The Kingpin's Weakness

Easton’s phone rings and I try to use the opportunity to look out the window, ascertain where we are going, but he shakes his head. He tucks my face into his throat, so I can’t see anything, and answers the call. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Brawn,” I hear coming down the line. “Maxim Semenov has been in contact. The Russian wishes to express his concern over your…acquisition of his girlfriend’s sister, Scout.”

I sit straight up. “Girlfriend? Whitney isn’t his girlfriend.”

Easton raises an eyebrow at me. “Apparently she is now. Sounds like he won the fight.”

“He more than won the fight, sir,” says the caller. “He ended it in seconds by giving Banner a concussion and…well, he carried the girl, Whitney, from the arena over his shoulder.”

My jaw is in my lap. Oh my God. Whitney.

Seemingly undaunted, Easton returns his attention to the call. “Since when do I give a goddamn about anyone else’s concerns?”

The man on the other end sounds more nervous than before when he answers. “Semenov requests a phone call between the sisters.”

I nod enthusiastically. Whitney has to be going out of her mind. She has no idea that Easton wouldn’t dare hurt me. A few minutes on the phone and I’ll put her fears at rest.

Please, I mouth at him.

His throat works. “She will be free to make calls when I return her home tomorrow afternoon. She’ll call her sister at…one o’clock.”

He hangs up the phone, digs the corner of the device into his eye.

And that’s when we pull up at his colossal mansion.

* * *

Easton has my wrist in his grip and he’s pulling me through a dark foyer, striding ahead of me at a brisk, no-nonsense pace. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. My stomach is way too full of butterflies to eat. “No, thank you.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“Excellent. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

I have no time to prepare before I’m swept up in Easton’s arms and we’re traveling up the stairs. “Don’t you want to give me a tour?”

He coughs. “No.”

“Oh.” A tiny arrow of hurt arrows into my chest. “Because I won’t be here for long?”

For a moment, he pauses on the stairs. “No. Because if I don’t get you naked, Scout, I’m going to fucking snap.”

I nod, swallow, let him carry me the rest of the way.

Oh my goodness, I’m about to lose my virginity. I’m not scared, I’m more excited than anything. Whenever I’ve thought about having sex for the first time, there was never a face attached to the person, but deep down I know I’ll never think of anyone but Easton for the rest of my life. He’ll be the face above me, the voice in my ear.

There is a definite bittersweet thread weaving back and forth through my heart, knowing we only have this one night, but I won’t think about that until it’s absolutely necessary. This man comes with complications and I’ll take them, along with the good. As long as I can.

We push through the second door on the left and I gasp.

His bed is in the center of the room, huge, covered in white bedding. It is positioned in front of the ocean. Literally. One side of the room has no wall, no windows. It is simply open to the dark ocean, the full moon and the whitecaps crashing on the rocks below. Wind rushes in the room, making it feel like it’s outdoors, or the deck of a ship.

Easton sets me on the edge of the bed, kissing my mouth softly but thoroughly.

“Wait here,” he says, turning and leaving the room.

I’ve barely had a moment to flop back onto the amazing bed and revel in the softness when he returns, holding a fist full of flowers with the roots still attached. “You wanted flowers.” He lays them down on the nightstand. “These are from the front yard.”

The scent of lilac joins the salty ocean breeze in lifting my hair, tossing it around.

“They’re perfect.”

And then Easton is standing in front of me once again, his intensity penetrating now that we’re here. Now that his guard can completely come down. This time, I’m the one who pulls down the straps of my dress and bares my breasts to him.

He looks at them hungrily and unbuttons his shirt, yanking the buttons through their holes. “You are so goddamn beautiful. Like a dream I don’t deserve.”

“Yes, you do,” I whisper, letting my heels fall to the floor.

“No. I don’t.” He whips off his shirt, followed by his leather belt whooshing through the loops, the metal buckle cracking off the floor as he drops it. “Do you like my home?”

I nod distractedly, because oh lord, his chest is robust. Dusted with black hair.

Heaving.

His hips are two carved arcs that dive into his pants, bracketing a ripped stomach.

“It’s painted in blood, this house. Built with bones.” He looks down at his open palms. “I’ve done things with these hands that should stop me from touching you, but I’ve never been that noble. Although…” He yanks my thighs open, making me whimper. “You’re a fresh, little sacrifice even a saint couldn’t turn down, aren’t you?”