Page 29 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Katarina

I 'm fucked. Not the good kind where I can't walk straight the next day, but the emotional kind that makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.

I stare at my phone like it's a bomb about to detonate in my hand.

Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear as Frankie types her response.

I've just dumped the entire Conrad situation on her, word-vomiting every filthy detail I probably should have kept to myself.

But she's my sister, and who the fuck else am I supposed to talk to about a billionaire who wants to own me? I mean she’s probably going to ream me a new one for not telling her about him a while ago.

So let me get this straight. You're living in a mansion with a man who fucks you like you're his personal porn star, buys you things, gives you a dream office, and he wants you to stay...and you're freaking out because...?

Because I'm not some trophy he can just add to his collection! He's trying to keep me like I'm a fucking pet.

No, he's trying to keep you like you're his girlfriend. There's a difference, Kat.

We're not dating. We're fucking. With an expiration date.

A man doesn't ask you to move in with him if all he wants is to fuck you. Trust me, I would know. I was literally just in your shoes, you hoe. Alexander fucked plenty of women before me, but I'm the only one he wanted to wake up next to every morning.

I pull my knees up to my chest, sinking deeper into Conrad's ridiculously comfortable couch. The fire crackles in the massive stone fireplace across from me, offering me a distraction as I stare into the flames trying my best to disassociate.

That's different. You and Alexander are disgustingly perfect for each other. Conrad and I are...complicated.

Bullshit. You're not complicated. It doesn’t get more complicated than fucking your ex-boyfriends dad so please spare me the tit for tat. You're scared. Like hello you cannot hide that shit from me sis. I literally know exactly what goes through your head.

Fuck you.

Am I wrong? You've spent your whole life running the second things get real. Remember Jason from high school? Or that artist guy last year?

Those losers have nothing to do with this.

They have EVERYTHING to do with this. You pushed them away the second they got too close. And now you're doing it with Conrad, who, by the way, sounds like he could ruin you for all other men.

I press my fingers against my eyes, hating that she's right. The memory of Conrad's hands on me, his cock stretching me open, his voice in my ear telling me I'm his perfect little slut—it makes my cunt throb even now.

It's not that simple.

It never is with you. Remember when you told me I was being a coward with Alexander? That I was running because I was afraid of actually feeling something? Yeah. Pot, meet kettle. Maybe take your own advice?

I nearly drop my phone.

I am scared Francesca.

It takes everything in me to type those words.

I know, baby girl. But running isn't going to fix that.

What if I stay and he gets bored? What if I'm just a novelty? The bad girl he wanted to fuck until he got it out of his system?

Oh, for fuck's sake, Katarina. If all Conrad wanted was to bend you over and fuck you raw, he wouldn't care where you lived. He wouldn't cook for you or set up an office or ask you to stay. Men like that don't invest in women they're just trying to get out of their system.

I stare at her words, wanting to believe them but still feeling that knot of fear in my stomach. My fingers hover over the keyboard.

Since when did you become a relationship guru?

Since I stopped being a chickenshit and let myself fall for a man who worships the ground I walk on. Just like Boss Daddy Gallo worships that fat ass of yours.

Jesus Christ, Frankie!

What? You told me he spanks it red and calls it his perfect little cum dump. Those were YOUR words, not mine. And you know what? That's not just lust. That's fucking devotion.

My cheeks burn as I remember exactly how Conrad's hand feels coming down on my ass, the way he spreads me open after and tells me what a good girl I am for taking his punishment.

I didn't sign up for this. I signed up for a sugar daddy arrangement with no strings attached.

Well, tough shit. Life doesn't always follow the contract. Sometimes it throws you a fucking curveball who wants to keep you.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Do you want me to come home? I can tell Alexander we need to cut the Europe trip short. Just say the word and I'll be on the next flight. We can figure this out together.

No! God, no. Stay in Europe. Enjoy your euro-fuck trip or whatever the hell you're calling it. I'm fine.

You don't sound fine. You sound like you're about to sabotage the best thing that's ever happened to you besides me because you're too scared to admit you might actually have feelings for him.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

I don't know what to do.

