Queen of Hearts

Chapter Six

ROSIE

Can you hate-fuck someone you want to kill? Is that a thing? Because Julian Asaro is pushing all of my buttons right now. And he smells incredible. He smells like saltwater and mint, a masculine margarita and I’m desperate for a drink. The urge to lick his neck, follow the line of his body and bite into his Adam’s apple, marking him as mine is like some base compulsion I can’t even explain.

“Anger is good. But I can think of better ways to express it than murder.” Of course Saint Julian has alternative outlets for my destructive rage, all no doubt benefiting The Family. But I’m not like him, I don’t require their approval. I don’t have to peace-keep between old crusty-men who haven’t seemed to realize that the world has moved on. Violence is the only language they understand, it’s the only reason they fear me and I refuse to temper that and pack it away in a little pink box so Julian Asaro can make me more palatable for his Captains.

“So can I.” There are so many things I could do to Julian. Pleasure and pain are a deadly combination, and there’s a very fine line between the two. One I relish. One I crave. I know he recognizes it too, his pupils widening as he tilts his head back and inhales slowly.

“Get your mind out of the gutter Rosie, before we do something you’ll regret.” His voice was huskier now.

I know he can feel it, whatever this pull between us is. It’s toxic. It’s history and memories that hurt. It’s the things that should have been, and the things we’ll never have. It’s rage and retribution, twisted together until it consumes us. I can feel my fingers practically twitch at the thought of loosening his tie and showing him just how angry I was. I wanted to mark him, to scar him, to ruin him for everyone and everything that comes after.

“And what’s that?” I tease, knowing he wants me the same way I want him, with claws and teeth. He tugs on my wrist harder, twisting me so I fall into his lap. Both of his arms wrap around me like a vice holding me in position, not that I’d fight him anyway. Not when things were finally getting interesting.

“You’re going to get burned, little girl.”

I look up at him, and his serious face, emerald eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench together. I’ve followed him over the years, kept track of his life through social media, the news, and my contacts. He was just as gorgeous now as he was then, before he’d grown into his tall frame and strong features. His blond hair had darkened a little, but still made him look angelic. His jawline spots a little stubble and the woman in me wants to rub my cheek against it, while the Queen of Hearts wants to follow it down his neck and strangle him. He is always so serious and somber, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Some days I’d watched from afar, wanting to shake him. He was living my life, and it wasn’t even making him happy. If he didn’t want to be the head of The Family, he could always just hand me the organization.

“I’m not a child Jay, I think I can take it.” Reassuring him, as I squirm in his lap a little. I can see him wrestling with himself, even though his expression remains calm. He’s collected on the outside, but I recognize the hunger in his eyes.

“You’re the Queen of Hearts,” he states, gaze locked with mine.

“Yes.” The word is slow and drawn out as I tilt my head. Where is this going? There’s no judgement in his voice, there never has been when he calls me that. He knows who I am and what I’ve done. He knows why and a part of him has accepted that. He still wants to stop me, but that’s because he has to. I’m a threat to him and the tenuous hold he has on all the strings behind The Family.

I used to listen to him give interviews about some of his clients in the media and he was always so cool, so relaxed and unruffled about everything. Julian was a man who took everything in his stride, apparently, even his arch enemy squirming in his lap like a bitch in heat.

“You’re trying to ruin my organization…” He inches closer and tucks a hand under my chin. Looking at me carefully, his eyes narrow, like I’m one of his cases and he’s trying to figure out just how to approach me. How to win me over, so that I vanish once again.

“Yeah.” My lips twitch as I arched a brow. Grateful that I’d chosen this restaurant, I admire the golden glows the candles scones cast across his face, adding to the intimacy that I’ve only ever felt with him. I commit this moment to memory, because it’s real. It’s not one I’ve stolen from a news clipping or recorded from an interview. It’s real, and it’s ours.

“Kill my men…” He tilts my chin upwards so that our noses are almost touching. I can feel his breath on my skin, sending shivers down my spine as I breathe in the rich notes of the wine lingering between us. I would forever associate this wine with him, with this almost kiss.

“Only certain ones,” I say with a grin, the thrill of finally being this close to him beginning to go to my head. The boy who saw everything all those years ago, the same one who stole everything was close enough for me to devour, and he wasn’t even flinching.

He groans, the noise delicious. “So why are you under my skin?”

“Because I’m poison.” I brush my lips against his, with every word. I needed to hear him acknowledge the tension between us, the destructive bond binding us together and he did. This is more than hate. And nothing like love. It’s death and lust. It’s inevitable.

“Fuck,” he moans on an exhale. His large hand shifts up my neck, strong thick fingers weaving their way into my hair as he yanks my head backwards. Forcing me to stay in position, we stare at each other, locked in a moment there are no words for before his mouth crashes against mine.

It isn’t sweet or slow, it’s desperate. Teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance as we consume one another. It’s like every nerve in my body wakes up, screaming for attention as I try to savor every touch, every sensation. Sliding my hands over his shoulders, I pull him deeper into me. It’s not enough. It will never be enough. He tastes bittersweet, like everything I should have had, but never can. Like broken promises and potential. How can a kiss taste like potential?

I can’t help the soft mewling noises that are torn from my throat as his tongue does things I’ve only ever fantasized about, all the while pulling at me like he’s afraid I’m sand, slipping through his fingers. Our connection has a time limit. It has an end. One of us will cut the cord, and we both know it.

He lifts me, never pulling away, his lips still on mine as he puts me on the table, pushing the glasses and cutlery away without a second thought. Everything lands with a crash, plates smashing and crockery clinking and clattering. None of it matters.

Spreading my legs, and placing himself between them, he pushes my dress up my thighs slowly. Hands massage my thighs as he keeps kissing me, mouth touching any part of my skin he can. He nuzzles my neck, biting and licking before moving lower, reaching the lines of my collarbone before moving back to my mouth.

Taking his lead I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against him with an impatient moan. One hand rests on my back, holding me in position, while the other roams over my body as if he’s mapping me out.

He pulls away to kiss my shoulders, sliding the straps of my dress down and pulling the fabric beneath my bra. He uses the space between us to remove his jacket and toss it behind him. His touch is impatient, like he’s been waiting his whole life to touch me and I love it. Nothing makes a woman feel sexier, than a man who wants to touch every curve of her body like she’s made from gold.

Growing restless, I grab his tie and pull it from him before working on his buttons. As my hands make quick work of his shirt, dropping it carelessly to the floor, my fingers brush against the hard muscle of his chest. He was a machine beneath the suit, something people seemed to forget even though he’d been voted ‘Newtown’s Hottest Batchelor’ the last three years in a row. I knew he swam and worked out with his Left Hand, Creed, almost daily. What I wouldn’t give to see those two, hot and sweaty, lifting weights like they were nothing. It was total girl porn. I skim my fingers down the lines either side of his hips, the ones that make the mouth-watering V shape, before I undo the button on his trousers, loving how he shifts, offering me more of his body. I slide my hands down, and cup his dick over his boxers. I squeeze, loving the feel of him against my palm. Kissing him harder, as I eventually remove my hand, I use my nails to lightly trace up the length of his cock, getting a thrill as it twitches. Looking at his muscular physique beneath my hands I’m not sure I could take him on in a one-to-one situation. He was sneaky like that.