Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel Book 2)

by J. T. Geissinger

  And this is my life.

  Harley wanders away to tend to his other customers. I wait, heart pounding, as Killian takes the stool beside mine.

  He pretends to peruse the menu written in chalk hanging on the wall behind the bar. Then, sounding exactly like he walked off a cattle ranch in Texas, he drawls, “Hey, there, darlin’. How ya’ll doin’ tonight?”

  I resist the urge to slam my forehead onto the bar and shoot my tequila instead.

  Then, with no accent whatsoever, he says, “Not feeling the cowboy vibe, huh? I knew I should’ve gone with a British accent. Women love a British accent.”

  “Actually, what we love is plunging a pitchfork through the chest of an annoying man who’s tied to a chair, then lighting him on fire.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know if there’s an accent for that.”

  I hear the smothered laughter in his voice and wave at Harley for another tequila. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, darlin’. Sightseein’. Havin’ a drink. Lookin’ at all the pretty people.”

  The Texas accent is back. I wish I could say it sounds incredibly stupid, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sounds incredibly hot, which is incredibly aggravating. “So you followed me. Again.”

  “Did you forget about the part where I said I’d keep you safe?”

  “I didn’t think it meant you’d always be within shouting distance. And I’m perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you.”

  “One doesn’t cancel out the other.”

  “God, I hate it when you talk like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m being irrational.”

  “I don’t think you’re irrational. The people who are looking for you aren’t irrational, either, just better armed.”

  The oblique mention of the Serbians sends a chill along my spine. I moisten my lips, feeling like he’s a socket I just stuck my finger into and wondering how bad the shock is going to be.

  “How did you find me?”

  The Texas drawl returns full force, but this time, it’s teasing. “Now, now, darlin’. You know I can’t tell you all my secrets.” He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be any mystery left for you to obsess over.”

  It’s official: I’m going to kill him.

  Unsmiling, I turn his way. I stare at my reflection in his aviators, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. She’s angry, yes, but she also looks like she really needs to be kissed.

  She looks…like a wild animal that’s been caged for years and is about to be unleashed.

  Killian slowly removes the glasses. He sets them on the bar without breaking eye contact with me.

  He’s not laughing anymore. In fact, he seems like a ravenous wolf about to devour me whole. Energy arcs between us. It’s an attraction so powerful, I wouldn’t be surprised if it can be seen.

  “You already know what to do. Trust your gut.”

  Recalling Hank’s words, something rises up inside me. A pressure builds. Some dark, nameless emotion expands inside my chest, crushing my lungs and flattening my heart until it’s barely able to beat.

  It’s my gut, screaming at me to let it take the lead.

  Oh no. I’m about to do something really dumb. I take a deep breath, blow it out, and jump.

  “Chris Hemsworth.”

  Killian cocks one dark brow. “Excuse me?”

  “Can you sound like Chris Hemsworth, the actor?”

  He knows what I’m asking. His eyes flare. Dark and dangerous, desire glints in their depths. He says softly, “Course I can. I can do anything, Juliet. You oughta know that by now.”

  His Australian accent is perfect.

  I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

  Killian says my name again. This time it’s barely audible. Our gazes are locked together. We’re not touching, but every inch of my skin feels him. Every cell in my body feels burned by his heat.

  My pulse roaring in my ears, I say quietly, “Once. One time. One night. That’s it, then it’s over.”

  Killian doesn’t wait for me to draw my next breath before he jolts to his feet, throws cash onto the bar, picks me up, and strides out of the restaurant, carrying me in his arms.

  19

  Jules

  My hotel is only a few minutes from the restaurant, but the drive there seems like it takes forever.

  I feel every tiny bump in the road. Every frantic beat of my heart. Every loud rev of the engine as Killian stomps his foot against the gas pedal when a traffic light turns from red to green.

