, he pulled me into his space. I took the offered glass and brought it to my lips before taking a sip.

“I know, whiskey isn’t your drink of choice.”

I shrugged. “I haven’t had alcohol in… six years.”

He stilled for a moment, then poured another drink and brought it to his mouth. “Blamed your bad choices on cranberry vodka?”

I shook my head. “No point.”

Rising on my tiptoes, I kissed a line down his throat, getting drunk on his scent. I ran my tongue up his throat and brought my palm down to cup his erection. Rubbing the entire hard length of him, I kissed my way up to the corner of his mouth, tasting alcohol on his lips.

And when he turned his head and swallowed my moan, kissing me wet and rough, his tongue sliding against mine, a flame pulsed to life between my thighs.

He nipped my bottom lip. “You ever regret us, I’ll tie you to my bed and show you exactly why everything with me is a good idea.”

“You’re psychotic.”

“Only because of you,” he breathed against my lips.

He set his glass down on the bar top, grabbed the back of my neck, and then kissed me deep and slow. He kissed me until my heart throbbed and my core ached. A frenzy shot through my veins, burning everything in its path, and I pressed my body to his, trying to ease this craving.

This might not last long, but I was determined to enjoy my time with him while it lasted. I needed him in a way he couldn’t even fathom. Hell, I couldn’t even understand this wanting.

I tugged at his belt buckle and a rough noise vibrated in his throat. He grabbed my hips, lifting me, and my legs wrapped around his waist. We kissed roughly as I buried my hands in his hair.

He walked with me clinging to him and him kissing me like he was about to eat me alive.

We found ourselves in a bedroom when he trailed his mouth down my neck and I worked on the buttons of his three-piece suit. The last time we were both driven by despair and need, but this time, I ached to feel his skin against mine.

I tugged the dress shirt out of his pants and ran my hands beneath it, feeling his hot skin against my palm.

Suddenly, we fell on the bed, his body atop mine. He had my dress off of me in record time, discarding it onto the floor, but when he pulled down my bra and sucked on my breasts, all my thoughts vanished.

His fingers dug into my ass, and I rubbed myself greedily against him, needing the friction. His fingers slid between my thighs, brushing my clit, and my back arched off the mattress.

He kissed my cheek and murmured against my lips, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

He pushed two fingers inside me, and my breathing turned ragged. I groaned when he began to move them in and out, and I was so close to tipping over the edge already. I shook underneath him, moaning and whimpering, while he kissed my throat as he finger-fucked me slow… agonizingly slow… driving me crazy.

Then, without a warning, an orgasm slammed into me, and he never stopped thrusting his fingers inside me, kissing me, nipping me, marking me.

When I finally came down from my high, it was to him watching me with a hunger in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking addictive.” He thrust inside me without a warning and my nails dug into his biceps. “I want to mark you.” Thrust. “Own you.” Thrust. “Fuck you in every possible way.”

And he did. In every position and every room of his penthouse.