Conall snorted, but he wasn’t about to lose the chance to feel sand between his toes or smell the fresh, salty air. He grabbed his shirt and threw it on. Before he could grab the collar, though, Killough already had it in his hands.
“Turn around.” The heated velvet of his voice slid down Conall’s back like warm liquid and caused a tremor to escape before he could stop it. With a glare, he turned his back on Killough and let him place the collar around his neck and secure it. “I have a new collar coming for you. It’s special.”
“Oh yeah? How?” Conall tugged at it. He hated shit around his neck, which was why he never wore necklaces of any kind, unlike his brother. Facing Killough, he folded his arms over his chest.
“It’ll have a fingerprint scanner. I’ll be the only one who can undo it. It’ll also have a tracker, so I know where you are at all times.”
Conall rolled his eyes. “Possessive, huh?”
Killough stroked down his cheekbone and along his jaw with the tip of his forefinger. “It’s not about possession, it’s about protection. I have plenty of enemies, and I want to protect you at all costs.”
“Don’t want me to end up gutted in the Hudson?”
He got the reaction he was looking for. Killough flinched. It was quick, as though it never really happened, but Conall saw it. “I’d prefer to keep you whole, yes.”
“For such a powerful man, the Russians managed to get something over you.” Conall knew he was pushing his luck with Killough. He could see the twinges of annoyance that passed over his face, the way his lips twitched, or his eyes squinted.
“The Russians ended up regretting it, and I don’t believe they’ll be doing it again.”
“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have a collar around my neck.”
Killough cocked his head, lips pressed together tightly. “Indeed. I can’t trust my enemies not to be fools, pet. They all wish to disarm me, and if they notice how important you are to me, you’ll be their main target.”
Conall shrugged. “Whatever. Are we going?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Shoving past Killough, he stormed out of the room, giving the guards a glare as he strode past them. One of the bastards smirked at him, and if Conall had been in a nastier mood, he might have feigned being upset to Killough just to see what he’d do to him.
Killough was hot on his heels, his long legs keeping in stride with Conall’s shorter ones. His T-shirt strained around his chest, and Conall’s gaze strayed to it before he tore his eyes away again. He wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t. Killough wanted his submission, and the moment he gave in was when he truly lost the battle for dominance.
He tore through the front door, Killough keeping pace with him. “I thought you didn’t like the beach.”
Killough’s lips curled into a small smile and he breathed in deeply, his head tilted back as they moved toward a narrow thoroughfare surrounded by brush. It was a sand pathway, and while Conall hadn’t spent much time at the beach—his experience consisted of one trip when he was ten—he knew enough to pause and take off his sneakers.
Much to his surprise, Killough did the same, and Conall couldn’t help but take a moment to stare at his feet. What did a mob boss’s feet look like? It wasn’t a question that many people thought about, and Conall hadn’t until now. Disappointingly, Killough’s feet looked like everyone else’s. He had long, thin toes and had to be at least a size twelve, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Do you have a foot fetish, pet?” The teasing tone in Killough’s voice snapped Conall out of his dazed stare. He glared at him.
“Ew. No.” He shuddered for good measure. He hated feet. They were the ugliest part of the body, and he didn’t even like his own, let alone a lover’s. “If that’s your thing, you’re not coming anywhere near my feet.”
Killough laughed. “It’s not. I prefer other body parts to fetishize.”
“Good to know.” Conall rolled his eyes and started down the sandy path. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Killough was hot on his heels, he could almostsensehis presence, like an impending force of nature that left Conall breathless.
The wind whipped around them, the frigid air soaking into his skin and reaching for his bones. He didn’t think about a jacket, but he’d rarely been outside since he got there. He’d forgotten that coolness of the air, especially around a beach. Even with the sun hanging halfway in the sky, on the course of going down, the warmth from the rays was tamped out quickly.
Conall shivered before he could stop himself, then froze in surprise when a jacket fell over his shoulders. He turned narrowed eyes on Killough. “That’s a cliché move, just so you know.”
Killough’s shit-eating grin was infuriating. “Will it get me into your pants tonight?”
He snorted. “No. You’ve already been into my pants more than once. That’s enough.”
Killough sidled closer, his bulky mass large beside Conall’s much slimmer body. His strength felt suffocating, like Conall had breathed in toxic air and his lungs were shriveling up. Or maybe it was the attraction that assaulted him and made him vault forward, as far away from Killough he could get. The strong masculine scent of the mob boss was too much.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot over the last few weeks, pet.”
“You wish, buddy.” Conall chanced a glance behind him, hoping he wasn’t flushing, although he had a feeling he failed, if how hot his cheeks felt said anything. “I’ve had better cocks than yours.”
“You’veneverhad another cock in your arse, sweetheart.” The wind fluttered his bleached hair, causing some of it to flick into his eyes. He swept it aside. “And you’ll never have another cock but mine in there again.”
Conall swallowed. If someone had asked him a few weeks ago if he thought he’d enjoy a cock in his arse, he would have laughed at them, before telling them to go to hell. But the truth was, hedidlike Killough fucking him, and that just rubbed at him in all the wrong ways. He hated how much he enjoyed it, and how soon he wanted it to happen again.Fuck!
