Page 17

16

I’m Definitely Into You

Hypothetical Question: If you had to take a serial killer on a first date, where are you taking them?

Nate

Daddy Death: I want to take you on a real date. One with no murder involved.

Queen Carina: Sounds boring. But I could be convinced.

Daddy Death: I can promise you mind-blowing sex at the end of it.

Queen Carina: How many orgasms are mind-blowing?

Daddy Death: At least five.

Queen Carina: Sold.

Daddy Death: [GIF of auction hammer being slammed]

I want to take it back the moment I send it, but I can’t. Stupid. Stupid Nate.

Daddy Death: Too soon?

Queen Carina: You're an idiot.

Daddy Death: You're still coming on the date, though. Right?

I wait.

Daddy Death: Right?

Daddy Death: Princess?

Queen Carina: This number is no longer in servic

Daddy Death: I might have believed you if you hadn't missed the last letter.

Queen Carina: Fuck.

Daddy Death: I'm picking you up at 8.

Queen Carina: I won't answer.

Pulling up to Carina's place, I hesitate for half a second before stepping out.

She's been through hell. She built herself from the ground up. And for some reason, she's letting me in.

That shouldn't scare me.

But it does.

The other night, when she told me some of what she’s been through, it took everything in me to stay calm. I wanted to go on a murderous rampage. And, to be fair, I did.

My list is significantly shorter now, thanks to my anger-fuelled killing spree this week. There’s nothing quite so cathartic as a little light murder.

But what she told me was just the surface, and even that was more than enough. I don’t think I’m ready to hear the full story—not without flying off the handle and ruining her carefully planned revenge by killing them all myself.

I knock on her door and wait, suddenly hyper aware of how I'm standing. Why the fuck am I nervous? It's just Carina.

Except it isn't just Carina.

It's our first real date—real in the way that says, "Hi, I'm definitely into you and I'm not just here to help you murder people."

It’s exciting and terrifying.

Mostly terrifying.

The door swings open, and whatever functioning brain cells I had left promptly exit the chat.

Carina stands there, looking like she stepped out of some high-fashion fever dream designed to ruin me. The black dress clings to her curves like a death grip, the hem teasing at the edge of indecency. Her legs—long, toned, and frankly unfair—make me think she could bankrupt a man just by existing. And that pastel pink hair? It's ridiculous. She has no right to look this effortlessly perfect.

For a second, I almost convince myself this is the first time I'm seen her without any pink in her outfit. Then I spot the hot pink heels. A slow smile tugs at my lips. Predictable.

Her icy blue eyes lock onto mine, and her smoky eyeliner makes them sharper and deadlier. I can't tell if I want to kiss her or bow down and say, Yes, my queen.

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. I officially have the IQ of a toaster.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me all night?" she teases, one brow arching in amusement.

I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back to her face—not the dangerously high hem of her dress. "It's a hell of a view."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't bother hiding her smirk. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

I spent two hours debating whether my shirt was the right balance of casual-but-not-too-casual. Now, standing in front of her, I realise it didn't matter. She could appear in a bin bag and still look like she owned the place.

Before I can say something clever—because I swear, I usually have a game—she presses her palms against my chest and shoves me backwards down the driveway. It's playful, effortless, and just cocky enough to make my pulse spike.

I shake my head, snapping out of whatever spell she's cast over me. Get it together, Nate.

She moves toward the car, but I beat her to the door, pulling the handle open. She eyes me for a second before slipping inside with an easy grace. No protest. No sarcastic remarks. Interesting.

London traffic is, as always, a cosmic joke at my expense. The universe's way of saying, "You thought you'd get there on time? That’s cute."

What should've been a ten-minute drive turns into thirty, and I swear I see my life flash before my eyes at least twice. But hey, no way was I letting Carina take the tube tonight.

Carina, meanwhile, is completely unbothered. She lounges in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through her phone like she's above traffic laws.

"You're awfully quiet," she says after a moment, not looking up.

“I’m focusing.”

She hums, unconvinced. "You sure you're not just nervous?"

I scoff. "Of you? Never."

Her lips twitch. "Oh? So, you weren't just staring at me like you forgot how to function a few minutes ago?"

I grip the wheel tighter. "Bold accusation. Any evidence?"

"Plenty." She finally looks up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous tonight."

By some miracle, we arrive only slightly late. I'd booked a table at a sleek Italian place near Hyde Park—not because I think Carina needs fancy treatment, but because I wanted to make an effort. She'd probably be just as happy with greasy fast food but impressing someone over a bucket of fried chicken didn't feel like a solid strategy.

