This is not how I imagined our conversation ending.
But Gray is on his knees, his massive hands grabbing my ass, and he's pressing his face directly into the space between my legs.
How is a girl supposed to argue at a time like this?
"Little Kat, do you know how long I've wanted to do this?"
I moan, because I'm beyond words. I've wanted this forever. I've wanted any part of Gray forever—and now he's offering me, if not everything—quite an eyeful.
And it would help him trust you, some devious little voice inside me says.
But I know that inner voice; she's not being devious because she wants to trick Gray. She'd say anything to trick me into falling into bed with him.
He spreads my lips, glances up at me just for one quick second, and I see he's smiling.
And it's getting harder and harder not to listen to my horny, infatuated, and formerly repressed inner sex demon.
And then Gray licks me, just once, one long, slow stroke. And then he smiles again and just leans in and inhales.
"Oh God," I say.
He's so beautiful, his dirty blonde hair darker when wet. His chest, sweet Jesus save me, feels as broad as a house, and there's not an ounce of fat on him anywhere.
And I wasn't kidding about his abs. He's got more than a six-pack. He's got an eight-pack. A dozen? And his cock. I mean, what. I am pretty sure I blacked out once I saw it, proud and pointing straight up at me, and bigger than anything I'd ever seen outside of the pornos Elle plays on her phone when she gets tipsy and bored at parties.
And his tattoos. I could almost—almost—be content to just stand in a shower and examine the black ink that covers the left half of his chest. Over his left pectoral is a tree, and its roots and branches flow and flourish all the way up and onto his neck.
At least, I thought I could be content just looking at him.
And then he'd touched me.
"This isn't happening," I whisper.
"This is so fucking happening," Gray says back. At least, I think that's what he says. It's hard to make out, because he parts my lips and suddenly buries his face between my legs.
I cry out. It's a happy animal sound I don't think I've ever made before.
Gray's hands are strong, large, calloused. And they know what the hell they are doing. He slowly peels open my lips, and then his hot, surprisingly strong tongue begins teasing me. Long, slow, greedy licks, tracing and tasting as much of me as he can reach, with this awkward position.
I can't keep my hips still.
"Gray," I moan. He answers with a growl, and then he finds my clit. Oh my God. My head falls back and my own breathing sounds strange and foreign and loud. I've never let a man do this to me. Why haven't I ever let a man do this to me?
Because it wasn't Gray.
And, for me, it was Gray all along.
I was kidding myself. I can't hold back from him. And in the heat of the moment, it seems insane to even try.
He begins to work my clit over, sucking it between his teeth, pulling all the blood in my body down to where he is tasting me, pulling all the thoughts from my head.
"That's it, sweetheart. Move your hips for me."
I realize I'm thrusting, slightly but wantonly. Gray looks up for a moment, the hard planes of his face wet in the shower spray, his eyes molten steel.
"Goddamn, Katya, you're so fucking hot." He grabs my ass with one hand, holding me, locked against him. With his other hand he finds my clit, watching my face while he rubs in slow, strong circles. I gasp as I feel a rush of warmth between my legs.
"You taste so fucking good," he says, putting his nose between my legs, then working my over with his tongue and his fingers.
"Gray, I can't—I can't stand anymore," I cry out. I can feel the pressure building inside me, my orgasm on the horizon but still elusive.
Gray stands suddenly, grabbing my waist and pulling me to him. His kiss is rough, brutal, and I love it. I grab his hair, pulling him closer to me. Closer still. His tongue is inside me, all over me. I can taste myself on his kiss.
"Fall," Gray order. "I've got you."
He whirls me around, so my back is pressed to his front. One of his arms locks around my middle, not hurting me, just holding me up. His other hand goes to work between my legs, expertly finding my center and rubbing, faster and faster. He bends down and whispers in my ear, his short beard rubbing against my cheek.
Everything burns so beautifully.
"I missed you, Kat, I missed you so goddamn much."
I whimper and reach an arm up, blindly, to grab his neck. I'm beyond shame now, thrusting and trying to find my release.
