I look up, and Gray's standing in the doorway.
"For a big guy, you're pretty sneaky." I meet his eyes in the mirror.
He smiles and walks in, stopping behind me and hugging me. We both watch our bodies in the mirror.
"You're just deaf," he teases, kissing my neck. Shivers race down my spine.
"Gray," I whisper, turning around. Somehow, when he's next to me, all my doubts and fears disappear. Does he know how he affects me?
We kiss, but he's the first one to pull back.
"Come on." He takes my hand, pulling me toward the door. "I have a surprise for you."
24
Kat
"Do I have to wear the blindfold?"
I can tell we're on a sidewalk. The sounds of people and cars and just general New York mayhem surround us. "Is this a kinky sex thing?"
"You wish." Gray's voice comes from my left, and he's got his arm around me, leading me effortlessly through the crowd.
And then suddenly we're walking indoors, somewhere quiet. My heels click on the floor. A woman's voice with a smooth French accent greets us; "Mr. and Mrs. Petrokov, right this way."
"You wish," I whisper back at him.
We walk for maybe five minutes, the air cool. It feels like we're in a museum; the room feels large and as the woman directs us, her voice echoes just slightly.
"Stop here," Gray says, his hands on my hips. I feel him untying the scarf he'd wrapped around my eyes. The darkness falls away and—
I'm staring at a small dinner table, set in a comically large room. The entire space is empty except for our table, complete with a white linen tablecloth, champagne on ice, and beautiful flowers.
"Where are we?" My voice dies as Gray turns me slowly. We're not in a ballroom, which is what I thought the room was at first. We're not in a museum.
We're in a kitchen.
"What?" I say, taking in an elevated stage with a long, stainless-steel countertop. There's an eight-range stovetop, sinks, another range—and above it all, a mirror hanging from the ceiling, tilted so that anyone in the large room could have a bird's-eye view of exactly what the chef would be doing with his hands.
"Welcome to the New York Cooking Institute," the same voice who had greeted us at the door says. I turn and see an attractive woman in her fifties, very chic, very French. She's smiles and leads me to the table, where she pulls out a chair for me.
I sit slowly, giving Gray a look. "What's going on?" I mouth.
He just grins as he sits across from me, then says, "Let's wait for the menu."
The woman returns. "I am Juliette, and I will be serving you this evening. We have a chef's tasting menu for you to enjoy."
She hands me the menu first, a large, flat page on heavy card stock.
She smiles at Gray, and I feel a momentary flare of jealousy—but then I realize, she isn't flirting. It’s more like they're sharing a secret. What is going on?
"I will return in a moment, to take your wine selections."
Gray smiles and holds up his champagne glass. "We never had a wedding reception. Cheers to my lovely bride."
I'm sure I'm blushing. I toast him back, then sip the champagne. It's cold and bubbly and delicious.
The first few items make my mouth water.
"Oh my God, Gray. Royal Kaluga caviar? In a 'Maine lobster fondue'? What does that even mean?"
Gray laughs. "I have no idea. I usually eat burgers for dinner."
I take another sip of champagne. "Aren't you Russian? Don't you all love caviar?"
"Yeah," Gray shakes his head. "You know I grew up eating caviar every night."
We're both quiet for a minute.
"Well," I finally say. "Look at how far you've come."
Juliette returns and takes our wine orders, though Gray basically tells her to bring whatever she would pair with each course. After the first caviar dish, she brings us white sturgeon caviar and oysters on the half shell from a local inlet.
Each dish is more complex than the last. The "clam chowder" is actually a large white bowl with a small fillet of halibut in the middle, surrounded by a delicately placed necklace of Manila clams. The fish is balanced on a potato confit—and I have to ask what the other elements are: celery branch salad and a "chowder" sauce.
"This is amazing," I tell Gray. "I can't tell if I like this better than the Alaskan king crab; making a 'porridge' out of cracked rice and white corn? And those Chanterelle mushrooms, my God! And I've never eaten daylilies before!"