The hostess seats us in the booth I requested—tucked in the back, private, and with just enough room for me to sit beside her instead of across. Carina slides in without comment, but I don't miss the slight lift of her brow.

"This is nice," she says, settling against the plush leather.

"Only the best for you, my Queen." My tone is teasing, but I mean every word.

She rolls her eyes, but there's warmth there. The kind I want to pull closer.

“You know,” Carina teases, a smile tugging at her lips, “you could’ve just taken me to Maccies again.”

Knew it. “I know,” I reply, my mouth twitching into a grin.

The waitress arrives with menus and a wine list, her attention locked on me.

"What can I get you both to drink, sir?"

I don't even glance at the menu. Instead, I tip my head toward Carina. "I don't know. Why don't you ask the boss?"

The waitress hesitates, eyes flicking to Carina like she only now realises she exists. "I… I… What can I get you?"

Carina doesn't hesitate. "We'll take a bottle of Alto-Adige, Pinot Bianco, 'Vorberg' .” Her flawless Italian rolls off her tongue like a silk ribbon, effortlessly smooth. She adds a polite, “2022. Please,” and flashes the waitress a wink, leaving the poor woman even more flustered.

I barely catch the price tag before the menu disappears. Two hundred quid. I manage not to choke. Jesus.

Carina turns to me, smirking in full force. "Did you just hand over control of a situation?"

"Don't get used to it," I reply, grinning. "But I'll admit, watching her short-circuit was fun."

She clicks her water glass against mine. "To making people uncomfortable."

"To you looking devastatingly hot and making my life difficult," I counter.

Her laugh is warm and effortless. And for the first time tonight, I might survive this date.

"You're fluent in Italian, I'm guessing?" I keep my tone casual.

Carina shrugs. "Had to learn fast. It helped that my grandfather was Italian, but I only spoke the basics. Once I lived there, I had no choice."

Her fingers idly trace the condensation on her water glass, and I watch the slow, absent-minded movement.

She glances up at me, the corner of her lips lifting. "It's handy when you want to seduce someone."

I huff a laugh, but something tightens in my chest. "Oh, is that so?"

"è un linguaggio sensuale, non credi? 2 " she purrs, tracing a featherlight line over my bicep with her nail.

I don't know what she just said. Hell, I don't need to know. My brain short-circuits anyway, a dozen scenarios flickering behind my eyes—none of which involve finishing dinner.

Yeah. Maybe she's got a point about Italian being a seductive language.

"You've seduced many men with it, then?" I ask lightly, though there's a sharpness I can't quite hide.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting. "No. Never."

A slow exhale leaves me before I even realise I am holding my breath.

"You little minx." I grin, poking her side.

She squeaks, jumping in her seat with a giggle. But before she can retaliate, the waitress reappears.

"Can I take your food order?"

We both pause, glancing at each other. Neither of us has even opened the menu.

I wave the waitress off with a polite smile. "Give us a minute."

Carina finally flips open her menu, scanning it with exaggerated seriousness. "Well, since I'm on a date with a rich man, I think I'll get the lobster linguini," she muses, shutting the menu with a little smirk.

I lean back, unfazed. "Go for it, Princess. I'm paying."

Her brow arches slightly, the teasing amusement in her eyes shifting into something more appraising. "Nate," she intones, "I just ordered a two-hundred-pound bottle of wine. You are not paying."

I shrug, closing my menu. "I can afford it."

She studies me for a beat longer, then folds her arms on the table, tilting her head. "What is it you do, exactly?"

The curiosity in her voice isn't casual. It's edged with something else—something sharper.

I smirk. "You haven't done any online stalking?"

"No," she retorts, her tone firm. "Unlike you, I prefer to get to know someone organically."

"Boring." I flash her a grin, but she doesn't let me dodge.

"Answer the question."

I hold her gaze, letting the moment stretch before I say, "I'm the CEO of a charity for human trafficking victims."

The words leave me easily, but the impact lands hard.

Her breath catches, her entire posture shifting as she stares at me, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

“Nate…” Her voice is quieter now, softer.

"Is it really so shocking?" I ask, tilting my head.

She doesn't answer right away. I can see her piecing things together, her mind working lightning.

"Well… no," she says finally, her voice measured. "But it's… interesting."

I give a short laugh, aiming to lighten the weight between us. "Crazy coincidence, huh?"

Her gaze sharpens. "Very."

Something in her expression changes. It's subtle—just a flicker of suspicion, a small furrow in her brow—but I catch it.