"That's it, sweetheart, ride my hand. Ride my fucking hand."
At his dirty words, I can't help it—I do. With a cry I work my hips faster, his fingers slipping around and then, suddenly, inside of me.
I yelp and freeze. Can he tell I'm a virgin?
"Shhh," Gray whispers. And suddenly he's thrusting with one long, strong finger, slowly filling me. "Shit, sweetheart, you're so hot and so tight." He moves his hips behind me, and I can feel his cock pressed so hard against me I bet it'll leave an impression.
I love that idea.
"Oh Gray, oh don’t stop," I say.
And then he…does?
"What?" I gasp. That's when he grabs me, lifts me up in his arms, and carries me out of the bathroom. "What are you doing!"
"The first time my girl comes, I want to see her face," is all he says by way of explanation.
Gray carries me effortlessly into the bedroom, both of us dripping wet. He throws me onto his bed and then crawls over me, wet and naked and gorgeous, so that he's right on top of me.
"Spread your legs," he growls.
"I'm not—I don't want to—"
"I'm not fucking you, Kat. But I want those legs locked around my waist for one minute, so I can imagine what it will feel like when I wake up one day, with you naked next to me, and I roll over on top of you before I slide inside your tight, wet, hot pussy."
"Oh." That didn't sound so bad.
And then he's on me, and I wrap my legs around him. His cock nestles onto my stomach, and Gray somehow holds most of his weight off of me, while at the same time leaning down, cocooning me with his beautiful beast of a body, and kissing me senseless.
I'm just about to say, screw it—no, screw me—when he rolls to the side, slides an arm under my neck, and looks at me. He's here, so close to me. I reach up and trace his jawline, the thick stubble grabbing at my fingertips. At my touch, he closes his eyes. For just a moment.
He looks like he's in pain.
Or maybe it's pleasure.
Everything's running together.
Gray opens his eyes and kisses me while his free hand traces my nipples, moving from my left breast to my right, and back again. I'm shivering, and it's not because I'm cold.
He leaves a trail of goosebumps as he moves his hand lower, lower, lower. He finds my clit like it's a beacon, a magnet. He works it perfectly, slowly, until I'm writhing in his arms, breathing heavily, our mouths open, our lips touching. We're not quite kissing; we're just breathing each other in, teasing each other with our hands and our lips and our tongues and our very breath.
I don't know what to do with my hands, or my heart. Thankfully Gray takes the lead. His fingers keep spinning, spinning, keeping me on edge, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm, but just as I'm almost there, he draws back. He laughs as I growl, frustrated, then begins slowing pumping one finger in and out of me.
Oh God. I hadn't ever really done much to discover my g-spot. But, but, I think Gray has done some research on the subject.
"Gray," I moan. "Gray, I want—I need—"
"Tell me what you need," he says, before bending down and kissing my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking, hard. I gasp and grab at his back, his massive biceps. I'm writhing, mindless.
"Gray. You," I cry. "I need you!"
"I'm goin
g to kiss you and finger you until you come, Kat." Gray's voice is strained, and I reach down between us. His cock is massive, resting on my thigh. It feels so soft on the outside, yet solid, like heated steel.
"You're so hard," I say, wonderingly.
Gray laughs, a short, tense sound. "Sweetheart, I could pound railroad ties with this thing. But right now—for now—all I want is us, face-to-face, when you come. Keep your mouth right like this, right next to mine."
He makes faster, harder movements between my legs. Inside me. I'm so close I can barely keep my eyes open, barely pay attention to his words.
"I'm going to tell you to come, now, sweet Kat. And when you do, I want you to say my name. Call out my name, cling to me. I want that sweet sound all over me, just like your sweet juices are coating my motherfucking hand."
"Oh God," I moan.
And then Gray moves his thumb on my clit, and hits just the right spot inside me, and I fly apart, a wave of heat and pleasure almost blinding me. I can't see, I can't think.
But I cling to the rock that is Gray, and I pant his name, over and over and over again.
