Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

I stood there for a moment, half in the bathroom and half out, looking into the suite, not seeing or hearing anything. It was wishful thinking that possibly Nikolai wasn’t going to accost me tonight.

But he hadn’t hurt me, hadn't so much as touched me inappropriately. Not really. He could’ve pushed me up against the wall and taken me as soon as we got into the hotel room. He could’ve had me twenty different ways already. But he told me to clean up, giving me time and space.

He’d killed for me. To protect me.

My vision adjusted to the darkness and I looked at the bed, the massive, king size mattress and frame although large, barely filled the huge room. I continued to look around the room, at the seating area across from the bed, the plush couch, the loveseat, and the chaise across from that, the small glass and chrome coffee table between them.

I looked out the window and could see the skyscrapers, the twinkling lights and could imagine how noisy it was. But being this high up, surrounded by metal and glass, concrete and steel, I heard nothing but the steady beat of my heart and my uneven respirations.

But I wasn’t alone. I knew that. I felt it. And then my gaze found him.

He sat in the corner in the modern style tufted black leather library chair, a swatch of light from the window spilling through.

My heart was racing as I stared at him and watched as he brought his hand up and to his mouth, putting a cigarette to his lips in the sexiest way I could have ever imagined. Although his chest was still bare of any coverings, he still wore his black tuxedo slacks. His feet were bare, and god, how could a man’s feet be considered attractive?

He inhaled and the end lit up a bright orange for a second.

I didn’t bother telling him it was probably forbidden to smoke in here. He wouldn’t care. Nikolai wasn’t the type of man to follow the rules. He did what he wanted when he wanted. He didn’t care about repercussions. He didn’t care about getting in trouble. In fact, I was pretty sure he got a rush going against the grain.

And then a second later a warm glow filled the room and I realized he turned on the small lamp that sat on the table beside the chair he was in. It was just a tiny reading lamp, the light barely spreading out five feet from where he sat, low enough that it gave it an intimate atmosphere.

It gave Nikolai a devilish glow.

But God, it was bright enough that he would be able to see everything, my nudity on full display like a painting in a museum.

He leaned back on the leather chair, one hand resting on the armrest, his back fully against the cushion now. He had an elbow on the opposite armrest, his thighs slightly parted, his body so big that he dwarfed the seat. With his elbow still resting on the edge of the chair, he brought his hand to his mouth. That’s when I noticed a cigarette—no, not a cigarette but something else—between his fingers.

He brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at me. Nikolai took a long drag from the end, held the smoke in for several seconds, and then exhaled slowly, a cloud of whiteness slightly obscuring his visage.

I knew what he smoked, remembered smelling the same cloying scent years ago when I’d caught Gio sneaking out the back with one of his friends to smoke a joint.

Nikolai was getting high.

I realized this was the first time I really had taken note of his tattoos, of how much of his flesh he had covered in them. On the back of one hand he had a detailed rose inked, and on the other he wore a vicious looking skull. The dark ink crept up as forearms, weaving around his biceps, over his shoulders, and stopped right below his thickly corded neck.

And then there was his chest, that despite all the tattoos and designs, couldn’t hide the raw power of his abdomen, couldn't conceal the rippling muscles, the rolling hills of power.

I felt like we were at a standstill, a crossroads as I stood on the opposite end of the room, both of us just staring at each other, my hand having a death grip on the edge of the towel to keep it in place.

And then I saw his gaze travel from my face to my neck, along my collarbones, and over the slight swells of my breasts that I knew he could see underneath the fabric of the towel. He went lower still, a slow and easy appraisal of my form as if he could see right through the material to my naked body. I shivered, goosebumps popping out along my arms and legs, my breath stalling as I continued to watch him.

He brought the joint to his lips again and took another long inhale from it, his gaze now back on my face.

There was a small decorated tray on the table beside him, which he used to snub the end of the joint.

“Come here kukolka.” His voice was deep and dark and barely audible. I found myself unable to move even though this wicked part of me wanted to. Wanted to obey.

When I stood in the same spot one of his dark eyebrows cocked up slightly and the corner of his mouth lifted. He smoothed his left hand over his thigh once. Twice. And on the third time he patted his leg.

Chapter

Fifteen

Amara

“Be a good girl and come here and sit on my lap.”

Oh God. Why did that sound so… dirty?