Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

24. Emory

CHAPTER 24

Emory

L iving with Killian was strange.

Or maybe it was the fact I’d lived on my own—and had been alone—for so long that things were constantly surprising me. Which was odd in itself, since he seemed to revert to that man I met in the bar six years ago more often than not. The charming guy who somehow transformed our night into a magical three-date event.

There was no denying that Killian was as attractive as he was charming, but he was also a total control freak. We’d been in his home for a week, and he refused to let me stray from the property. In fact, he said I should consider myself lucky I was allowed to use the bathroom alone.

Apparently the man was paranoid that I’d disappear on him again.

But that didn’t erase the fact that the man was a freaking god in bed. He read me and my desires like a book. He could be both gentle and rough, but sometimes he knew when I just needed to be held.

Bottom line: he was perceptive. Dangerously so.

I continued my search for information on my daughter and tried without success to hack into Atticus’s mainframe. He knew where she was, and if I could trace his movements, maybe it would point me in the right direction. Unless the bastard was lying and stringing me along, much like I was stringing him along by dangling the identity of the Syndicator.

The frustrating part was that no matter how promising each breadcrumb trail seemed, I ran into nothing but brick walls. I’d even started to suspect that Atticus himself was the person who had my daughter. Of course, when the backdated satellite images I obtained showed him only alone or in the company of his security detail, I had to retire my conspiracy theories.

I was in the kitchen toasting a bagel when I sensed his presence behind me.

“I have an event tonight,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. Maybe tonight would be my opportunity to leave. Before I could cling too hard to hope, he added, “We leave at seven.”

I turned on my heel and met his expression. “Sorry, but I’m busy.”

His eyebrow shot up. “Doing?”

I shrugged.

“Watching a Taylor Swift concert.” The toaster behind me made an elaborate popping sound and I shoved the bagel back down, pushing on the handle with unnecessary force. “The Eras Tour is in full swing.”

Killian narrowed his blue eyes at me. “Are you trying to murder the toaster?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m imagining it’s your neck I’m wrangling.”

Killian’s expression turned calculating. “Do your best not to kill me, and if you’re a good wife at dinner, I’ll take you to a concert.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nah, I’m good. Those days are well and truly in the past for me.” I had a feeling he was holding back, so I decided to mess with him. “Besides, my husband hasn’t bought me many clothes, so I’m afraid I have to pass.”

His eyes traveled over me—I was wearing yet another one of his shirts that barely skimmed my knees—and an involuntary shudder rolled through my body. The way he watched me with a raw kind of possessiveness made it difficult to resist him. A woman could get used to being looked at like that.

“Your husband loves seeing you in his clothes,” he stated, his voice gravelly. “Nonetheless, I’ll have your wardrobe here stocked with suitable outfits for events. When you’re home though, I want you to wear my shirts.”

The bagel popped up, and I didn’t even bother with cream cheese. I took a big bite of it, enjoying his unsettled expression a bit too much.

“Anything else?” I asked him, chewing with excessive gusto, then taking another bite. “Maybe you want to outline what I should say or do every minute of the day?”

Just as I was about to take another bite, he snatched the bagel from me and tossed it into his mouth. He chewed it carefully, a dangerous gleam sparking in his eyes, and I cocked an eyebrow.

Once he swallowed the bagel, he finally said, “I want a kiss every hour. I think that should make up for the time we’ve missed.”

My mouth gaped at his unexpected words, and all I could do was stare at him in shock. He released a heavy sigh before slamming his mouth to mine. His tongue stroked mine, possessing me completely, and just as I began to lose sense of place and time, he pulled away.

“I want you to kiss me senseless, Em. Every hour on the hour, for the remainder of our days.”

And then he threw me over his shoulder and stalked back into our bedroom where he showed me exactly what he meant.

Around six thirty, I found Killian’s broad shoulders filling the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his wild eyes traveling over every inch of me.

“You look beautiful.”

The red dress—my favorite color—fit like a glove, the silk hugging my curves like a second skin. The upper part was designed like a corset, the laces out of reach. I took five steps, closing the distance between us, and lifted up my hair.

“Would you?” I asked, scolding myself for how breathy my voice sounded. His knuckles grazed my skin, and I fought a shiver as he fastened the back. I sucked in a breath, alarmed at how restrictive it was. “Jesus, I’m glad I wasn’t born when women regularly wore corsets. I prefer your shirts.”

“I prefer you in my clothes too.” Killian’s fingers paused as I felt his lips at my nape. “And without panties.”

“I’m not going out without panties.” I turned around and was met with a look of hunger. “Killian,” I warned. “I swear, I’ll?—”

Killian dropped to his knee in front of me and took my hand, placing it on his shoulder for balance. Just like as if he was my knight. Then his fingers traced my skin, his touch gentler than ever, snaking up my dress and sliding my panties down my thighs.

All while I stared at him, my chest rising and falling like I was that young woman from six years ago.

“Just for me,” he said softly, his face tilting up and his gaze locking with mine, and I found myself nodding. All because of the pesky desire to please him.

He had me and he knew it. I was just grateful that he didn’t appear to be in the mood to tease me about it.

He reached for my red stilettos and slid them onto my feet, his touch gentle at the arch of each foot. He buckled the straps, dragging his fingers up my calves and kneading my already sore muscles.

When he stood up again, our chests brushed, but I still had to tilt my head back to meet his stare.

“It’s time for my kiss,” he said gruffly, and a choked laugh escaped me.

Then, without another word, he bent his head and kissed the ever-loving life out of me.