Page 23 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

That one landed.

I stared at her. She shouldn’t see through me that easily. But she always had.

“If anyone can, it’s you,” I said, quieter now. “And if you don’t... then it’s over.”

She held my gaze, breath caught somewhere between a question and a threat.

“My family,” I added. “The feds. You. Me. All of it—gone.”

There it was. The offer, the truth.

“I can give you someone,” I said finally. “If it comes to that—I’ll give you someone. From my side. Someone who can take the fall. But it can’t be you.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.

Because we both knew the cost.

“Jesus Christ, Kieran,” she said.

Her voice wavered just enough for me to hear. She set the glass down with a sharp clink and turned away from me, pressing her palms into the counter like she needed to ground herself.

“I shouldn’t have let you in,” she whispered.

“But you did.”

I crossed the kitchen in three steps. She didn’t move when I stopped behind her, close enough to breathe her in. Coconut, vanilla…a hint of sweat. She was always a little warm. Always too close to burning.

“Ruby,” I said, low. “Tell me to leave.”

She didn’t. Her shoulders stayed rigid, hands still flat on the counter like she could hold herself upright by will alone.

“I can’t do this,” she said. “You need to leave.”

“I do,” I said. “I should leave.”

I didn’t move.

She turned like she was going to shove me—maybe slap me—but my hands were already on her hips, already pulling her in like my body had made the decision before my brain caught up.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I asked, my voice low.

Her breath hitched. “Are you really here? Defying your brother? Trying to protect me from Tristan Callahan? Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, my mouth inches from hers. “Terrified. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he’s capable of.”

Her fingers curled at her sides. “How many people has he hurt? How many has your family hurt?” Her voice was tight. “Isn’t it a net good for society if I let him take the fall? RICO charges are appropriate here.”

“You’re, uh… rico,” I said.

She blinked. Her mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Wait—was that supposed to be Spanish?”

“I’ve been working on it,” I murmured, my thumb brushing just beneath the hem of her hoodie. Her skin was warm there. “Duolingo’s very proud. I get confetti and everything.”

“It’s rica,” she said, barely holding back a laugh. “And it means I’m rich, not hot.”

“Oh. Well—you’re both. And if you marry me, you’ll be even richer. And possibly hotter. I haven’t done the math.”

“You’re…proposing?”

“No,” I said. “Aspiring.”

She stared at me.

“Get out of my house, Kieran.”

She said it, but she didn’t back away.

I could see it in her hands. Still gripping the edge of the counter. Still not pushing me away.

“Say it again,” I whispered, leaning in. “Tell me to go.”

She didn’t. Her breath hitched instead.

“I hate you,” she said, but it came out like a confession, not a curse.

“I know,” I murmured, cupping her jaw. “But you still let me in.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“You always do.”

I kissed her.

She didn’t kiss me back—not at first. But then her mouth opened, and it was like falling.

Like drowning. She clutched the front of my shirt like she wanted to rip it off or crawl inside my skin.

I lifted her onto the counter without breaking contact, without losing the rhythm we’d been chasing since the day we met.

Her legs wrapped around me. Her hands fisted in my hair. I kissed her like I needed her to remember what we were underneath the war. Underneath the bruises and mistakes and fallout.

“Tell me you hate me,” I said into her mouth. “Go ahead.”

“I hate you,” she said, and it didn’t sound like she meant it at all. She bit down on my lower lip, and then she was kissing me back desperately, her breath coming in short bursts when she pulled away from me.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Stop,” she said, no conviction in her voice.

“No,” I said. “Tell me to stop like you want me to stop.”

“Shut up,” she said, panting. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

I froze for a beat, blood roaring in my ears. Then I moved.

She watched me like she was daring me not to—eyes dark and glassy, breath coming fast. I pulled my shirt over my head, and her gaze dragged down my chest, sharp and hot and hungry. My hands fumbled at my belt, and for a second I thought I might actually lose it before I even got my pants off.

Ruby stripped off her hoodie in one smooth motion, yanking her tank top off along with it and tossing both to the floor. She stood there—bare from the waist up, skin flushed, lips parted, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

Jesus Christ. She was beautiful.

Her hair was messy, cheeks red, and there was still that flash of defiance in her eyes, like this was war, not surrender.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” I said, voice rough, my fingers finding the waistband of her leggings.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t stop me.

I knelt and dragged them down her legs. Her thighs trembled just slightly as I peeled them off. And then— fuck . She was soaked. Slick and hot and already pulsing against my fingers.

“Fuck, Ruby.”

She slapped my chest. Not hard. Just enough to snap my eyes back to hers. “Stop talking.”

“Why?” I asked, curling two fingers through her folds, dragging them slow, deep. “You like it when I talk.”

She shuddered.

“You love it when I tell you how wet you are. When I tell you how much I fucking need you.”

Her head dropped back, a moan caught in her throat. “I hate you.”

“You hate how good I make you feel,” I said, kissing down her neck, then lower. “You want to do this in your bed? Or do you just want me to drop to my knees here?”

“I don’t—”

“Okay. I’ll make the decision for you,” I said, getting to my knees. “But you could have offered a pillow for my knees first.”

“Kieran, shut up,” she said.

