“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you moaned with something in your mouth and your ass.”
I lifted my head. “Is that okay?”
“Of course, baby doll. As long as you agree that the only double penetration going on is with me and some toys. There will be no other dicks near you.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I confirmed.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and my heart inverted.
“Are you sure you want me?” I asked. The idea of losing this—him—was really not something I could bear.
“I love you.”
It took a moment for it to register, but when it did, my head snapped up and I searched his face for proof. He was stoic as always, but there was warmth there too.
My heart thumped heavily, so much so that I wondered if he could feel it against his chest. “Even if I’m the illegitimate son of a mob boss?”
His eyes rolled. It was so unlike him yet so endearing. “You’re asking a hitman.”
I rested my chin on my palm. “You said yourself that the mob is worse than whoever you work for.”
“Ghost said that, not me,” he argued.
“Well, I wasn’t about to bring him up. I’m naked.” I wasn’t stupid. “But I guess you don’t think the rules apply to you.”
His eyes turned to blue slits, and inky damp hair clung to his forehead. “Excuse me?”
“You should think about giving your eyebrow a paid vacation. He’s overworked.”
Kieran rolled, making me screech. I anticipated the hard, cold tile against my back, but he buffered it with his arms.
I pouted. “You tell me you love me and then bring up another man.”
“It’s Ghost!”
“Does he not have a dick?”
Kieran growled. “Why are you talking about his dick?”
“You started it.”
He opened his mouth to say something blistering, I was sure. But then he slammed it shut, his jaw grinding like a set of timeworn gears. Frankly, I was concerned for his teeth.
“This is the most asinine conversation I’ve ever had. Only a little hazard like you could turn a love confession into some gossip scandal.”
“Gossip!”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Spouting sensational facts that are not true.”
“I knew you read that dictionary in your office.”
He scowled. “When were you in my office?”
“Before I found your murder locker.” I informed him. “Just how many copies ofTheArt of Wardoes one man need?”
He looked as if his head might blow off. At least it was giving his poor teeth a break.
“Forget it,” he grumbled and started to get up.
