by Jagger Cole
8
Katrina
My body trembles. I can feel my pulse racing beneath my warm, tingly skin. Goosebumps tease over me, making me shiver. A dull ache throbs in my core.
The door slams shut, and he’s gone from my rooms. But he’s still very much in my head. I can still feel his body against mine. I can feel the ghosts of his hands on me. And I can still taste his lips on mine. I can feel his tongue dancing with mine.
I stand there in shock against the vanity in the bathroom. The water from the shower I haven’t taken yet is still running. Steam fills the room. My legs squeeze together, and I gasp softly.
I’m twenty-three years old, and I just had my very first kiss. I reach up and touch my lips with my fingertips. They feel tingly and swollen from his mouth. But I’m instantly desperate for more. I tremble and remember the rush of it. The passion. The dominant and possessive way he just kissed me like I belonged to him.
I do, I suppose. The idea still terrifies me. Knowing that I belong to or that I’m owned by a man as dangerous and as powerful and Micheal Genovese is surreal. It’s scary and numbing. Or maybe I just think it should be. Because after that kiss, I’m not so sure I believe any of that.
I don’t feel scared. I feel a rush. I’m not terrified. I’m desperately aching for more of him. For more of that kiss. For more of his hands on me. For more of… everything.
Heat throbs in my core. My thighs clench, and I gasp quietly. I lean back against the counter. My hands slide up my sides. My fingers tease my skin through the silk robe. They move over my tummy until they reach the silk knot holding it shut. I pluck it undone. The robe slips open, and I moan softly.
I close my eyes. I shrug, and the robe slips from my shoulders to the tile floor. My hands slide over my skin. My tummy hollows under my touch. My nipples stiffen when my fingers find them. I moan and drop my head back.
* * *
Twenty-three and I’ve just been kissed. It goes without saying that I’ve never done anything else either. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned to please myself. My hands know exactly where to go. My fingers tease exactly how I want them to. I moan when my hand pushes between my thighs. My finger curls through my wetness. My lips part around it. I gasp when I rub it slowly over my clit.
Only now, there’s one problem. For years, I’ve had one fantasy. One man has been the main character in every fantasy I’ve ever played out. I don’t know his face. But I know his hands. I know his bulging muscles and his raspy but smooth voice.
I’ve been dreaming of my mysterious savior since the night he pulled me from the flames. At the time, I just thought of him as my hero. He killed the men trying to hurt me, and then carried me through fire. He leapt out a goddamn window with me. And then he was gone. Back then, he was my superhero.
But as I got older, he became something more. My dreams of him became less about heroics. They become more about his hands on me. In my fantasies, the flames disappeared. Or when he jumped through the window, he didn’t stop. Not until he’d carried me to a place we could be alone.
I’ve come a thousand times to my mysterious hero. He’s taken me in my fantasies every way a man can take a woman. It’s gotten to the point where bonfires sort of turn me on, like a sexual Pavlovian response.
Whenever I’ve closed my eyes and touched myself, it’s been my faceless hero who I dream is making me moan. That is, until now.
Micheal’s kiss singes my lips. The memory of his hands gripping me makes me gasp. When I close my eyes, it’s him I see. When my finger rubs my clit harder, it’s the growly mafia boss who I picture is touching me.
My legs shake, knees quivering. My head falls back, my lips parted in pleasure. My body arches and trembles. My nipples pucker and ache in the steamy bathroom. My pussy coats my fingers in my desire.
I’m getting married tomorrow. The thought should terrify me, like he should. But like Micheal, it doesn’t. Instead, it only makes me hotter. I don’t know why, but I can’t ignore it. Thinking that tomorrow I’ll legally belong to and be tied to a brutal man twice my age is hot. It shouldn’t be, I know. But I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it.
Tomorrow, I’ll be married. I’ll be his. He’ll be my husband. I know this arrangement is messed up and wrong. But I can’t stop how I feel about him. I know marriage is supposed to be love. I barely know Micheal. But I do desire him. God help me, after that kiss, he’s all I desire.