I lean in slightly, my voice dropping lower. "I promise, Carina," I murmur, holding her stare. "I had no idea about your past until you told me."

For a moment, she doesn't move. Then, slowly, she nods.

The tension eases as the food arrives, breaking the moment before it can spiral. We settle into a comfortable rhythm, the clinking of cutlery filling the space, the occasional brush of our legs under the table a quiet reminder of the unspoken things still lingering between us.

Carina

This date has been nothing short of wonderful.

Nate is unlike anyone I've ever met. He's charming in that effortless way that makes it impossible not to like him, but there's something darker beneath the surface. A dangerous edge. And maybe that's what draws me in the most.

I still can't quite believe he's a CEO—let alone of a charity that helps people like me.

It makes sense, though.

Nate doesn't just hunt. He eliminates—the ones who slip through the cracks, the ones the law fails to touch. The ones who deserve something much worse than prison. And he delivers it with calculated precision, with no mercy.

The thought should terrify me.

It doesn’t.

I sip my wine, letting the taste settle on my tongue as I watch him. He's leaned back in his seat, his gaze smouldering as he studies me with far too much knowing.

The restaurant he's chosen is luxurious, demanding perfect manners and expensive taste. Low lighting casts a golden glow over our table, and the hushed voices around us only make it feel more intimate.

But right now, none of that exists.

Right now, it's just him. And the way his touch lingers.

Every time his arm brushes against mine, heat coils inside me. And he knows. His grin turns slow, predatory, as his fingers slide beneath the table—to my thigh.

A sharp jolt of electricity pulses me as his hand moves higher, teasing the bare skin above my knee.

"Nate…" My voice is a whisper, laced with something between a warning and pure need.

My legs part slightly to let him know I want this, want him.

His eyes darken as his fingers slip higher, skimming over my skin. "No underwear?" His voice is pure sin, a breath against my ear.

I start to answer, some sharp remark forming on my tongue—but then he touches me.

A single brush over my clit, featherlight, and I shudder. A soft whimper escapes before I can stop it.

"This," he murmurs, pressing a little firmer, circling, "is for talking about other men while on a date with me."

Oh, fuck.

He’s punishing me.

And God help me, I don't mind.

His thumb strokes lazy circles over my clit, while two fingers slide lower between my thighs, pressing inside me with a slow, deliberate precision.

I nearly collapsed against the table.

Our table is mostly hidden, tucked into a shadowed restaurant corner. No one can see, not really. But the thought that someone could—that a simple shift in angle would expose me—only sharpens my arousal.

A wicked thrill shoots through me.

Nate has brought out a side of me I didn't even know existed. A side that craves him. Craves this .

When I fled to Italy, I rebuilt myself. I learned how to use my body as a weapon and to wield it like armour. Sex was controlled. A way to take back what had been stolen from me.

But this is different.

Nate makes me realise it can be so much more.

"Be a good girl and stay quiet," he murmurs.

A strangled mewl leaves my throat, and his grin turns wicked.

Then, I see her.

The waitress making her way toward us.

My pulse spikes.

"Nate," I whisper, urgency creeping into my voice.

His eyes flick toward the approaching waitress—and then he does the cruellest thing.

His fingers press deeper—curling and stroking at just the right angle.

A third finger joins the first two, stretching me, filling me, and I have to bite my lip hard to stop the moan threatening to spill.

My legs widen instinctively to accommodate him.

"You're going to have to do the talking, Princess," he murmurs, all smug amusement. "I'm a little… occupied."

The waitress reaches our table, smiling politely.

"Can I get you the dessert menus?"

Nate strokes his thumb over my clit at the perfect moment, sending a shudder through me.

I inhale sharply.

Focus. Stay composed.

To anyone looking, we appear like a perfectly normal couple. Just sitting close, Nate's arm draped over my shoulders in a lazy, intimate way.

Nothing more.

But under the table—Oh, God.

I clear my throat, struggling to form words. "N… no," I finally manage, voice breathy. "I think… we'll have dessert… at home."

A deep, dark chuckle rumbles from Nate. "Can we get the bill, please?" Nate's tone is smooth and unaffected.

I, on the other hand, am a wreck.

The waitress nods quickly, her voice slightly strained, and hurries off—probably grateful for an excuse to leave.

As soon as she's gone, Nate leans in, his whisper curling around my ear like a dark promise. "You did so good, Princess."

A shaky moan escapes me at the praise, heat flooding my body at the weight of his approval.

"I think you deserve to come, don't you?"

My head jerks in a frantic nod, anticipation coiling tight in my stomach.