"Fuck." I feel Gray's beard against my neck, his lips on me, kissing, sucking. His hips buck wildly against my side. "That was perfect, sweetheart. That was perfect, you're perfect."
I open my eyes and my whole world is right there, in his shining eyes, in his arms. And then Gray smiles, and that's what does it. That's what really takes me breath away.
It's like he's wide-open, he's here, he's not hiding. He's not running.
And neither am I.
I smile back.
"That was perfect, Katya. Now we'll do it again."
16
Kat
I wake up again, alone.
"Gray?" I call out immediately this time. I hear the shower running in the bathroom, and for a minute I wonder why he needs another shower.
Then I remember that he came all over my stomach.
And after that, he smiled and rubbed it all over me, up between my breasts, and down between my legs. Like he was branding me.
And I'd liked it.
I sit up, my lips still swollen from his kisses. My body in shock.
Rather, my body feels blissfully, totally happy.
My brain, however, is working on overdrive.
I grab my cell phone. It's after one in the afternoon already!
"Gray!" I call out louder, and I hear the shower shut off. "Gray, where are my clothes? I've got to get to the bar."
Gray comes out of the bathroom wearing a towel and a scowl. "The bar? As in O'Malley's?"
"Um, yeah. As in the bar my family built and owned for three generations. And, you know, where I work. Every day."
I didn't know it was possible, but Gray scowls even more. I also didn't know it was possible for someone to look so sexy and so annoyed at the same time.
And, annoying.
"I thought we put this issue to rest last night," Gray says. "I don't want you working there anymore."
I blink. "Well, you might have said that last night. I also might not have agreed to it." I tap my finger against my chin. "Hmm, I'm trying to remember. After I was kidnapped and basically forced to marry you against my will, did the priest say the whole 'I will obey my fake husband for the rest of eternity' line? I think he did not."
Gray growls and tosses his towel on the bed, standing naked in front of me.
Holy shit, even when he's not hard he's…huge.
I look at the ceiling as he moves to stand by the bed. Right by me, and puts his hand on my cheek. He holds me gently, but forces me to look at him.
His eyes look like a summer sky today, his face burnished gold.
"Katya, you didn't have to marry me."
I pull away from him and get out of bed, scooting to the foot of the bed so I don't run into the massive wall of muscles standing on my right. I wrap one of his smooth-as-silk sheets around me so I'm not naked, because while Gray may be able to hold a coherent conversation while buck-naked, I'm not that confident.
Did I mention this room is really well-lit?
"Sure, I could have walked away. And then my father would have been killed. And then your boss probably would have killed me anyway. Or worse."
"It would have been worse," Gray says. "You don't know Markov, the man who wanted you. You don't want to know Markov. And Kat, hear me now: none of this shit is my fault. So stop fucking acting like it is."
I close my eyes. No, I guess it wasn't his fault. He didn't cause all of this to happen.
But he sure as hell hadn't stopped it.
"Where are my clothes?" I say. "I've got to get out of here."
"I threw them in the washing machine."
"You did what?"
Gray does laundry?
Imagining him separating my delicates is almost harder to believe than the fact that we're married.
Or that we—my cheeks start to burn, thinking about how I fell apart in his arms. A rush of heat fills me, like I can still feel his arms around my waist, his hand between my legs, his lips on my skin. But it obviously didn't mean anything to him, or at least, it didn't change anything. He's still being bossy, arrogant, and full of himself.
Gray ignores me and walks into his closet, which is so big his voice literally echoes as he calls back to me. "I did your laundry. It's in the dryer, in the closet in the hallway."
Okay, Gray, the tattooed Russian mafia god, did my laundry.
I find the washer and dryer, cleverly hidden in a closet that I hadn't even noticed when I was snooping through his apartment yesterday. Sure enough, there are my jeans and t-shirt and my ratty old bra. I slip them on, still warm from the dryer, and run back to the bedroom.