I moan. My finger rubs my clit harder. My legs shake and I gasp into the steamy bathroom. Tomorrow, I’ll be his. Tomorrow, I’ll be all his.
With a cry, my body shudders. My core clenches tight and I moan loudly. I come hard, and it’s Micheal I’m picturing every second of it.
I ride the high for what feels like an hour. I’m just buzzing. I feel tingly all over like I’ve never felt before. My legs shake as I stagger for the shower. The water is still hot, and I tremble as I stand beneath it.
Tomorrow, I’m getting married. I don’t know about love. But I do know about lust. And I know it might be awful, but I can’t help but lust after Micheal Genovese.
A lot.
9
Micheal
“You should have just called, you know.”
I sigh. “I know, honey. I didn’t want to have the conversation over the phone.” I frown. “Or I didn’t know how to. And not while you were on vacation.”
Bellamy smiles. “Well, so much for that idea.”
I chuckle. It’s true that I didn’t want to tell my daughter about getting married again over the phone. But it ended up being that way anyways when Don Salvestro bumped the wedding date to goddamn today.
She and Vincent have just flown in from the Keys. I tried to tell them both that this was a business arrangement more than anything else. I told them they didn’t need to be here at all. Of course, neither of them listened. Just the same, I’ve made them both promise to get back to their vacation, with an extra week tacked on, afterwards.
“But I get it,” my daughter sighs. “Dad, you know you can always talk to me.”
“I do know that,” I smile and pull her into a hug. Behind her, Vincent nods at me over her shoulder.
I’m glad they’re here. After I stormed out of Katrina’s rooms last night, I ended up calling them both. I mean, it’s one thing that I’m doing this. It would be another to get married again without my daughter being here for it. Arrangement or not.
“And you know I’m not a kid anymore, right? You get that I’m fully aware of your business and what that might mean?”
I chuckle and glance at Vincent. “I figured it might have come up once or twice at home.”
Bellamy gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you telling me my husband isn’t actually a shipping logistics coordinator?!”
I roll my eyes. “Very funny.”
“My whole life has been a lie! Wait, dad, do you…” she clutches her throat dramatically. “Do you work for the mafia?!”
Behind Bellamy, Vincent smirks and shakes his head.
“Are you done?”
She grins at me. “Yes. Only because it’s your wedding day though.”
I roll my eyes again.
“Dad, I understand your business. I get that this is…” she shrugs. “What needs to happen. Honestly, I always thought you’d get married again anyways. Or I always hoped you would.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Your mother…”
“Mom left us, dad,” she says quietly. “I know that’s cold to say, but it’s true. She left us. She chose her addictions over us.” Bellamy smiles thinly. “I’ve forgiven her. Have you?”
I frown. “I suppose I have.”
“So maybe it’s good to be moving on.”
“This isn’t moving on, Bellamy. It’s a business arrangement.”
“Dad, I know.” She raises a brow. “Well, I’m excited to actually meet her after the wedding in any case.” She shakes her head. “Wow, I’m meeting my new stepmother for the
first time after she marries my dad.”
I chuckle. “I do think you’ll like her.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about.” She grins at me impishly. “What with being the same generation.”
I groan. Vincent chuckles. Bellamy isn’t done.
“Or about you being able to legally drink when she was born?”
I sigh as my daughter giggles at my expense. “Are you finished?”
“Probably not.” She laughs and leans up to kiss my cheek. “Whatever this is, dad, I’m happy for you. Honestly.”
“It’s just business, honey,” I sigh, hugging her back.
Bellamy pulls away to look at me shapely. “Well, business doesn’t tend to make you smile this much, dad.”
“Just happy to see you, honey.”
She smiles. “The house looks amazing, by the way.”
On such short notice, the “wedding” is being held in the gardens of my estate. I’ll be honest, they look great anyways. But Don Salvestor insisted on some of his people coming by this morning to make them look incredible. String lights, white ribbons, and flowers, an altar set up in the rose garden and everything. I wonder if Sal going above and beyond to make this look real and nice is his way of apologizing for pushing me into this.
