"This room’s yours," he says simply. "For playing. For whatever the hell you need it for. You’ll want to go somewhere when I’m busy working.”
His voice is low, almost rough, like the admission costs him something.
I stare at him, stunned into silence, the weight of what he’s just handed me slamming into my ribs harder than any fight we could have had.
He could have punished me. Mocked me. Ordered me to my knees.
Instead, he gave me this.
A space untouched by blood and untouched by lies. A little piece of freedom carved out in a life I never chose.
And somehow, it’s worse than a thousand insults. Because it makes me want to believe Kingston isn't just another mafia monster on a power kick.
He watches me, waiting for a reaction like he’s ready for me to throw the violin at his head or toss him a snarky one-liner.
But I don’t do either.
I take it back from him slowly, my fingers brushing his for a fleeting second, heat sparking through the contact.
“Thank you.”
The atmosphere thrums and the pulse in my pussy throbs with a hot ache. I should hate him with everything I have left, but he’s given me a sanctuary of my own within his world.
"I can’t give you answers Idon’t have, Livvie," Kingston says, voice softer now but no less dangerous. “You’re going to have to trust me instead."
The way he stares at me has my heart hammering against my ribs.
I stand there, gripping my violin against my chest, gazing back at Kingston like I’m seeing him for the first time.
Not as the enemy I’ve tried so hard to paint him as or the ruthless man who caged me with a diamond ring and a blood pact.
But a man who noticed my violin and heard me when I said I wanted my own space.
And God help me, I hate how badly I want him. How one more breath, one more look, and I'd be tearing open his shirt, fighting with his zipper, and claiming the man like he really belongs to me.
Truth is, everything has a price and what will trusting him cost me? Before marrying the man, I wouldn't have trusted him with a house plant, let alone my life.
“Is this room a wedding gift?” I prop my violin against a shelf and straighten.
Step by step, pulled by something too strong to resist, the space between us disappears like smoke. He meets me halfway, his gaze burning into mine, dark, wild, and raw.
“You could call it that,” he says without breaking eye contact. “A peace offering…”
“And you’ll expect something in return?”
“Did you have something in mind?” he asks, fingers threading into the hair at my nape, gripping just tight enough to make my scalp tingle.
“Maybe…” I whisper against his lips, raised to my tiptoes.
Kingston crashes his mouth over mine and kisses me hard and dirty.
The slippery wet pressure is fierce and demanding. When I moan into his mouth, he bumps me tighter to his chest, making the full, hard dick in his pants dig into my belly.
My palms roam his shirt on the hunt for buttons to rip open. He grunts with approval, deep and rough, sending vibrations to my core, setting every nerve ending on fire.
In a rush, I fist, pull, and yank open his shirt, sliding my hands over the smooth planes of hard-earned muscle on his abdomen.
His hands map the curves of my hips, pressing me harder into him, like he can't get enough.