Gray is dressed. No suit today. He's wearing jeans that show off his perfect butt, his massive thighs. A casual gray t-shirt, his tattoos showing above the neckline and on his arms. He shouldn't look so good in plain old cotton. It's not fair.
His hair is wet and looks like gold. His sinfully full lips catch me checking him, and he smiles.
I smile back.
But I'm acting like a fool. I don't really know this man in front of me.
I can't still think I'm in love with him.
I can't let myself fall in love with him.
I can't let him touch me again.
What I needed was money. My money, from my bank account. Get my passport picture taken, send out an expedited passport request. I remembered when Elle had needed a passport, quick, when she'd chaperoned a summer school trip to Italy. It had only taken her three weeks, I think.
But first, I needed to get the hell out of this apartment.
"C'mon." As Gray walks behind me, he caresses my ass. I shouldn't start tingling just from his touch, dammit.
"What kind?" I follow him to his perfect, gleaming kitchen. He's holding four cups of coffee!
"I didn't know how you liked it. Black, cream, and a chocolate macchiato. Of course, you distracted me in the shower, so they're cold now." He arranges the cups on the bar as I pull out a stool and lean on the bar-height counter.
I would like to play hard to get, but a hungover girl who's been recently kidnapped can only hold out against caffeine for so long.
"I'll take all three," I mumble, reaching for the macchiato first.
Gray smiles.
I force myself to frown at him. Even if he did buy me coffee.
And make you come two—no, three—times, the small, sex-crazed voice inside my mind reminds me.
"I'll be gone all day," Gray continues. "I also got you a new phone." He hands me the latest phone, in a sleek, silvery-gray protective case. Of course.
"My phone is—"
"A piece of shit. My number is in there. Call if you need me."
He walks around the counter to stand next to me, placing a hand on my waist. Like he owns me.
I frown.
Gray smiles and kisses my nose. "Don't say no, Katya. Why would you? You deserve the best, after the way we grew up
."
"The only reason I'm not yelling at your right now is because you brought me chocolate." I take a sip of the macchiato; even cold it's thick and delicious and a pure burst of sugary sweet chocolate. "But you can't actually be this bossy, can you?"
"How do you think I stay alive, Katya?"
God, he has a way of making me half-think I should listen to him.
Stockholm Syndrome, I decide. And it's only been twelve hours.
Me, my aching heart, and my crazy libido have to get out of here, ASAP.
"Well, certainly not by eating anything in this place." I gesture toward the fridge. "Do you truly live on protein shakes and vodka?"
Gray laughs and takes a sip from his cup. "Don't forget coffee."
"Well, it's ridiculous. I need more food, and you do, too. If it's alright with my very-bossy husband, I'd like to go grocery shopping today."
I expect Gray will let me go, if Dacko or whoever the poor kid chosen to replace him trails me. And I'm pretty sure I could sneak an ATM visit in while we're out; they have them everywhere, even in the upscale markets, nowadays.
But Gray surprises me. "Sure. I'll go with you."
17
Gray
She fucking loves to cook.
I watch Kat study every damn aisle at the overpriced, gourmet market down the street. Hell's Kitchen used to be one of the rougher neighborhoods in New York; now you can't walk down the street without someone trying to sell you grassfed beef or organic wheatgrass or a tasting flight of fucking olive oil.
Kat is eating this shit up. Almost literally.
"Bellissima, try this one!" the Italian behind the cheese counter begs. If he wasn't almost eighty, I'd be pissed at how much attention he's giving Kat. But then again, who wouldn't? Even in a plain t-shirt and old jeans, her hair slowly drying into long waves and no makeup on, she outshines every damn woman in Manhattan.
I can't take my eyes off of her.
Kat gleefully takes the sample from his hand, a small wedge of pale yellow on a piece of plastic.
"It's called Belicino, from Sicily. Made from sheep's milk with olives in the cheese."
Kat takes a delicate bite between her sweet pink lips, then rolls her eyes with pleasure. I never thought I'd be jealous of a dairy product, but damn. She's about to devour the rest when she glances at me.
Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 9