Gray shoots me a smile and swirls a piece of bread over the remains of sauce on his plate. "They're all delicious. They're all small."
I giggle. It's true. Each course has been absolutely exquisite, but also incredibly tiny. I've tried to take my time and savor each individual component, and then how they all blend perfectly together.
Gray is pretty much done with each course in two bites.
"I think I'll need a burger after this." He winks.
Gray is a surprisingly wonderful conversationalist. We talk about the bar, and what I've been doing for the past seven years, Elle and her teaching, what Derek and Smalls have been teaching me in the kitchens. About O'Malley's itself, and how it's actually more profitable than anyone would have guessed. With all the hipsters and Manhattan residents looking for cheaper housing, Williamsburg is overrun and becoming a destination in and of itself.
The old-world charm of O'Malley's is a huge draw.
"We've been raking in cash, hand-over-foot," he says. "I hate to say this, but if your father hadn't been such a—" He trails off, obviously trying not to offend me.
"An addict?" I say.
He nods. "And an idiot. If he had managed the money better, sweetheart, you could've been going to chef school all this time."
I rub my temple. "That bastard. Where is he?"
Gray shakes his head. "I sent him to rehab."
I gasp. "You did? That's wonderful! Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise. But I didn't want you to get your hopes up, in case he didn't make it."
At my questioning look, Gray says, "He checked himself out after two days. He's on his own now, babes. I'm sorry. I tried."
I nod, the food suddenly tasteless in my mouth. "Of course my dad would do that. You hand him a great opportunity, and he squanders it."
"It's the story of his life, Kat. He had the bar and he ruined it. But more than that, he was given the most wonderful woman in the world as his daughter. And it's just a testament to your strength, but he didn't ruin you."
My eyes fill with tears. "Gray, I don't know what to say."
Gray smiles, then gestures to someone behind me. "You don't have to say anything. I want to focus on the future."
Juliette appears and hands me another menu.
"Well," I joke, "dessert is in my immediate future, and I always like to focus on that!"
Then I look at what I'm holding in my hands.
It's not a dessert menu.
It's a class schedule?
I stare up at Gray, then at Juliette, then back at Gray. "What?"
"Babes, this isn't just a fancy-ass French restaurant," Gray says.
Juliette flinches at his language, but keeps a smile on her face.
"It's an internationally renowned French cooking school. And you are its newest student."
I walk backwards into Gray's apartment, my arms around his neck, his hands around my waist. He held my hand the entire time we toured the cooking school.
He had his hand on my thigh the entire car ride home.
Then he attacked me when we were finally alone in the elevator.
Or, maybe I attacked him.
Gray lifts me suddenly, wrapping my legs around his waist and holding my ass in his strong hands. I twine myself around his neck, kissing him the entire time. I can't get enough. I moan and encircle his broad shoulders with my arms.
Gray pulls back, his body tense, his eyes on fire. "I'm making you mine, tonight."
&
nbsp; I look up at him, his chest heaving, his hair messed. I lean my forehead against his. "I've always been yours."
25
Gray
She's naked.
She's in my bed.
She's about to be mine.
I've always been yours.
Jesus Christ, I almost came the second she said those words. I stalk toward the bed, the moonlight streaming in from the windows, turning her fair skin porcelain.
It hits me how soft, how sweet, how breakable she is.
I don't want to break her.
But the animal in me—he wants to try. On our bed. Now.
"Gray," Kat leans up on her elbows, cracks a smile. "Get out of your head."
I laugh. Goddamn, and she's funny. She's beautiful, smart, funny and fiery. I lo—
"If you don't get in bed right now and take control, I'm going to fucking hurt you!" Kat moans.
We'd kissed the entire way to our bedroom, me pushing her up against the wall, on top of the dryer, laying her out on the bench at the foot of my bed and slowly removing every single piece of clothing she had on.
I crawled up over her naked body, my treasure, my prize.
