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33
Lyon stroked Kira’s arm, savoring the silkiness of her naked body against his, her soft breath against his chest. He was still surprised how much he could want her. Not simply the release of sex, the oblivion of it, but her.
Kira.
This woman in his arms, a woman who could at once make him as frustrated as he’d ever been in his life and as complete. This woman who could be both stubborn and soft, who fought for herself and wanted to fight for him.
“Now who’s deep in thought?” she asked, her fingers trailing lazily over his chest.
He chuckled. “Who can think at a time like this?”
They’d crashed into the brownstone in a frenzy of hands and mouths, oblivious to the possibility of Alek being witness to their urgency. Thankfully, the living room was empty, and they’d hurried to the bedroom where they’d stripped each other hungrily and fallen into bed.
He could still taste the sweetness of her pussy as she came on his mouth, could still feel the enveloping heat of her lips wrapped around his cock. When he finally dove into her, he’d rolled her on top of him and watched as she’d straddled him, riding him like a prize bull, angling her body just so to bring her orgasm to fruition while he spilled himself inside her.
She kissed his chest. “I don’t know everything about my husband just yet, but I do know he’s always thinking.”
He stroked her side, his fingers falling into the valley of her waist. “Except when I’m inside you, when I’m making you come. Then, I’m incapable but thinking of anything but you.”
It had been a happy surprise that she was so passionate in bed. That, while she held a part of herself back the rest of the time, she was incapable of doing anything less than giving herself completely to him when he stripped off her clothes.
It felt like the world’s best kept secret, and he was its lucky recipient.
“I’ve been thinking about your plan with Roman Kalashnik,” Kira said.
He kissed the top of her head, nestled under his chin. “What about it?”
“I wonder if Ronan Murphy might be of use too.”
He craned his neck to look at her and found her doing the same, staring up at him through the half-dark of the room, lights spilling in from the street beyond the window. “How so?”
“The Syndicate has been reorganizing for years,” she said. “They’re a fully evolved organization now. They even have cyber labs in New York and Paris.”
He wasn’t surprised she knew of Ronan Murphy. Head of the Syndicate’s Chicago organization, Murphy had been an assassin for hire — along with his four brothers — before he’d been brought into the Syndicate fold.
But Lyon was surprised she knew about the cyber labs, that it would occur to her that the Syndicate might also be useful to them in their takeover of the bratva.
He laughed softly. “Is this what you think about when we’re in bed, wife?”
“Except when you’re inside me, when you’re making me come. Then, I’m incapable of thinking of anything but you.”
He laughed louder this time and reached to pinch her soft ass.
She squealed and slapped at his chest, then sunk into him with a sigh. “I like this house, and the one at the lake too,” she said after a couple of minutes.
He smiled in the dark. “I’m glad.”
He was happy he’d acquired so much property in the decades since his father’s death. Lyon had learned many things from his father’s imprisonment, but one of the most valuable was the need to prepare for anything.
Lyon’s accumulation of hideaways around the world had seemed ridiculous when he was alone, but now it all made a strange kind of sense, as if fate had known what was in store for him.
As if fate had known he’d want to protect this woman in his arms.
She was a woman who looked as comfortable in the Chicago penthouse as she looked in a home in the country, but it wasn’t until they’d come to Brooklyn that he'd realized how much happier she seemed in the brownstone than in the apartment.
There hadn’t been time at the lake, but over the past few days in the city, she’d settled into the brownstone’s intimate rooms. He’d realized then that he’d made a mistake with the penthouse. It was beautiful and luxurious, and Kira was nothing if not beautiful and luxurious, but she belonged in a home. A place filled with books and a piano and the soft chirping of Odette and Dimitri. A place where delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and the doors and windows could be open to the gardens.
He could see it. Could see her. Could see them.
They would be happy, fill their big house with children and laughter.
I love you…
The words drifted through his mind, but he didn’t have the courage to say them. He almost laughed aloud: the Lion, afraid to speak three simple words to a woman.
Except she wasn’t simply a woman. She wasthewoman.
He would tell her later. First he was going to buy her a house. Then he would confess his feelings, ask her properly to be his wife.
After that, he would give her the world.
