by Angel Payne
“Shit. Claire!”
“Mmmm hmmm.” Her sigh spread warmth over my neck then into my ear as she worked me with passion, rolling her sweet little fingers all over my erection, spreading my cream everywhere. My dick was damn near as wet as her pussy now…but not quite. I slipped a testing finger into her channel, smiling when it came back soaked as one of the sidewalks outside on this high tide night.
Burying another groan in her neck, I pushed up into her again, this time with two fingers. “I need this,” I grated. “I need to fuck you, Claire. Right here. Right now.”
“Sì, il mio amore. Sono pronto a per te. Civuoleuna bella scopata.”
I pulled up, temporarily stunned. Maybe more than temporarily. I was rusty on the dirty stuff, but managed to translate enough to get that I was her love—and she wanted a good fuck.
Damn. Dante may have been a celebrated son of this country but his inferno officially had nothing on my bloodstream right now. The sexy sneak of a woman. So this was her end game in picking up the fast-learn language courses after I’d told her about the trip. How I’d chuckled like the indulgent boyfriend as she regaled me with her increasing fluency in ordering wine and asking about bathroom locations—when in secret, she’d taught herself how to turn my dick into a pillar of agony from the impact of her words alone.
Would she ever stop amazing me?
Did I ever want her to?
Her whispered nastiness curled into me, twisting through my extremities until I again pushed past the cloud of her skirting then hitched her legs up to the armrests of her chair. She was fully spread for me now, her pussy hot and open.
And very, very ready for my cock.
The delectable O of her mouth confirmed that, along with the high sigh that erupted from it—thankfully drowned by the new surge of music through the theater. But even the opera wouldn’t be a decent veil for what I planned to do to her next, so I yanked her yet closer, crushing our mouths back together as I did.
My bare cock slid against her soaked sex.
We clung to each other like lovers in a storm.
I paused the action, letting us both modulate our breathing. Right. Winner of an idea, Kil. With our lips fused, our bodies pulsing, and our heartbeats meshing, we’d jumped on a speeding train together—and the brakes had just burned out.
I angled my hips, pressed my crest through her folds once. One push more was all I needed to slide deep inside her hot, wet sheath.
She shuddered from head to toe. Seized my nape before she twisted her hand into my hair. Bit at my lips as waves of heat rushed through her, betraying her mounting struggle to stay silent. The same surges turned into convulsions around my cock, drawing on me, tempting my body’s ultimate bliss, boiling in the depths of my balls. In lieu of desperate screams, she poured her passion into clinging to me. Whimpering against my lips. Wrapping her pussy tighter around me.
Tighter…
I rolled my hips forward, seating myself harder into her. My thighs burned. My ass clenched. My mind narrowed to the excruciating tunnel of heat that joined us, obsessed with filling it, conquering it, branding myself into it. The woman would never want or think of anyone there except Killian Stone, ever again. The resolve settled things for me, too. I’d never want to be anyone else again, either.
Deeper. I had to get deeper.
As I shifted my hold to her ass, impaling her body onto mine by another inch, a mesmerizing sound burst from her. I’d never heard it before. The cry was strained yet melodic, twining so perfectly on the air with the plaintive aria from the stage that stifling her felt like an awful crime to my body and spirit. Our forced silence was a sudden irony. Even if I could speak, my throat was strangled by intense desire and grateful amazement. My body supplied no air except what it took to fill her, consume her, enflame her…
Free her.
Her whole body clenched as the first wave of her orgasm hit. She ripped her lips from mine then bit my neck so hard, I was damn certain I’d have a mark—and fuck would it be worth it. The next moment alone served as my affirmation, giving me an image I swore to burn on my memory forever. She rocked her head back like a virgin offering herself to a vampire’s kiss, her neck arched, the nimbus of her hair glowing in the light that filtered to the back of our box. As she did, the music burst into a crescendo, drums pounding, strings flowing, a hundred voices at full volume.