  Before we took off, he buckled me into the passenger seat and kissed me, hard, one hand around my throat and the other fisted in my hair. When he broke away, it seemed as if it took everything he had to leave me sitting there instead of tearing off my safety belt, pushing me face down onto the seat, ripping off my panties, and shoving inside me, right there in the parking lot.

  I know exactly how he feels.

  Every nerve ending in my body screams for him. For what I know he’ll give me.

  For release.

  The only thing I remember from the trip from the parking spot in front of the motel to my room are the ravenous kisses in the elevator. His mouth so hot. His body so hard. His hands shaking as they roved all over me. By the time we’re standing in front of my door, my hands are shaking, too, so badly I drop the key twice before he rips it out of my hands and unlocks the door himself.

  He pushes me inside, kicks the door shut behind him, grabs me, and throws me down onto the bed.

  I bounce once before he’s on me.

  I feel dwarfed underneath him. He’s so big and deliciously heavy. His weight makes me sink into the mattress. Makes me feel weirdly safe, like his bulk alone could protect me from anything.

  His mouth. Oh, god, his mouth. I could drown in these kisses.

  When I moan, he breaks away, breathing raggedly.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  Dazed, I blink, looking up into his face. His eyes are wild. His nostrils are flared. His lips are wet from my kisses. He’s so beautiful, it’s physically painful. Looking at him is like having an arrow shot straight through my heart.

  I whisper, “No. But if you do, I don’t want it to stop you. If I’m bruised tomorrow, so be it.”

  I sink my hands into his hair and pull his head down. His mouth meets mine as he’s exhaling a groan.

  We kiss until I’m squirming underneath him, dizzy and mewling, rocking my hips into his. Long and hard, his erection is trapped between us.

  The dress I’m wearing is one I bought at the tourist boutique. It’s a gauzy, flowing thing, patterned with tropical flowers. When he rears up onto his knees and grabs the neckline, it rips apart like gossamer in his hands. He shoves up my bra impatiently.

  Then I get his beautiful hot mouth on my breasts, devouring them.

  I arch, moaning. My head tips back. My eyes slide shut. The feel of him sucking my hard nipples—one after the other, back and forth—is so insanely pleasurable I know if he kept it up, I’d climax from that alone.

  I dig my fingers deeper into his hair, pulling on it. Rocking my hips. Gasping for air.

  He pinches the nipple he’s not sucking on. I jerk, whimpering.

  What am I doing? What the hell am I DOING?

  Don’t think. Just feel. You can hate yourself tomorrow.

  Suddenly, his mouth disappears. He rears back to sit on his heels and stare down at me. His chest heaving, he licks his lips. Then he shoves the skirt of my dress up to my hips, puts his face between my legs, and inhales deeply against my panties.

  It’s so carnal and raw. So animal.

  At any other time and with any other person, I would die of embarrassment. But with him, I simply spread my legs wider. I watch, heart pounding, as he pulls my panties aside and exposes me.

  He whispers, “Fuck, baby. Look at you.” He leans down and presses the gentlest of kisses right on my clit. When I inhale sharply, he glances up at me. Then he lowers his mouth to my flesh
and starts to suck.

  It feels incredible. The noise I make doesn’t even sound human.

  He continues to suck, holding eye contact with me. The prude part of me is shocked at this intimacy, but it’s no match for the other part of me—the bigger, stronger part—that has gone full porn star. I moan, let my head fall back against the mattress, and rock my hips against his face.

  He growls against my flesh and reaches up to squeeze my breasts as he eats me.

  He pinches my nipples, then does it again, harder, when I react with a low, broken moan of pleasure. I writhe against his mouth, starting to sweat. I’m dying to feel him inside me.

  “Please, Killian. I need you. I need—”

  “You need to come in my mouth, baby,” he growls. “I’ll tell you what else you need after that.”

  Oh god. The Australian accent. Chris Hemsworth is between my legs. I’m going to die.

  He goes back to sucking my clit, sliding a thick finger inside me. He’s relentless, holding me down with one big hand splayed over my belly as I start to buck helplessly against his face.

