“He lied to me, Aria, right to my face. He covered Killian’s tracks so I wouldn’t be able to put two and two together about you and him.”
“Did he lie, or did he agree to keep a confidence for one of your members, which is a service your club prides itself on?”
Silence stretched between them, followed by a string of swear words creative enough to send a sailor to confession. “You may have a point.”
“You know I do. Cordelia is planning to boycott the club until you get your shit together, and I don’t blame her. It’s not fair of you to take all this out on Jacob just because he’s available and Killian isn’t. You owe them all an apology.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Given how furious he was and everything she’d put him through, it was the best she was likely to get, at least for now. “Thanks, Dad. And I know it’s pointless to tell you not to worry, but can you try to trust me when I tell you that I’m exactly where I want to be? Killian isn’t keeping me prisoner any longer. We made a decision together to do the best thing for our family.”
Our family. God, that was weird to be saying about anyone other than her father.
And it hit her, as she said the words, how true they were. Even if she and Killian hadn’t actually sat down and talked things out, some part of her recognized that this was actually the safest place for her. And that by not actively trying to escape, she was, in fact, choosing this.
Choosing Killian.
Jesus.
“I’ll try. But I’m not going to stop fighting to get you back.”
Her heart twisted with worry. “Just don’t get yourself killed in the process. I want my baby to grow up with a grandfather, and you’re the only one we’ve got.”
“I’ll do my best. I love you, Aria.”
“Love you too, Dad. Give Lottie my best, unless you’ve been an asshole to her too, in which case give her my condolences.”
“Condolences, it is,” he said dryly.
The call ended, but she didn’t leave the room. Instead, she poked her head out the door and asked if someone could bring her ebook reader down to her, along with a glass of water and a snack.
Settling on one of the oversized plush couches by the window, she set her phone down with a sigh.
And prepared to make the best of her new home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aria
She’d never been so bored and so horny at the same time in her entire life.
For over a week she’d done her best to avoid Killian and the rest of his family. Which meant not only taking her meals in her room or the parlor she’d claimed as her own—an act Killian had, reportedly, supported by giving orders that she was not to be disturbed when she was in there—but also spending as much time in those rooms and only those rooms as possible.
Which left her with a lot of time on her hands, but not much to do with it. She’d fallen down a bit of a rabbit hole with the mafia books, and the further down she fell, the spicier the books got. Last night she’d stumbled on an author who not only wrote smut so filthy Aria was tempted to ask if one of Killian’s bodyguards could drive her to a church to ask forgiveness, but who also happened to be local.
Aria desperately wanted to meet her.
But meeting her required leaving the house, which required asking Killian’s permission, and she was loath to ask him for a goddamn thing. Having resigned herself to the fact that she was safer with him than on her own didn’t mean she’d forgiven him for kidnapping her or for the things he’d said to her father.
So instead, here she was, on her fourth morning of captivity, her cheeks heated to what felt like the surface of the sun as she devoured another of Goldie’s books. The bold but somewhat naïve heroine was currently getting her ass spanked by her mafia boss lover for the cardinal sin of curiosity.
Okay, so maybe the heroine had put herself in mortal danger and gotten herself kidnapped by a rival family because she hadn’t listened when he’d told her to stay at home with her bodyguard. And maybe, just maybe she did sort of deserve that spanking for being a brat and risking not just her life but the lives of the hero’s men.
Deserved or not, the spanking was very definitely having an… impact on Aria. Stretched out on her back, she slid her hand down her stomach, beneath the waistband of the silky pajama shorts that had magically appeared in her dresser. At the first touch of her fingers to her swollen clit she arched up with a gasp, pleasure flooding her body at that simple touch.
Closing her eyes, she conjured a picture of the scene playing out in the book. A dark-haired woman, bent over an old wooden desk, her jeans and underwear bunched around her knees while a shadowy figure whipped a leather belt across her ass. Red marks bloomed on her skin with every stroke of the belt, and the woman cried out, apologizing and pleading for mercy.
But as Aria pressed harder against her clit, eagerly chasing release, the scene shifted. No longer was the heroine a faceless woman. She morphed, changing into Aria. And the man whipping her with a terrifying singlemindedness was no longer cloaked in shadow. He was very clearly a certain Irishman, his expression set in stone as he brought the belt down across her ass again and again.