We transcended erotic, careening into ethereal. This moment was all that mattered, a vortex drawing us to deeper and darker waters, especially as I leaned to suckle her neck and surrendered to the pull of her body on mine.
Like fingers racing up a harp, my release roared up my cock. As it detonated, I bit into her shoulder with the same force she’d used on me. But I still had no sound to partner with it. I was lost to her. Annihilated by her. As the character Mimi died in the scene below, I willingly gave over to the sweet suicide of emptying myself into her. But unlike Mimi’s, my death led to a rebirth. The renewal made possible only by giving myself to this woman. Completely. Perfectly. Endlessly. Every fatality more devastating—and transforming—than the last.
She bucked in my arms, drawing out the constrictions of her flesh on mine, squeezing every last drop from my very willing cock. If she demanded more than that, I’d find a way to give it with just as much passion.
Slowly, as if timing ourselves with the orchestra yet again, our breaths evened. Still, she didn’t move. Neither did I. We let the music spiral through us with foreheads touching, lips brushing, breaths twining…and hearts singing.
As the show ended, the building shook with applause. Loud bravos and other praises punched into the air. With my hands still hidden by the froth of her skirt, I was able to zip up in privacy while guiding Claire’s legs back into their “proper” locations.
Finally, I glanced over my shoulder. “Hmmm. Look, baby. A standing ovation. Want to join them?”
She gave my shoulder a playful whack. “Why don’t you do the honors for both of us? Make sure to bellow that it was the best opera I’ve ever been to.”
I chuckled then leaned in for another long kiss. “Me, too.”
She didn’t let me get very far in pulling away. Well, her stare didn’t. Accompanied by the soft tilt to her kiss-roughened lips, the bronze lights in her eyes were as consuming as a hypnotist’s watch. I yearned for a lifetime of staring back into them.
Yet again, my resolve was sustained. Making the decision to kill off Killian Klarke was one of the best of my life.
Choosing that exact moment to reflect on the fact wasn’t.
“Kil?” The glow in her gaze dimmed. The intensity of her question was joined by the new press of her fingers against my jaw. I forced down deep breaths, despite knowing it was just the beginning of her little curiosity spurt. She’d been edging closer to that inquisition more often during the trip—making it harder to order her to stop.
At least in this instance, I had an alternative. It was wickedly easy to grasp the back of her neck and yanked her to me for another passionate smack. Dirty pool? Undoubtedly. But I could argue that she’d tried to take advantage of the post-coital glow first.
“Stay here,” I directed. “The crush will make it impossible to leave for a while. I’ll grab a clean towel from the bar so you can clean up a little. After that, what about a final cruise on the Grand Canal?”
I expected an eager grin in response. Instead, her face tightened a little—and around her mouth, more than that. I didn’t like causing that expression, as if she peered in a shop window at a dress she couldn’t have. Dammit, I abhorred the idea of her wanting for anything—but in this case, I knew exactly what she was after. The secret hallway in my castle. Yeah, the one with the chamber at the end—containing the cursed spinning wheel. One touch of the needle on that fucker and the entire kingdom went to ruin.
Why didn’t she understand that by now? I’d explained, with as much patient force as I could, that some things belonged in the past, and pulling the scabs on them would
only cause a giant pool of blood. Or worse.
Much worse.
So why the hell did she keep pushing at that door? Why did she look at me like that, though I’d given her every other dress in the whole damn shop? Showed her things I’d never exposed to anyone else. My surly moods when ideas woke me at two a.m. The ogre faces I made when I worked at the free weights in the home gym. Every geeked-out part of my stamp collection. She’d been for beers with the guys from the polo team and to Sunday brunches with Father and Mother. She was intimately familiar with every corner of my life now.
Except the end of the damn hallway.
I accepted the clean towel from the bartender with a frustrated snap. After a muttered grazie, I turned back toward the box with hard steps—and new determination. It was time to screw a more level head back onto my shoulders. I was Killian fucking Stone. I had this shit under control, and that included all the useless anxiety over Claire’s I-need-to-read-your-mind-now stares.