His fingers curl again, pressing against that perfect spot, his thumb teasing my clit. The pressure is precise and overwhelming, and I don't stand a chance—pleasure detonates inside me, white-hot and all-consuming.

I bury my face in the crook of Nate's neck, muffling the soft, desperate moan that escapes my lips. My body shudders, every muscle seizing with the force of my release.

By the time his fingers slip from me, I'm aching, empty, my skin hypersensitive and still craving more.

The waitress returns with the bill, completely oblivious to the way my thighs are still trembling.

Nate pays without even glancing at the total.

Then, before I can recover, he grabs my hand, pulling me from the seat and dragging me toward the car.

The tension between us is electric—a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Every glance we exchange is heated, our bodies already moving ahead of our minds.

By the time we reach my house, Nate's urgency is palpable. He's out of the car before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, slamming my door shut and pulling me out.

He shoves me back against the car, his lips crashing into mine.

The kiss is rough, bruising, and possessive.

I meet him with equal fervour, my hands roaming his body, memorising the hard lines of his shoulders and the tense muscles in his back.

We stumble up the driveway, unable to stop, unwilling to let go.

I fumble with my keys, cursing when they slip through my fingers. My hands are shaking. Nate chuckles, the sound dark and knowing, before I finally shove the key into the lock.

The door swings open.

As soon as it clicks shut behind us, he lifts me off the floor, pressing me against it.

His mouth devours me, his tongue sweeping past my lips as his hands shove my dress up higher, baring my skin to the cool air.

My head tilts back, hitting the door as I writhe against him, my body aching, starving for what's coming.

One of his hands supports me, fingers digging into my thighs, while the other frees himself from his trousers.

Then, his lips trail to my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"Eventually, I'll fuck you in a bed," he murmurs, voice thick with promise, "and I'll take my time with you. Worship you. But now is not that time."

Before I can even process his words, he drives into me.

A sharp cry escapes me, my body stretching, moulding around his thick length.

The burn is sharp, exquisite.

He stills for a second, breathing heavily, before pushing deeper.

"You were made to take my cock, Princess." His voice is low, rough, edged with pure possession.

Each thrust is deep, brutal, and demanding.

The roughness of the door digs into my back, the contrast between pain and pleasure sending sharp jolts of arousal through me.

Every drive of his hips has me tightening around him, desperate, hungry for more.

It doesn't take long for the tension inside me to snap, my second orgasm ripping through me, pleasure crashing like a violent tide.

I scream his name, and he growls in response—a dark, primal sound.

Still buried deep inside me, he moves us away from the door.

Through the hallway.

To the dining room.

How does he know—

He slips out of me, lowering me onto the cool surface of the dining table. I let out a sob of protest, my body still aching for him.

“Patience, baby.”

His hands push my legs apart as he kneels, his breath hot against my slick, sensitive skin.

Then—his mouth is on me.

Oh, fuck.

His tongue moves with expert precision, teasing, tasting, his fingers spearing into me as he laps at my clit. My hips jolt. My hands twist into his hair, pulling him closer.

The sounds leaving my throat should be illegal. The pleasure builds again, hotter, sharper, bubbling over like lava ready to erupt.

I can't stop it. I don't even try.

It crashes over me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I tremble, shattered, as Nate's mouth keeps working me through it. When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is slick with my release.

"You're fucking delicious," he murmurs, grinning wickedly before capturing my lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

I taste myself on his tongue and groan, the hunger coiling inside me all over again.

Nate grips my hips, flipping me onto my stomach, my chest pressing against the cold wood.

Then, without warning—he's inside me again.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

Tears spring to my eyes as arousal once again floods through my pussy, slicking the way for him to ram his cock into me.

“So. Fucking. Good.” Nate’s voice is broken, coming out on a hoarse groan.

He picks up his pace, rutting into me, the hardness of the table digging into my hips with every thrust.

The heavy scent of sex lingers in the air, thick and intoxicating, as another orgasm begins to build within me. One of Nate’s hands slides around my waist, his fingers finding my clit and pinching it, the pressure sending a shock of pleasure straight through me.

I shatter once more, my vision blurring as the climax crashes over me with such intensity it feels like I’m being pulled under. Stars explode behind my eyes, my body trembling with the force of the release. Nate makes primal noises behind me, groaning and grunting as he chases his own. His hands grip my hips as he thrusts into me one last time before coming with a guttural roar.

Our heavy breathing mixes in the quiet of the room, each of us trying to calm down our erratic heart rates after the intensity of the moment.

Nate leans over me, his head nuzzling into my neck affectionately.

