“Forget whatever my brother told you. I won’t agree to the divorce.” Mateo chugs a shot of triple vodka like a Russian mobster on his initiation day.
He’s disheveled curly hair sticks to his forehead like broken leaves, and his crumpled suit resembles a hand-me-down. He’s all dark—eyes, hair, expression, and personality.
Not as demonic as Nicolo, per se, but close enough. He also happens to be one of the most feared members of the Luciano family due to his no-nonsense personality.
He slides the glass across the counter in the bartender’s direction, wordlessly asking for a refill.
He, Aspen, and I are having a daytime meeting in his empty club downtown. An obscure though elegant place that only allows the rich and their kinky grandmothers within its walls.
Nicolo was supposed to join us in the unholy union, but some other business came up. Probably torturing a poor soul until they wish for death.
Aspen, who’s sitting on my right at the bar because I unintentionally—or intentionally—made sure I was between her and Mateo, listens carefully to his statement.
She has already consumed her tequila and also asked for a refill. She releases a breath, exasperated at that as if she’s a teacher and Mateo is a naughty boy in her class, then hikes her sleeves up her arms.
The woman is dressed in black pants and a white button-down, but she looks sexier than a naked pole dancer.
And I obviously need to stop thinking about ramming my cock into her cunt if I don’t want to end up with a missing ball complication sponsored by the witch coven.
“Ms. Blunt asked for a divorce. She doesn’t even want alimony or compensation.”
Mateo, who’s been watching his shots like a hooker obsesses over money, whirls around in his chair to stare at Aspen. Maniacally. Like she’s next on his shit list.
“What did you just call her?” There’s no slur in his Italian-accented voice. The man spent two nights in jail, partly because he used his fists to draw a map on the other man’s face, and partly because that man is a Della Roma. Aka, one of the Lucianos’ rivals, and there was more work than I signed up for to get him his ‘get out of jail free’ card.
“Ms. Blunt,” Aspen repeats, obviously not reading the atmosphere. Or maybe she read it loud and clear and is provoking him anyway because she’s sadistic.
“Her last name is fucking Luciano.” Mateo points a finger at her.
“She prefers her maiden name.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she prefers. In front of me, you call her Mrs. Luciano.”
She nods, though not meekly, and definitely with her spunky defiance that I want to sink my fucking teeth into.
I hate this woman with more passion than should be allowed, but I still want to fuck her anyway.
Hate-fuck her, to be more specific.
The logic my dick goes by is that I’ll finally be able to control her and show her the actual brand of my crazy. Even if only in sex.
And no, this new logic didn’t start after I learned she’s the femme fatale from twenty-one years ago.
Absolutely not.
Mateo chugs half of his glass. “Go to Caroline and tell her the fun is over. She better come home today or I’ll be the one to drag her back.”
“She might file a restraining order in case of any threatening behavior.”
“Then make fucking sure she doesn’t.” He staggers to his feet, resembling a soldier in a defeated battalion.
Just when I think the unpleasant meeting is over, Aspen has to open her mouth. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. She has the right to protect herself from you and I won’t be the one to take that privilege away.”
The little fucking shit.
Mateo spins around in a flash of movement and lunges at her. I step between them at the last second and he slams into my chest.
I grab him by the shoulders. “Let’s calm down, Mateo.”
“Repeat that,” he speaks to Aspen who didn’t even stand up. “The part about how she’s protecting herself from me. I dare you to fucking repeat it.”
She finally slides from her seat and moves beside me, her expression as cool as Siberia’s ice. “You cheated on her and have shown you’ll be violent when it comes to her, so she wishes protection from you.”
“I did not fucking cheat on her.” He grunts, sounding out of breath.
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell him. “Go home, Mateo.”
Aspen opens her mouth to say something, probably foolish and unnecessary, again. But I elbow her and she steps on my foot with the pointy part of her heel.
Mateo staggers out of the club, shoulders drooped and definitely not walking the line.
“For the record, I don’t need you to defend me. I could’ve done that myself just fine.”
“And when would you do that? When your blood is the club’s new wallpaper?” I face her, my jaw locked as tightly as her crossed arms. “Mind your words before you speak them. I thought I was the one lacking diplomacy, but apparently, you lack common sense. Besides, if you still want Nicolo’s protection, you won’t get it by pissing off his brother.”