"Kat," I whisper, my lips ghosting over the rise of her breast, the curve of her neck.
"Gray," she whispers back, holding onto me, writhing against me. Her legs are spread wide, allowing me between her. Soon I'll be inside her. The thought makes my cock pulse and my balls tighten. I grind against her, her wet core setting me on fire. Then she glances down at the monster between us. "Gray, you're so big. You might be...too big."
I'm almost certain she's a virgin, and the caveman in my head is fucking glad of it. The way I feel right now—illogical, possessive, completely on fire—I'm liable to order a hit on any other man who's ever seen her pristine skin, touched her ample curves.
If they'd fucked her? They'd be dead.
"I just need to get you ready," I say, kissing my way down her neck to her amazing tits. I roll one pert, pink nipple between my teeth, making her moan and shake underneath me. God, I've craved that sound for so long. I want her, wild and wanton and just like this, every damn day.
Every damn day for the rest of my life.
I kiss my way down her stomach, spreading her legs wide.
"Gray, you don't have to—"
"Shh, Kat. I'm ready for my dessert now." I push her hands out of the way, not liking that she'd be embarrassed by her scent, her taste. "You're fucking gorgeous, Katya."
She closes her eyes, blushing.
"Watch me," I order. I inhale deeply between her legs, getting to know my woman's scent. Then I look up and hold her gaze as I take my first long, slow, wet taste of her center.
"Oh God," Kat moans, her head falling back onto the bed.
That's fine with me. That's where I want her, really: spread-open, blissed the fuck out, because my hands or my tongue or my cock is inside her, driving her crazy.
As crazy as she drives me.
I tease her, licking her everywhere down there except the tight little pearl I know she wants me to touch.
"Gray!" Kat cries out, rolling her hips, trying to get me to touch her harder, deeper. I grin and stick my tongue inside her, my cock leaking precum against the covers. I can't wait to fuck her, own her, make love to her.
Because in truth, she owns me.
I work her nipples with one hand, teasing and tugging, making my girl moan and shiver. My other hand goes to work in her wet, hot pussy—she's so tight, and I'm not small. I finger her g-spot, Kat's hips moving faster and faster.
"Come for me, baby," I say, right before tonguing her clit hard and fast. She comes apart with a cry, her thighs clamping tight around my head, shaking me, shaking my world.
"Stop, oh stop," she moans as I keep licking her, lapping up her sweet honeyed come, enjoyed the aftershock-tremors that race through her body.
Finally I climb up over her, feeling like a fucking god rising up out of the ocean, my curvy virgin sacrifice splayed out before me. I kiss her with my salt-covered lips, letting her suck on me and see how fucking good she tastes.
"I'm gonna fuck you now, sweet girl," I kiss her once, hard, branding her.
Kat stares up at me, green eyes dark in the shadows. "Gray, please." She's still breathing hard, her skin lightly dewed with sweat.
I position my cock at her entrance, rubbing the head over her clit and in her juices. She moans even at that, and thrusts upward, wanting, wanting…
"Wait!" Kat grabs my arms. "Condom. I'm not on birth control. We need a condom."
The animal in me raises its hackles; I want my bare cock inside her, balls-deep, pumping and filling her with my seed.
But it's been a fucking week.
Seven years…and a week.
"Hold on, babes." I lean over and open the bedside table drawer, snagging a Magnum and ripping it open with my teeth. Kat follows my movement, biting her lip, watching as I position my now-covered dick at her entrance.
"You ready for your first—and last—dick, little wife?"
Kat frowns, and I can tell she's ready to argue. But then I slowly move, rubbing up against her, lubing the condom with her own come. She moans, and we both watch as I push, push, push just the tip inside her tight, hot core.
"Oh," Kat moans, the excitement and heat in her voice running up my spine like lightning.
I move down, cover her with my body. I stare into her eyes and then I move back, and thrust—deep, hard, all the way inside my woman.