  When my orgasm hits, it steals my breath.

  I stiffen and cry out. The hard contractions pound through my body like waves. It feels like all of me is splitting wide open. I’m falling apart at the seams.

  Between my legs, Killian makes animal grunts of approval.

  When the wild contractions have faded to the occasional twitch, I lie panting on the mattress, limp and sated, and watch as Killian rises to his knees and pulls his T-shirt off over his head. He drops it to the floor.

  I get my first look at his chest and abs, and my eyes widen. I exhale a breath that feels like fire.

  I say faintly, “Holy shit, gangster.”

  Gazing down at me with hot, dark eyes, he smiles. “I wish I had a camera, lass. That look is priceless.”

  He had to have been carved from stone by a master sculptor. He’s beautifully proportioned, from the breadth of his strong shoulders down to his tapered waist. His stomach is flat, except for where it ripples with muscles. His pecs are glorious. His biceps…there are no words.

  And everywhere—blinding me—are tattoos.

  Along with small round scars that I recognize instantly as made by bullets.

  When I glance up at his face, he isn’t smiling anymore.

  My heart beating fast, I whisper, “How many times have you been shot?”

  “Shot at or shot?”

  “Shot.”

  “Twelve.”

  Twelve. I think that’s astonishing, until he adds, “Shot at, probably in the thousands.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “I don’t lie to you.” He rips open the fly of his jeans. His voice drops an octave. “You and only one other person alive.”

  Before I can process that, he yanks my panties down my legs and tosses them over his shoulder. He rips the rest of my flimsy dress open down to the hem, then rolls me this way and that, tearing it off me. He discards my bra, opening it with a professional flick of his fingers, then pushes me facedown onto my belly and grasps the back of my neck, holding me down.

  I lie still, staring at the wall, clutching the bedspread with my heart in my throat, as he stands silently and looks me over.

  After a moment, he exhales. His voice barely audible, he whispers, “Lass. You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  He bends, pressing a gentle kiss to the small of my back. His other hand squeezes the back of my thigh, then slides higher. He puts a knee between my thighs, pushing them farther apart.

  “Killian—”

  “Hush. I won’t do anything you don’t like. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

  I moisten my lips, but it doesn’t help. My mouth is so dry. My hands are trembling. It’s not fear I’m feeling, just pure adrenaline.

  He slides his lips to my tailbone, his touch feather light. His hand creeps higher, squeezing my flesh. He cups my bottom, then nips it, his teeth sinking into my tender skin.

  “So goddamn beautiful,” he whispers again, to himself it seems.

  His fingers find the center of me, still wet from his mouth. He strokes my clit. He tugs on it. He pinches it, crooning when I gasp. When he slides his finger inside me and I arch back to meet its press with a moan and a shudder, he mutters, “Bloody fucking hell.”

  I don’t know why he’s going so slow, but I’m over it.

  I need him inside me, and I need it now.

  I say crossly, “Do you need a minute to take your heart medication, old man? Because I’m about to set this bed on fire.”

  My answer is a chuckle, dark and low. “Ah, lass. That smart mouth will be the death of me.”

  He flips me over, drags me to the edge of the mattress, and throws my heels up onto his shoulders. From the back pocket of his jeans, he produces a condom and tears the foil wrapper open with his teeth. He unsheathes his enormous erection from his briefs, rolls the condom on, and shoves his hard cock deep inside me.

  I grab onto his steel biceps. My eyes roll back into my head. My gasp is so loud they can probably hear it down in the lobby.

  He growls, “Are we done with the sassing?”

  I shudder, unable to speak. I’m impaled on his cock, stretched open by the size of him. I love it so much it’s quite possible I could burst into tears from sheer pleasure.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says between gritted teeth, and starts thrusting.

  This time when he kisses me, it’s savage. He bends over me, pressing my thighs down until my knees are over his shoulders, and takes my mouth with a hard, rough kiss, his teeth clashing against mine.