“You are going to ruin me,” he whispers into my ear, kissing the side of my head.

“I’m already ruined,” I breathe, pushing up from the table, ignoring the way my pussy throbs from the pounding she’s taken.

“How many orgasms did I promise you?” he purrs, turning me around to face him.

“I believe I was told I would get five in return for my attendance this evening.” I add mock seriousness into my tone.

“And how many have I delivered so far?”

My eyes widen. He can’t seriously be thinking about more?

“Four,” I whisper, pussy already clenching in anticipation.

Nate lifts me up, securing his arms around me and striding towards the stairs. I can feel his cock already hardening again against me.

Once we make it to my room, he gently lays me on the bed, climbing over me and pressing his body against mine.

“I owe you one more.”

This time, it’s not fast and hard, it’s slow and passionate. He takes his time exploring my body, learning every inch, what makes me tick.

When my orgasm finally comes it feels like coming home, it’s not a quick rush of pleasure, it’s wave after slow wave of electricity dancing over every nerve in my body.

Afterwards, Nate helps me into the shower, my body boneless and spent. He cleans me, taking the time to wash every part of my body, massaging my scalp as he rinses my hair. Then he bundles me in a thick towel, drying me carefully, before carrying me back to bed and gathering me into his arms.

Nate

Sunlight spills through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the sheets. Carina is wrapped around me, her head tucked into the crook of my neck, her leg draped lazily over my hips. A contented little snore escapes her every few minutes.

I take my time admiring her.

Pink hair fanned out over the pillow. The ghost of a smile lingering on her lips.

She let me have every part of her last night, and fuck, if I don't want her again.

Every inch of her is perfect; and I would know, I’ve studied every curve, every crevice, every freckle on her skin.

Her eyes flutter open, sleep-hazy and warm. "Morning," she mumbles, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been thoroughly ruined," she muses, stretching with a wince.

I smirk. "Sore?"

She places a hand on my chest, stopping me just as I shift to roll her beneath me. "No. But…” Her expression turns serious. "There's something I want to try."

I still. "Okay…" Please don’t tell me she wants to stick something up my butt. I’ll do it. But it wouldn’t be my idea of fun.

"I've never… given head willingly before." She pauses, her fingers twisting into the sheet. "I want to."

The breath leaves my lungs. Her words are heavier than she realises, but I don't push. Instead, I brush my knuckles over her cheek, tilting her chin. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know. I just… I want to."

A slow smile tugs at my lips. "Then, by all means, Princess. Wreck me.”

Her eyes light up. Rather than answering me she starts kissing her way down my chest, gaze still locked on mine seductively.

My heart stutters in my chest realising how much trust she’s putting in me. It’s not lost on me her meaning behind her words; when she says she’s never done this willingly. But I banish those thoughts from my mind for now, filing them away for later, as I focus on what she’s doing to me.

She reaches my hard cock and palms it, wrapping her hand around it before swiping her tongue over the tip, lapping at the pre-cum already dripping from it.

My hips buck forward, and she pulls back, mischief playing in her eyes.

“Be a good boy and stay still or I won't let you come.”

Fuck. Me.

My eyes roll into the back of my head at her words, and I let out a long groan.

She’s a little hesitant as she wraps her lips around the engorged head, sucking in gently with her cheeks. She stays near the tip to start with, letting her mouth accommodate to the stretch before she starts sliding her mouth further down the length.

Taking me all the way to the back of her throat, she gags around the tip which has my hips jolting up once more.

She pulls her mouth off me with an audible pop.

“What did I say about staying still?”

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again,” I plead, desperate for her to continue. I will combust if she stops this delicious torture.

“It better not.”

She returns to her earlier movements, bobbing up and down on my cock like she was made to be there. The feel of her warm, wet mouth has my balls tightening, urging me ever closer to the precipice of what promises to be an electrifying orgasm.

“Carina?” Her eyes flick up to mine as she continues her motions. “Baby, I’m going to come.” The words come out on a strangled gasp as a warning.

She doesn’t move, instead doubling down on her efforts and sucking me harder. One of her hands finds my balls and I explode. My cum shoots down her throat and she swallows it all greedily.

My head falls back onto the pillow, my body drained dry as she releases me and curls herself back into my chest.

I grip her chin, tilting her face to mine so I can plant a gentle kiss to her lips before letting her go.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper.

My eyes drift closed again, my body relaxed and content to just exist with her next to me. My mind gravitates to how much she trusts me, how she’s let me in despite everything. I’ll make damn sure I earn that trust she’s given me.