She pales and it cements the idea I had from earlier. Aspen was speaking from her emotions, being illogically angry at Mateo and lashing out with her icy attitude as a response.
I doubt she thought about the deal she made with Nicolo concerning this whole charade.
“Is there something I should know about?”
She lifts her chin with defiance that hardens my dick. Her eyes shine in a mixture of forbidden earth and mysterious forest. “Why? So you can sabotage me with it?”
“If that was my intention, it would’ve happened with or without your cooperation.”
“Excuse my stoicism and inability to believe you have any noble motives.”
“Nobility and I don’t share the same universe, beliefs, or social standing. Also, your idol, Nietzsche, was a self-professed nihilist who was highly critical of stoics, so to adopt their philosophical term should be presumptuous to your little Nietzsche heart.”
“Being stoic and actually adopting the philosophy are entirely different.”
“That’s like the chicken and egg conundrum. Being a stoic is to adopt the philosophy that, unlike what your darling Nietzsche wants you and his vintage fan club to believe, actually share common ground with nihilism. Neither thought an individual has free will and, therefore, cannot actively play a role in their own fate. But at least stoics give people the room to find ways to exist within nature. Nihilists do not.”
“So now you’re a stoic?”
“I’m neither of those fools. I decide my own fate in spite of what those bands of textbook nerds say.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works.” I pause, running my gaze over her face that has no business being so fucking attractive. “For instance, if I want those pretty lips wrapped around my finger or another part of me, all I have to do is take action.”
She remains unaffected, short of the splash of red that explodes on her neck, which completely gives her away.
That, and she swallows, twice, before speaking in her usual haughty tone. “The only action you’ll be taking is defending yourself when I sue for sexual harassment, dick.”
“You’re the one who just mentioned my dick, so the suit could go both ways. Though a lawsuit would be the last thing on your mind once I have you writhing underneath me.”
“Your arrogance should get you banned from breathing.”
“Again, it’s assertiveness, not arrogance, sweetheart. Want to test it?”
“Test what?”
I step forward, murdering whatever space that separates us. Instead of moving backward like any woman in this position would, she stands her ground. So I slowly push her back until I trap her between my chest and the bar counter. My hands rest on the dark wooden surface on either side of her, and for a moment, the noises surrounding us vanish.
All that remains is a faint buzzing in my ears and the controlled sound of our mingled breathing.
Her eyes never leave mine, too bright with challenge and unsaid words and killer tension that should only belong in wars.
She’d be a hellion general with the mere purpose of beheading the king.
Too bad for her, this particular king has a different approach to headstrong warlords.
My face lowers and I relish in how she watches me carefully, albeit with heat. “I will kiss you and if you show no reaction, I’ll back off, return your boring space, and even get out of your hair about Gwen.”
Her lips part before she seals them shut. “What if…I do show a reaction?”
“The ball will be in my court and I’ll use it to strip that bitch persona away, then eventually fuck you.” I remove a hand from the counter and slide it from the slender curve of her waist to her hip.
Despite her big personality, she’s so small in my hold, so fragile and breakable, and that shouldn’t give my dick more ideas to get harder.
My fingers dig into her flesh, and although a piece of clothing separates us, her heat collides with mine as if we’re dancing around a fire. One that’s wild as fuck with the mere purpose of burning the earth and touching the sky.
And then something happens.
She squirms—or trembles—I have no clue which. And it’s a sight to behold because Aspen isn’t usually the type who shakes.
She’s the type who shakes others.
I lower my head farther with the intention of feasting on her lips and biting them until either I make her bleed or she does. The thought of her fight gets my dick in “I want to fuck” mode and that’s a fucking first.
But I don’t think about that as her reaction escalates from surprise to feral desire that collides with mine. Blotches of red appear on her face, bleeding from her neck like lava.
Her lips purse and she bunches her fingers in my dress shirt. “Don’t.”
“Afraid of a little challenge, sweetheart? Didn’t take you for a quitter.” My voice is so low and close to her cheek that she blinks slowly, her nostrils flaring.
My lips nearly skim the dusting of freckles underneath her eyes. They’re like stars in an island’s night sky, so small and bright, and give her an edge sharper than her high cheekbones.
I don’t deny myself a taste and dart my tongue, licking them as if they’re dessert.
She tastes like exotic fruit and the purest patchouli. Not exactly sweet, but it’s as intoxicating, earthy, and spicy as the woman herself.