“She’ll put it away.” I muttered it beneath my breath before flashing a fake smile at a couple who recognized me. The towel seemed to throw them from any further socializing, making it possible to move on at a faster pace. “She’ll have to, goddammit. She’ll leave it alone—eventually.”
And if she didn’t, I’d throw on the fucking ogre face for this, as well. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I hoped that for once, she’d accept that the matter was closed for discussion, and she’d find a new dress to be fascinated with. Maybe even a new trinket.
Like the one in the velvet box I’d tucked inside my jacket.
Correction: the box now burning a damn hole of anticipation in my jacket.
It was just a matter of the right timing. Maybe beneath the stars on the Grand Canal tonight. I sure as fuck hoped so.
*
The stars decided to cooperate. So, it seemed, did the whole city. The restaurants along the Grand Canal were filled with lively laughter and music, throwing a kaleidoscope of color across the waters. The gondoliers, seemingly inspired by the influx of opera fans for the benefit, broke out into spontaneous songs that ranged from the classical music we’d just heard to operatic versions of the latest pop hits.
The boat traffic on the Canal started to resemble Lake Shore Drive during Fleet Week, so I asked the gondolier to steer us toward a quieter channel. Claire nestled next to me, pulling the thick blanket close along with her jacket, giving me the chance to curl a hand around her head and twirl the loose strands of her hair. Her face, illuminated by the moon and the softer glow from the buildings we floated past, was truly that of a fairy queen.
My fairy queen.
Her gaze crinkled a little. She pushed up to align our gazes more. “Kil.” It wasn’t a full question though the dip in her tone implied as much.
“Hmmm?”
“What are you thinking?”
“That I’m wondering if the fairies are wondering where their queen disappeared to yet.”
Her lips tightened. Shit. Not now. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She pulled one hand up under her chin. With the other, she scraped at my new stubble with her fingertips. “That day you came and found me…at my dad’s wedding…”
“One of the best days of my life,” I murmured.
“You said you wanted to share everything with me.”
I lifted my head. Yes, with the purpose of gaining higher ground in the conversation. Yes, without a drop of guilt about the tactic. “And I have.”
Since I meant every fucking word of it, I saw no barriers to her acceptance of it. But her mouth tensed again. She pressed her fingers a little harder. I was damn sure it wasn’t the only “push” she intended now.
“Let me in, Kil. All the way. Please.”
A phone rang.
Thank fuck.
She recognized the ring along with me. My personal cell. It had been turned off during the opera but I activated the volume when we left the theater in case there was news from home. Father had been released from the hospital before we’d departed the States and was recovering well, but I appreciated Mother’s updates.
Claire gave me a puzzled look when I raised the device and Trey’s number appeared. “Isn’t he still in New York with the acquisitions team?”
I nodded. “It’s four o’clock in the afternoon there. Maybe they’ve come across some big meat.”
She rolled her eyes. I’d made no secret about my professional hard-on for SGC’s need to diversify into the alternative energy field. It seemed a good project to dip Trey’s toes back into the big pool of Stone Global, and for the last few months, he and his team had traveled across the country to interview companies willing to partner up. So far, his toes had been doing a pretty decent job.
Inside the next minute, I wondered if the fucker could even feel his toes.
“Kil? Kil? You—you there, man? Ohhh, Kil-lian…”
My brother’s drunken sing-song of an ending was couched by two, maybe three, female giggles. There was a distinct smack before one of them shrieked a little.
Hell.
I shoved to a full sitting position, pinching the bridge of my nose while I looked down at Claire’s hand, now wrapped anxiously around my elbow. Her left hand—still bare.
Hell.
“Where are you?” My demand had no inflection, an effect I hadn’t even worked for. Though rage tore through me, Trey wasn’t worth the effort of expressing it.