"Gray!" Kat clenches her eyes shut, instinctively grabbing me and tensing with pain.
"Fuck." I put my forehead against hers, breathing hard. I don't want to hurt her, ever. But holding still inside her core is the hardest damn thing I've ever done. Every instinct I have is screaming move, thrust, make her mine.
"Kat," I whisper. "It'll be okay. Tell me when it's better." I kiss her closed eyes, her lips, each freckle on her cheek.
Then the tension in her body releases, suddenly. I move, back, forward, small motions. She cries out, this time with pleasure.
"Yes, oh Gray, please don't stop." She kisses me, wet and hungry, and I kiss her back while I move my hips, faster and faster. Kat's head falls back, her tits bouncing as I enter her harder, now. She's moaning and her pussy is clenching me, tighter and tighter.
I grab her leg and lift it up, over my shoulder. I can't hold back—I should hold back, I should make it last—but at this new angle she's shouting and whimpering and calling out my name. I can feel her starting to come, her fingernails digging into my arms, and her sweet pussy starts convulsing, milking my cock.
It's more than I can take. I go wild, ramming home, coming as she screams my name. I keep thrusting even after I empty myself, her arms and legs wrapped around me, her lips against mine.
Moments after I come I'm hard again. It's like I can't get enough of her.
"Again," I growl.
Kat smiles, her cheeks and chest pink from exertion. "Maybe one—or one hundred—more times, and I'll be satisfied."
I wrap my arms around my wife and kiss her. I don't say the words, but I know now: I'll never let her go.
26
Gray
"Yo, Gray." Chase knocks and walks into the bar's office, making himself comfortable on the couch. I immediately think of Kat, and how I fucked her on the couch at my apartment this morning.
She's been wearing just my t-shirt as she made me breakfast. I'd bent her over the back of the couch, her ass in my hands…
She's fucking ruining my concentration.
And ruining me for any other woman, ever. It's been a week since I claimed her, and we can't keep our hands off each other. Kat says she can't believe we make love all the time. She blushes when I say we fuck all the time.
Either way, I can't keep my mind off of her.
But I need to, especially tonight. I'm supposed to meet Solonik and his crew on the docks at eight. Well, not meet them exactly—but he wants me hidden, watching, my rifl
e ready. But only me, which is sending fucking warning sirens off in my head.
Either he wants to kill me, or he doesn't want anyone else to know what he's receiving. Either way, this isn't good, and I need my head in the game.
Both of my heads focused and in the game.
Chase puts his feet up on the shitty coffee table someone threw in here, and relaxes like he's one of our fucking hipster customers. No one would know he just returned from scoping out the docks. Motherfucker keeps his cool, all the time. Which is just one reason he's one of only three people I trust in the world.
Declan and Kat being the other two people.
Jesus, I need to stop fucking obsessing over her. But in order to do that, I want to make sure she's safe and taken care of while I do this fucking job tonight.
"How's it look down by the water?"
Chase shakes his head. "Totally normal for a Saturday. Nothing out of the ordinary that I could tell. Found a good spot for you to hole up."
I nod. "Great. Now I need you to go pick up Kat in a couple hours. Drive her back to my place."
Chase nods, but he's got a pensive look I don't like on his face.
"Spit it out," I order.
"Anyone can pick her up." At the look on my face, he changes his tone, but not his message. "Anyone you trust can pick your woman up after she's done shopping with her friend. I would do it every fucking week and twice on Sunday if you wanted, Pakhan."
"Now I know you're blowing smoke up my ass, if you're calling me boss."
"Pakhan, godfather, sensei, whatever the fuck you want to be called, man. I'm just saying: tonight's shipment is important. I think I could better serve you by standing by your side." He makes a corny-as-fuck, rolling hand gesture when he says "serve," like he's an uptight English butler bowing down before me or something.
It's not easy to find a trustworthy, loyal sharpshooter who can always get the job done. A soldier like Chase is a fucking treasure.
Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 15
