Page 25 of King of Ashes (Kingdom of Sinners #4)

The heat between us ignites instantly, familiar yet new. My hands frame her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones as I deepen the kiss. She tastes exactly as I remember.

A small sound escapes her throat, part surrender, part demand. My control snaps. I back her against the wall, lifting her as her legs wrap around my waist. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and it feels surreal. After everything, she wants me.

My lips trace the column of her throat as her head falls back, exposing more skin for me to taste. Her pulse hammers beneath my mouth, matching the thundering of my own heart.

I carry her to bed, our clothes falling away in our haste to feel skin against skin.

I’m frantic, wanting to touch and taste every inch of her.

Now. My hands roam. My lips taste. I reacquaint myself with her body.

It’s her. My Keira. And yet different. Rounder in some areas.

Softer in others. But still her. Really her.

More intense than memory, more consuming than fantasy.

My dick is throbbing to be inside her. I reach between us, sliding my fingers through her pussy lips, finding them wet. I groan at how wet. It’s like a fucking miracle.

When I finally cover her body with mine and thrust inside her, the sensation is overwhelming, like finding a piece of myself I didn't know was missing.

She arches under me, taking me deeper. Does she feel it too? God, I hope so.

I lose myself in Keira, in the feel of her beneath me, around me. Ten years of hatred and anger melt away as we move together, our bodies remembering what our minds tried to forget.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her scent, letting it wash over me. How many nights had I dreamed of this? How many times had I woken up reaching for her, only to find cold, empty sheets?

I watch her face as pleasure builds. She’s so fucking beautiful.

“Come, Keira. I want to watch you come.”

Her breath hitches, her body arches, her pussy clamps down around mine. As her orgasm overtakes her, I memorize every detail. The way her lips part, the flush that spreads across her cheeks, the soft sounds she makes as I continue to drive into her, hitting the right spot.

"Phoenix," she gasps. My name on her lips is the final straw. I buck, plunging deep inside her as my orgasm slams into me, fast, hard, intense. I radiates from my dick out to every cell in my body. It feels out of control, but so fucking good.

I collapse over her, spent and breathless.

I want to savor this moment. To believe the last ten years are erased.

Or that we can start new. But reality hovers in my mind, threatening to intrude.

There are still so many questions unanswered, so much pain between us.

And can I be sure that she really wanted this?

Could this be a duty fuck? The idea of it makes me sick.

I don’t want her to hand her body over without her wanting mine in return.

I pull away from Keira, angry at my lack of control and resenting her for making me question what, for a moment, was perfect.

"I should go," I mutter, reaching for my clothes scattered across the floor.

She doesn't stop me, doesn't say anything at all. It reinforces the idea that she just did this to appease me. Why would she do that? She fights me on so many things, and yet gives total compliance. Why? Is it to keep me happy as she plots something? Is it to protect someone?

Fucking hell, that must be it. There’s no doubt she's hiding something. I've spent too many years reading people not to recognize the signs. All I can think of is the other man.

"You're mine now, Keira, whether you like it or not. Tell your lover it's over."

Her eyes flash with something between hurt and fury as she pulls the sheet tighter around herself.

"Message received, loud and clear," Keira says, her voice cutting through the lingering intimacy between us. "I'm being exactly what you wanted. The dutiful fiancée. Isn't that what this is all about? Making sure I know my place?"

Her words gut me. I feel like I opened a vein for her, but she sees what just happened as my claiming ownership of her. Of her submitting to me. Performing a wifely obligation.

"That's not—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"No need to explain. I understand perfectly." Her smile is brittle, practiced. "This is just another part of our arrangement.”

Fuck. I know my part in this, but it doesn’t stop the resentment from growing. “I don’t need pity fucks, Keira. And this doesn't change anything," I say harshly. "We still have arrangements to finalize."

She nods once, her face a careful mask. "Of course."

The ease with which she accepts this makes me wonder if I've been played. Was this her strategy all along? Give in to me to gain leverage? The thought sours everything we just shared.

I leave without another word, closing the door firmly behind me. I need space to think, to process what just happened and what it means. I head down to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, leaning against the counter.

What the hell am I doing? One moment, I'm plotting her humiliation and the next, I'm groveling, wanting what we lost and then fucking her. For ten years I’ve been focused and methodical. Nothing has derailed me. But Keira… She confuses me emotionally and psychologically. I’m not in charge of this game we’re playing anymore.

The sound of small feet padding across tile breaks my reverie. I look up to find Brigit standing in the doorway, her hair mussed from sleep, eyes wide at finding me here.

"I'm hungry," she announces simply, as if my presence in the kitchen at this hour is perfectly normal.

"I can make you something," I offer, surprising myself. I’ve never been around kids. Hell, only just an hour ago, I realized I might want one.

Brigit tilts her head, studying me with that unnerving directness she possesses. "You know how to cook?"

"I do." I open the refrigerator, scanning its contents. "How about a grilled cheese?"

She climbs onto a stool at the counter, nodding eagerly. "With tomato soup?"

The request hits me with unexpected force. Tomato soup and grilled cheese was something I used to make for my brothers in those first terrible months after our parents died. Quick, simple comfort food I could manage while juggling grief and sudden responsibility.

“It’s late. Didn’t you have dinner?” It occurs to me that I don’t know what she does all day. She doesn’t go to school because no one comes or goes without my knowing. Does her nanny educate her? Where does she eat?

