God, I love how she says my name like that.
“I could ask you the same.”
“This is my club,” she deadpans.
“Really? And here I thought this belonged to your father’sconsigliere.”
“Semantics. If it belongs to the Outfit, it’s mine.”
I could remind her she’s not in the Outfit—yet—and therefore none of this is technically hers, but that would be pouring salt into a wound I have no intention of opening further. Getting on Stella’s bad side is the last thing on my mind.
“So, I’ll repeat the question,” she says, clearly uncomfortable with the electricity humming between us. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. Enjoying a Friday night out.”
Stella’s jaw flexes at my reply, her green eyes like two bullets aimed at my head. And then it dawns on me what she must be thinking. When a man like me goes clubbing, it’s usually for oneof two reasons—to impress a woman, or to find one. Neither seems to sit well with her.
“I’m here with my brother, Konstantin,” I explain, needing to set her at ease. “He just flew in and wanted a taste of Chicago nightlife.”
“And you chose my club of all places? Why?” Her expression pinches with suspicion.
It’s a fair question. Out of all the places I could’ve taken Kostya tonight, why here? Why this club? Why a well-known Outfit establishment? If she doesn’t know the answer to that, then I haven’t been making my intentions clear enough.
“Maybe because this was the only way to get your attention,” I say quietly, leaning in. “I knew the odds of seeing you tonight were slim, but my instincts dragged me here anyway. Looks like they were right.”
“Congratulations. You found me. Big-fucking-whoop,” she counters sarcastically, adding a little roll of the eye just to make her point. “I’m all out of gold stars, Kill. So you’re shit out of luck.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her sass and smart mouth. This all feels like a recurring theme with us. We fight like enemies. We touch like lovers. We lie like it’s our favorite pastime. This is exactly how I like her. I don’t want her obedient. I want her wild. Just wild enough to fight me, and just weak enough to fall apart in my arms.
Hmm. One of us is definitely going to end up ruined tonight. And for once, I’m not sure I care if it’s me.
“What do you want then?” she asks, after the weight of my stare begins to get too much for her.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Who says I have?”
“I say. Me.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a reliable source,” she taunts, that sly sparkle in her eyes coming through. “Besides, you can’t avoid someone you were never really friends with.”
“You’re right. We’re better. We’re dancing partners,” I remind, her eyelids immediately going heavy with the insinuation. “It’s been eight days since you and I danced. Maybe we’re due a little… practice,” I whisper softly, letting my gaze drop to her mouth, imagining how the blood-red of her lipstick would look fucking phenomenal smudged around my cock.
“Kill,” she breathes, catching the look in my eyes. “Don’t… someone might… I mean, we can’t… not here,” she curses under her breath, frustrated with herself.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” I murmur, leaning in until my lips graze the shell of her ear. “Trying to hate someone you want with every fiber of your being.”
“God, you’re so damn full of yourself. Make no mistake, there’s no trying about it. I do hate you,” she seethes, the lie sliding off her tongue far too easily for my liking.
“Hate me all you want. We both know you want me too.” I smile, slow and certain, loosening my grip on her wrists, just enough to give her a choice. When she doesn’t move, my cock hardens instantly.
“What if I promise not to kiss you?” I rasp, a hungry heat threading through my veins. “Will that make it easier for us to keep pretending?” Her green eyes smolder as she nods. “Then I won’t kiss you,” I vow, my hand sliding down the silken fall of her hair, using my knuckles to brush the curve of her face, before smearing her lipstick. Her teeth shoot out to bite down on my hand before her tongue licks the sting away. A groan tears out of me as precum coats the crown of my cock at the feel of her tongue on my skin.
Eyes locked on Stella’s, my hand drifts from her mouth to her throat, then lower. My knuckles graze one tight, peakednipple through her dress, before pinching it between my index and thumb. She lets out a seductive low moan, and it takes every scrap of discipline not to take her right here.
Still towering over her, I lean in, my mouth hovering over hers, until we’re no more than a breath apart. I don’t kiss her. I don’t dare break that bridge, knowing it will be my undoing. But my hand keeps traveling down the curve of her body, aware that this is dangerous terrain too.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,milaya,” I growl, the words ghosting against her lips.