  Propped up on his elbows as he fucks me, he tangles his hands into my hair.

  I dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back.

  From somewhere deep in his chest, a groan rises.

  The motion of our hips falls into sync. Soon I’m cresting that wave again, riding it high into the sky until I think I’ll be blinded by all the heat and light we’re producing.

  I grab the hard globes of his ass and come, jerking.

  His voice hoarse at my ear, he says, “Ah, fuck. You’re coming. God, yes, give it to me, baby. Give it to me.”

  He slows his thrusts until he’s unmoving, buried deep inside me, groaning in pleasure as I convulse around him. I sob, grinding my pelvis against his and digging my fingernails into his ass.

  He kisses my neck and starts to whisper to me in Irish as I arch against him, crying out, delirious. I hear that word that he said meant “beauty,” and know he’s praising me. I know from the passionate but tender tone of his voice that this one-night stand of ours is as intense for him as it is for me.

  I also know one night isn’t going to be enough. It could never be enough, not with a man like him.

  He commands, “Open your eyes.”

  My eyelids drift open. My gaze meets his. Another hard contraction deep inside me makes me shudder.

  Our gazes locked together, he starts to thrust again, slowly, driving into me through every contraction, wringing them out of me with the steady motion of his hips. He watches every nuance of emotion in my eyes with rapt fascination, like he’s gazing into a crystal ball to discover his future.

  When it gets too intense and I try to turn my head, he forces me to keep looking at him with a hand clasped around my jaw.

  “No running away,” he says in a husky whisper. “If one night is all I get, I’m damn sure gonna get every piece of you that you have to give.”

  “I—I can’t—it’s too much—”

  “You can. Be brave, baby. Come on. Give me everything.”

  My heart is flying. I feel as if I’m floating or falling, like gravity has ceased to exist. Like the world has ceased to exist. In the entire universe, there’s only this bed and this room and the two of us, doing what lovers have done since the beginning of time but somehow it seems like we invented it.

  Something in the middle of my chest feels as if it’s cracking open wide.
/>   That sensation is immediately followed by a cold jolt of terror. Not with him. Oh god, no. I can’t feel this with him.

  Moisture wells in my eyes, slips down my temple. Killian whispers my name.

  I drag in a hitching breath and slide my hands up his bare back. With a soft groan, he kisses me deeply, releasing me from the cage of his eyes when he closes them.

  He hides his face in my neck and thrusts harder, his breath coming fast. I know he’s close when a shudder rocks his whole body and he slows the motion of his hips, moaning.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper into his ear. “I want you to kiss me when you come.”

  He lifts his head and gazes at me, his eyes hazy and half-lidded. In a throaty voice, he says, “You’re not in charge here, lass.”

  I flex my hips, pulling another moan from him. Braced on either side of my head, his arms have started to shake.

  Smiling up into his face, I say, “Sorry, gangster, but I am.”

  I pull his head down and kiss him, rocking my hips, urging him on with my body. He allows it for a few moments, then pulls out of me abruptly and flips me onto my stomach. He hikes my ass in the air, spreads my legs apart, grips my hips in his big hands, and drives inside me from behind.

  When I groan in mindless pleasure, he chuckles. He leans over me, planting a hand on the mattress next to my face, and reaches around my waist to fondle my throbbing clit. I groan again, louder.

  He teases, “Tell me again how you’re in charge?”

  “Arrogant bastard.”

  “Aye, lass. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  My breasts swing as he fucks me. My face is buried in the blankets. He’s grunting and I’m moaning and it’s dirty and sexy and hot, especially because he was too impatient to take off his boots and jeans.

  He starts to speak in Irish again, the words rasped between panted breaths.

  When I’m sweating and whimpering, almost over the edge a third time, he slows. He slides his hands around my waist, up my spine, and to my shoulders. He fists one hand into my hair and pulls my head back, then he rubs the fingers he just had between my legs against my mouth.