“What the fuh kinda queshion is that? I’m in New York, dork wad. And I’m celebratin’.” When his pause stretched into an uncomfortable silence, he blurted, “Okay, don’t you wanna know why?”
I forced in a deep breath. “Sorry. I was too busy chasing the wagon.”
“The wagon?”
“The one you just tumbled off of?”
He huffed. Several times. I began to wonder if I’d have to start dealing with drunk tears from my goddamn big brother. It wasn’t Trey’s MO but I didn’t know what to expect from the idiot anymore. His stunts were as insane as any GaGa outfit.
“Shit. You’re really something, Kil, you know that?” He twisted the huff into a growl. “I go and land fucking Sunbreak Technologies, and all you can do is count my cocktails?”
I raised my head. “Sunbreak.” Well, damn. I wondered why the buildings on either side of the canal hadn’t transformed into a rock and a hard place. What was I supposed to do now? Tell the bastard he could go ahead and polish those bottles off then fuck every woman in the room because he’d secured a deal with the biggest fish we’d been pursuing in the alternative energies pond? But raking him over the coals for the bender made me worse than a bastard. “That’s—well, that’s awesome. Good job.”
“Shank you,” he drawled. “Shank you verah much.” His snicker trickled out. “‘Shank you.’ Oh, fuck. Now that’s funny.”
I took a turn at rolling my eyes. “Yeah. All right. Just do me one favor, okay?”
“Whaz dat?”
“Make sure the ‘celebration’ doesn’t involve your naked ass in the tabloids tomorrow.”
“Huh?” There was a glugging sound, like a bottle being tipped. “Whaz wrong with my ass?”
“It’s not my favorite subject for conversation, for one thing. And certainly not the sight I want associated with you before getting ink from Sunbreak on this deal.”
Trey snarled again. “Goddammit! There is nothing wrong with my ass.”
Claire tightened her hold. I glanced to her. Sure enough, Trey’s tirade had brimmed over the confines of the phone. Wonderful.
“Brother, you’re very drunk.”
“And brother, you’re a piece of work. You know that?” The bottle sloshed again. “‘Brother.’ Ha. Oh, now that’s even funnier, isn’t it? What a joke we are, Killian. What a joke you are.”
“I’m hanging up now, Trey.”
“Of course you are, Mr. Stone. Why not? The mask still fits perfectly, doesn’t it?”
“Good night, brother.”
I slipped the phone back into my pocket before leaning back and letting Claire press herself against me again. Tension must have been tumbling off of me like a bowl of dry ice but she pushed through it, gently massaging my neck. While I welcomed her touch, it would be hours before my stress fell away again. And the ring in my pocket? It wasn’t going anywhere, either. The dream of slipping it onto Claire’s finger was gone, at least for tonight.
What the fuck had I been thinking? Exterminating Killian Klarke…it was as useless as killing my own shadow. It was why Trey returned to his old shit with such confidence, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it—especially if all Josiah’s mates learned I didn’t have a real drop of the man’s blood in my veins. It would crumble the Stone Global empire.
It would wipe out the lie Claire believed right now.
And what will she do then, you think? Not only when she learns that the man of her dreams is a damn good hoax—but has knowingly continued that sham month after month?
I shut the thoughts down.
I was still one move ahead in my chess match with fate—for now. If Trey collapsed SGC with a wild move like unmasking me, Josiah would pull the asshole’s inheritance faster than it took to twist open a new bottle of Stoli. For now, both Trey and I got what we wanted. I made up excuses for him in the press releases, and he let me keep the woman who wrote them.
Fair trade. For now.
But it was clear I needed a long-term game plan. About five minutes ago.
Chapter Three
Claire
The view inside our suite in Rome was more magnificent than the one beyond the floor-to-ceiling window panes overlooking the city. My stunning, god-like boyfriend sprawled out on the huge bed in nothing but the plush hotel robe, his ebony hair glistening with drops of water fresh from the shower we’d shared. My fingers tingled¸ wanting to explore the thick strands…and other parts of him.