“Yeah, but I’m a growing kid.”

My lips twitch upward. "Coming right up."

I move around the kitchen, finding bread, butter, cheese. The motions are soothing, grounding me after the emotional whirlwind upstairs. I open a can of soup, pour it into a pot, adjust the heat.

"You're not as scary when you're cooking," Brigit observes, swinging her legs.

I glance at her, surprised by her frankness. "Am I scary other times?"

"Sometimes." She watches me butter the bread. "Especially when you look at Keira. Your eyes get all crazy."

My hands pause momentarily. "It's… complicated between us."

"Grown-ups always say that when they don't want to explain things."

She’s not wrong. "Some things are hard to talk about."

"Like why you're marrying Keira if you don't like her?"

Fucking hell, she’s blunt. I flip the sandwich, buying time. "What makes you think I don't like her?"

"Because you make her sad on purpose." Brigit says this matter-of-factly. "And you don't smile at her like people who love each other do."

I slide the grilled cheese onto a plate and ladle soup into a bowl, setting both in front of Brigit thinking this could be a perfect opportunity to find out what other people, or man, loves Keira.

"You know," I say casually, leaning against the counter, "it sounds like you care about Keira a lot."

Brigit nods, dunking the corner of her sandwich into the soup. "She's the best person ever."

"Does she have other people who care about her that way? People who love her?"

Brigit considers this while chewing. "Nanny Fiona loves her. They talk all the time."

"Anyone else?" I press, keeping my tone light. "Maybe a special friend? A man who visits her?"

She shakes her head. "No men. Just me and Nanny."

I try a different angle. "Does Keira ever go out at night? Or have someone call her on the phone that makes her smile?"

"No." Brigit looks up, her eyes suddenly concerned. "Is that why you're marrying her? Because no one else loves her?"

The question catches me off guard. "What? No, that's not?—"

"Because I love her enough," Brigit continues earnestly. "She doesn't need anyone else. She has me."

The fierce protectiveness in her voice strikes me. There's something about the way this child talks about Keira. I’m no expert, but my sense is that kids feel strong bonds toward those who care for them. Hampton and Lana are her godparents, but she hasn’t asked about them. Only Keira.

"How long have you known Keira?" I ask.

"Forever," Brigit answers simply.

No lover. No mysterious man. Just this little girl and her nanny. So why was Keira sneaking around the other night? What is she hiding?

“Why are you so mean all the time?”

Her question snaps me out of my thoughts. “I just made you food. That’s not mean.”

She rolls her eyes. “To Keira. Why don’t you like her?”

I’m not sure what’s appropriate to share with a kid. "Sometimes, people can have complicated feelings for each other. Sometimes, they do things that make you angry."

"But doesn't being angry all the time make you unhappy too?"

The simple wisdom in her question stops me. Does it? Have I been unhappy, carrying this burden of hatred and revenge? I hadn’t been up until Keira came back into my life.

"You're pretty smart for a kid, you know that?"

She grins. "Keira says I'm an old soul."

"She might be right about that."

She finishes her food. “Thank you. It was good, even if you didn’t cut the sandwich into triangles like I like.”

"You're welcome.” Next time, I’ll remember to cut her sandwich into triangles.

She hops down from the stool, carrying her dishes to the sink with careful concentration.

"I can wash these," I offer, but she shakes her head.

"Keira taught me to clean up after myself." She stands on tiptoes to place the bowl in the sink, then turns to me with an unexpected smile. “You’re not so scary.”

Before I can respond, she wraps her small arms around my waist, pressing her face against my stomach in a tight hug. I freeze, hands hovering awkwardly at my sides. When was the last time anyone hugged me like this? With such simple, uncomplicated affection?

Slowly, I place one hand on her head, feeling the silky softness of her hair beneath my palm. Something shifts inside me. Warmth spreads through my chest. This child, this innocent who knows nothing of the blood feud between our families, embraces me without reservation.

“Hugs get rid of bad feelings and be happy.”

“It’s hard to be happy after losing my family.” I kick myself for saying that. She doesn’t need to know the horrors of my life.

“I lost my family but I’m not mean and grumpy.” She shrugs. “When I feel sorry for myself, Nanny Fiona says to count my blessings.”

“You have blessings?” I’ve invaded her home. Been mean to Keira. What blessings does she have?

“I have Keira and Nanny Fiona. I have a big house to live in and lots of toys.”

“I see.”

“Well, I’m going to bed. Thanks again.” She looks up at me with those clear, guileless eyes. "Maybe you could make sandwiches for Keira too. She forgets to eat sometimes when she's busy."

"Maybe I will," I reply, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice.

After Brigit leaves, I remain in the kitchen, staring at nothing.

The revenge I've planned so meticulously suddenly feels hollow.

Is this what I truly want? A marriage built on resentment and retribution?

What happens after I've extracted my pound of flesh?

Will it bring back my parents? Heal the wounds of the past?

For the first time since returning to Boston, I allow myself to consider an alternative future, one where healing might be possible. Where happiness isn't just something I help my brothers find, but something I might claim for myself as well.

But can I find that with Keira again? She’s not the same woman, although I can’t deny her strength is something I admire about her.

And there’s the fact that I’ve killed whatever affection she’d had for me.

But even if that weren’t the case, I can’t get rid of the nagging thought that she’s hiding something.

We have nothing with which to build a solid foundation beyond an arranged marriage for business’s sake.