Except I’m not so sure this merits an apology anymore. I’m not so sure I feel like Katrina is being “pushed” on me anymore. I’m certainly not acting like a man whose arm is being twisted here. Not after last night, I think to myself with a growl
“Sir?”
I turn as Dominic walks around the corner. He’s dressed in a suit like the small number of other guests. But he’s also carrying a sub machine gun on a strap over his shoulder. Years ago, I made damn sure Bellamy was never exposed to the violence inherent in my job. But she’s grown up now. Hell, she’s married to my second in command. One day, she and Vincent may very well run this organization. Though a large part of me hopes she builds something of her own. Something legitimate and non-criminal.
A lot of the attendants here are strapped—my people, and Anton’s. It may be a wedding. But it’s the joining of two of the more powerful families in the crime world. There are many, many enemies of mine and of Anton’s who could see this as an opportunity to strike.
“Vincent, Mrs. Cave,” Dominic nods politely at my daughter and son-in-law. He turns to me. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Genovese. Don Salvestro says it’s almost time, if you wanted to find Ms. Korolyov and let her know we’re about ready.”
“Thanks, Dominic.”
The young captain nods and heads off. Vincent grins and claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll see you out there, Micheal.”
Bellamy slips into my arms and hugs me tightly. “Business or not, I like you smiling like this,” she says with a grin.
“I’ll try and do it more often, honey.”
I watch her and Vincent walk off, arm in arm. When they think they’re out of sight, Vincent’s arm scoops around Bellamy’s waist and draws her close. He pulls her into him and kisses her deeply. I smile. I’m glad my daughter has found happiness in life. And I’m glad she’s found it with a man I trust with my life too. A man who has my utmost respect like Vincent. What they have is true love, undeniably.
They walk away, and I frown. It’s my wedding day. But I can’t honestly say it has anything to do with love. Christ, I barely even know Katrina. Love is not a word that’s even been invited to this discussion table. But God help me, I want her. I crave her, deeply. I lust after her with a fiery passion I’ve never felt before. For any woman.
I groan and think about last night. I can practically still taste her goddamn lips. I can feel the way her soft body moved beneath my hands. I can smell her.
I groan. I came last night, after leaving her. Back in my own room, I stroked my cock until I spilled my hot cum all over my sheets, imaging it was her. And now this: now we’re getting married. And soon, within the hour even, the little temptress down the hall will be my wife. My bride. Mine, to have and to hold.
To lust after. Though I know I shouldn’t. I can’t. She’s too young. She’s been forced into this. And she’s a goddamn Korolyov. Last night was gasoline thrown on a fire for me. But I still don’t know her. I still can’t ignore the very real fact that she could be a spy in my very house. A beautiful, seductive enemy, whispering to my other enemies.
With a scowl, I turn and march away to find Katrina. Ulterior motives or not, Salvestro has decreed that this is happening. So it is. Let’s get this over with.
Katrina’s been getting ready in the garden shed on the far side of the gardens. “Shed” is a subjective word. It’s more like a cottage, almost like a pool house. I prowl through the gardens. I come across a few pairs of men—some mine, and some Anton’s—in suits with guns. I nod to a few of my own men. I push through the last roses bushes and finally get to the secluded cottage. I approach, clearing my throat. Time to tell my bride it’s time.
But suddenly, I stop cold. The window next to the front door to the cottage has a pane smashed in. My sixth sense tingles. I tense and growl. And suddenly, I bolt. I grab my gun from the holster in my jacket. I hit the door at a charge, smashing it in.
Katrina screams and practically jumps into the air. I snarl, whirling with the gun out, clearing the corners of the room.
She’s alone. No threats. No danger. I blink quickly. I can feel my pulse still racing. I moved on instinct just now. I imagined someone being here to hurt her, and I moved to protect her. To keep her safe. It’s not a reaction I was expecting. I know she’s fine and there’s obviously no one here to hurt her. But the lingering fear is there gripping my chest.