Yes, you do. Stop running. We found each other and we became family, became sisters. It’s time you let yourself feel something again in your life. Let him take care of you. Let him own that pussy if that's what gets you both off. Just stop fighting it so hard.

What if I let him in and he breaks me?

What if you walk away and lose out on your person? Confront your fear and make it your bitch just like everything you do in life little sister.

Tell him you're scared. If he's half the man you've described, he deserves that much.

I stare at her words, my throat tight.

I'll think about it.

That's Kat-speak for “I'll avoid it until it explodes in my face.” Just try, okay? For me? And for fuck's sake, send me a picture of this man. I need to see who's got my little sister's pussy in such a twist.

Despite everything, I laugh.

Goodnight, Frankie. Love you.

Love you too, brat. Call me tomorrow or I really will come home.

I toss my phone aside, Frankie's words echoing in my head. Maybe she's right. Maybe I should just fucking talk to Conrad instead of spiraling in my own head like a teenager.

Standing up, I feel a chill and grab the thick sweater draped over the back of the couch. It’s one of Conrad’s cashmere ones that smells like sandalwood. I pull it over my head, swimming in the fabric that hangs to mid-thigh as I pull the collar up over my nose and inhale deeply.

Time to pull my big girl panties up and go find my stubborn…man. I guess that’s what he is—my man.

The faint sound of weights clanking draws me toward the gym. Of course. When Conrad's pissed or stressed, he works out like a man possessed. Probably trying to sweat out his frustration after I told him I needed space to think.

The man fucking hates space.

I approach the open door quietly, about to walk in when I hear his voice.

“I know, Coco. I'll be there.” His tone is different—softer than I've ever heard it. “The charity is important to you, so it is to me too.”

I pause, frowning. Who the fuck is Coco?

“Don't worry about what to wear. You'll look beautiful in anything.” He chuckles warmly.

My stomach tightens. Is he talking to another woman? Some side piece named Coco while I'm having an existential crisis about our so-called relationship?

“Love you too, Coco. I'll see you soon.”

Conrad's back is to me, he has his phone pressed to his ear. He's shirtless, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders as he stands by the weight rack.

“Who the hell is Coco?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intended.

Conrad spins around, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me. He ends the call and sets his phone down on the bench beside him.

“Katarina.” He grabs a towel, wiping sweat from his face. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Clearly.” I step further into the room. “I asked you a question. Who's Coco?”

He takes a deep breath, and for the first time since I've known him, Conrad Gallo looks genuinely uncomfortable. I swear to god if he tells me he has a wife or girlfriend somewhere, I’m going to rip his balls off and feed them to him.

“Now's probably a good time to tell you that I have a daughter,” he says, running a hand through his damp hair.

I blink. Then blink again. “A fucking kid? You never thought to mention that before? And you have like no pics up in this damn house, so I don't believe you.”

Conrad exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yes, well, Contessa has asked that I not keep photos up in my home or at work. They make her uncomfortable for reasons I don't think I will ever understand.”

I freeze, the name hitting me like a punch to the gut. “You have a daughter the same age as me.”

His eyes narrow. “Yes, but wait—how do you know how old she is?”

“Holy fucking shit,” I whisper, my mind racing.

“She's one of my clients at KD Designs.”

He runs his hand through his hair again, a gesture I now recognize as one of his few tells when he's genuinely rattled. “She never mentioned working with you.”

“Why would she? She knows me as Kat DeLuca, not as daddy's little fuck toy.” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I'm too shaken to care.

Conrad steps toward me, his expression darkening. “Don't call yourself that.”

“What? Your fuck toy? That's what I am, right? The woman you pay to spread her legs whenever you want to blow a load?” I'm lashing out, and I know it, but I can't stop the words from spilling out.

“That's not what this is, and you fucking know it.” His voice changes to a tone I’ve never heard before.

“Do I? Because finding out you have a secret daughter my age who happens to be my client doesn't exactly scream 'healthy relationship foundation.'” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed in just his sweater and my panties.

Conrad's nostrils flare. “So you finally fucking admit this is a relationship then.”

“Fuck you,” I snap, ignoring his comment about our relationship status. “This isn't about that. This is about you keeping a massive fucking secret from me.”