She smells of that, too. Patchouli. A scent that’s as rare as she is and just as strong.
Aspen shudders, her brown nails digging in my chest. “Kingsley…”
She stills and I pause, but I don’t take my tongue off her cheek.
And the reason is that she just moaned my name, like a chant, a prayer, or something in between. I don’t give a fuck, because she just gave me the “all-access” card, and I intend to make use of it.
My lips slide down, leaving a wet trail on her face. I nibble on her cheek, then lick the assaulted place as I continue my way to her mouth.
And just when I’m about to devour her lips for lunch, my phone vibrates between us.
She startles, and I curse under my breath.
Even though I intend to ignore the call and go back to eating Aspen, she’s the one who pushes me away, both of her elegant palms flattening on my pectoral muscles.
I retrieve my phone fully intent on ignoring the call. When Aspen tries to pull away, I keep one of her hands hostage on my chest.
Her wrist is thin, frail, and I’m starting to notice how slim she is. Has she lost weight?
Or maybe she’s been this size all along and I’m only just now paying attention to it. Granted, before, I didn’t see her as a woman, but more of a constant headache and a pesky complication.
Correction, I didn’t see her as a woman I want to ram my dick inside.
She was always a woman to me. Infuriating as fuck, but a woman nevertheless.
Admittedly, ever since I found out she’s Gwen’s mother, as in the same femme fatale who played the main role in the unforgettable erotic/thriller night of my life, things have changed. Not only do I want to hate-fuck her until we’re both spent, but I also need to control her in some way.
In any way.
I refuse to believe this unwanted tension and destructive energy has anything to do with some unresolved issues from the past. I simply don’t allow my brain such disgraceful behavior.
The name flashing on the screen murders my thoughts and almost kills my hard-on.
Almost.
Aspen sees “ANGEL” written in capital letters and she quits her attempts to escape me.
I clear my throat, think of elderly women, bestiality, necrophilia, and Susan.
The last one is enough to put the boy down.
“Daddy!” Gwen squeals from the other end of the line with contagious excitement.
“Who is this?”
“What…? It’s me, Dad.”
“I thought the police were calling to inform me of your disappearance since you seem to have forgotten my existence.”
Aspen rolls her eyes. Gwen bursts out laughing.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Dad. I only skipped last night’s call because I was…busy.”
Two thoughts stab my brain. The first is that I didn’t need that image of my angel, and the second is an honest question of why I didn’t kill that bastard Nate again?
“Anyway, we’re having loads of fun, but I miss you so much. I’m going to hug the hell out of you when I get back, so you better be ready for the attack.”
“Always ready for your hugs, Angel.” And I hate the things with an undying passion.
Aspen’s long lashes fan her face, but she’s focused on the conversation. Judging by her expression, she can probably hear Gwen’s voice on the other end.
My fingers splay over hers when they clench until they’re flattened on my chest again.
Gwen continues speaking about her adventures with Nate, the nonsexual ones, because even I have limits. She chatters happily, saying she bought me things, plural.
“…we had local wine last night and it was strong! I got so drunk after one glass and couldn’t even walk.”
“Gwyneth Catherine Shaw, what did I say about drinking before you’re twenty-one? Where’s Nate? Let me talk to the bastard.”
“Oh…uh…the reception…is getting bad… Gotta go, Dad. Say hi to Aspen for me…”
Beep.
The little shit can’t lie to save her ass, and that bad reception lie was the worst performance in years.
I slide the phone back into my pocket, contemplating whether or not I should relay the last piece of dialogue.
Aspen watches me expectantly, like a kid who’s waiting to find out if she’s on Santa’s naughty or nice list.
“Is she okay?” she murmurs.
I’m starting to realize the witch only becomes soft when it comes to Gwen.
“Judging by her still horrible lying skills, she’s doing great.”
“I’m glad she didn’t take after you in that department.”
“Or you.”
“Or me.” She smiles a little and fuck it.
Fuck this.
I grind my back teeth. “She says hi.”
Aspen’s eyes widen. “W-what?”
“Do you have hearing problems?”
“No, but…I’m thinking this is a dream.”
I pinch her cheek and she swats my hand away with her free arm. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“Proof that it isn’t a dream.”
“Jerk,” she spits out, but she doesn’t remove her hand from beneath mine.
And she’s still smiling, brighter now, like a much younger version of herself.
A version that’s engraved deep inside me.
A version that I intend to bring out.