“You’re alone.”
Katrina is breathing rapidly from me scaring the shit out of her. She nods quickly. Her eyes dart over my face. “Yes,” she whispers.
My eyes finally drink her in. And I groan. She’s a vision. She’s in a gauzy white, silky dress that hugs her body perfectly. I don’t know how Don Salvestro found a seamstress or whoever day-of, but the dress looks incredible on Katrina.
She looks incredible. I groan. No, she looks better that incredible. She looks stunning.
“The window,” I growl.
She blushes. “I knocked that coat rack over.” She points at the old wood and copper stand leaning against the wall by the door with one broken leg. Next to it is a small pile of swept up glass. “I’m so sorry about the glass.”
I chuckle quietly to myself. Christ, when did I get so jumpy? I turn back to her and smile. “It’s fine. I just…” I frown. “I thought you were in danger.”
She smiles shyly. “Just a danger to myself with how much of a klutz I am.” Her cheeks redden. “I… I don’t think you’re supposed to see me,” she says quietly. “You know, before…”
“I don’t think uncles are supposed to push marriages on you to settle business debts either,” I growl. “But here we are.” My eyes slide over her gorgeous white dress and all the curves it hugs. “I don’t hold much salt with superstitions anyways,” I grunt.
Katrina smiles. “Or traditional rules.”
“There are no rules when you’re at the top.”
She trembles. Her lip catches between her teeth. Fuck, being alone with her isn’t good. I need to resist her. But now that I’m here, I just fucking want her. I want those soft lips again. And I want more after. I want all of her.
I smile and put my gun away. “So, not in trouble.”
“No,” she says quietly. She smiles shyly and then frowns. “Well, I…” she shakes her head and trails off.
“What is it?”
Her cheeks are pink. “I am actually having some trouble with these heels.” She nods at the pair of strappy white sandal heels on the floor.
I smile. “Too big? Too small?”
“No, just a little hard to get into?” She blushes. “It’s a little hard to bend at the waist in this dress.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head q
uickly. “Oh! No, it’s absolutely beautiful!”
“You just can’t put your shoes on in it.”
Her blush deepens. She nods. “Yeah.”
“Let me.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
But I move anyways. I go to her, crossing the room. Being alone with her has my pulse roaring. It has my cock thick and throbbing in my suit pants too. I kneel in front of her and pick up one of the strappy white heels.
“Here, Let me.”
She blushes shyly once again when I look up at her. Slowly, she nods. She raises a leg to put her foot on my knee. I feel my pulse beat hotter. I slide a hand over her ankle. Her smooth, soft skin is so warm to the touch. So silky. I growl quietly and slip the shoe on. I pull the ties tight.
“Good?” I look up at her.
“Yes, thank you Micheal,” she whispers.
I nod. “Next one,” I growl thickly.
She switches and puts her other foot up on my knee. My hands skim up her calves. She gasps quietly, but I hear it. I hear it, and it makes me groan. It makes me think of the way she gasped when I kissed her last night.
I slip the second shoe on. My hands stay on her calf. I tell myself to let go; to walk away. But I can’t. My hands tighten. Her leg quivers, and the calf muscle tightens and releases. I look up at her, grinding my jaw.
“You look stunning, Katrina.”
She blushes. “Thank you. You look…” she bites her lip again. “You look really handsome.”
“Just because you never asked for this,” I growl. “Doesn’t mean we can’t give you a wedding you can feel special in.
She beams at me and nods. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But I want to.”
My hand tightens on her calf. It happens before I can stop myself. Gently, I push her leg to the side. Her silky white wedding dress is slit up the leg. Slowly, it starts to fall away. It slips off of her thigh. I growl quietly. My eyes slide over her creamy skin. My gaze moves higher, recklessly. It glides over to where her stockings stop at mid-thigh. I groan when I see the lace there hugging her skin.