Before she could say anything else, my tongue was on her clit, insistent and fast. She was soaked and I loved eating her out, I was already hard as fuck and this was only getting me harder, and the taste of her was the only thing I had been craving for weeks.

She let out a sharp, involuntary cry, bracing herself against the counter, legs trembling as I locked my arms around her thighs to keep her right where I wanted her.

“God, fuck—Kieran—” she gasped, already falling apart, already trying to fight it.

I didn’t let up.

I knew her body too well. Knew the rhythm she hated me for finding.

Knew exactly how much pressure made her hips jerk and her mouth go slack.

I sucked her clit harder, then gentler, then again—teasing her with the edge of it, until she was whimpering and shaking and grabbing fistfuls of my hair like she wanted to push me away and grind me closer all at once.

“You’re gonna come like this,” I said, voice low and filthy between licks. “On my mouth. On your kitchen counter. And then I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget you hate me.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered—and then she broke.

Her legs locked around my shoulders, her whole body tensing, a sob caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan as she came, hips rocking against my mouth like she couldn’t stop herself. Her knees gave out as she tried to stay upright, but she was already sinking.

I stood fast and caught her before she could slide down the cabinet, my arms curling around her like instinct. She was limp, panting, spent—and I kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Letting her taste herself on my tongue.

She melted into it, arms looping around my neck, mouth open and pliant. She was still catching her breath, her pulse fluttering against my lips.

“Bed,” I murmured against her skin.

She nodded, dazed.

I lifted her easily, one arm under her knees, the other across her back, and carried her up the stairs.

The hallway was dark except for a string of Christmas lights twinkling along the banister—soft red and green shadows painting her skin.

She’d probably just put them up. A little holiday cheer in the middle of all this chaos.

She looked unreal in the glow. Wrecked and radiant.

In her bedroom, I laid her down gently, like I was afraid she’d break. She reached for me, but I caught her wrists and kissed each one before pressing them to the mattress.

Then I stripped her bare—pulling off whatever clothes were left, slow and reverent. She didn’t stop me. Just watched with parted lips and wide eyes, her chest still rising and falling fast.

I shoved my boxers down and stepped out of them. She sat up slightly, propped on her elbows, gaze raking over me like she wasn’t sure if she was looking at a savior or a monster.

Like she didn’t know if she was about to touch heaven or hell.

I didn’t care which it was. I was already falling.

I crawled up the bed until I was hovering over her. Brushed my nose along her jaw. Kissed the corner of her mouth. Then trailed lower—chin, throat, breast.

“Do you want me to keep eating you out?” I whispered, voice gone to gravel.

I’ve been dreaming about this. About that gorgeous little pussy and the way you moan when I make you come.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, chest still rising fast, like she was trying to pretend she wasn’t trembling.

“You talk too much,” she said.

I grinned and kissed her knee, her thigh, the curve of her hip. “You love it when I talk. You love it when I worship you.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t stop me when I moved lower again, letting my mouth trace the inside of her thigh until she was gasping. Her fingers laced into my hair, pulling tight—not pushing me away this time.

I kissed her slowly. Thoroughly. Until she was shuddering again, until I felt her thighs clench around my head and she was whispering my name like she forgot how to hate me.

And then I rose.

Crawled up her body. Slid against her, slow and heavy and hot, until she arched up to meet me.

“Ask me to fuck you.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you want, Rubes. Tell me how much you want me inside of you.”

“You’re a sadist,” she whispered, but there was heat in her voice. Heat in her eyes. Heat everywhere, until I thought we might burn the whole goddamn house down.

“You’re the one putting up with it,” I said, and then kissed her hard, grinding against her harder. She was already wet for me, already lifting her hips to catch the rhythm, already so close to letting go.

She reached between us and took me in her hand, lining me up, guiding me in.

Fuck.

It was every bit as perfect as I remembered.

Perfect and impossible, and I was sure it was more than I deserved.

I grabbed the headboard to stop from sinking all the way inside her.

“Please,” she said, her breath so soft I barely heard it. So soft that I barely believed it.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me, Kieran. Please.”

“Good girl,” I said softly. “You’re such a good girl for me. I love it when you ask for my cock.”

I thrust into her deep and full and unhurried, keeping my hand on the headboard to remind myself not to break. Each time I moved, she gasped, and every gasp chipped away at whatever small piece of me was still pretending this wasn’t all I ever wanted. That she wasn’t all I ever needed.

She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer, heels digging in; I knew she was trying to take control, and I knew I wouldn’t let her. I let go of the headboard and held her throat so I could press my thumb against her collarbone. “Let me take care of you,” I said. “Let me make you come again.”

Her fingers dug into my shoulders, white-knuckled and trembling. “I—”

But I didn’t let her finish. I couldn’t. I just kept moving—thrusting deeper, harder, chasing the edge that felt like it had been building between us for years. The pressure burned low and hot, coiling in my gut, winding tighter with every breathless moan she gave me.

Her body opened to me like it had been waiting. Needing.

“Ruby—” My voice broke on her name, barely more than a growl.

“Kieran—” she gasped, her hips rising to meet mine.

“I’m close,” I said, panting against her mouth. “Come with me. Please—come with me.”

That was all she needed.

She clenched around me, her body arching. Her cry was sharp, helpless, and I felt it in every nerve, every inch of skin. That was all it took—one second of her falling apart underneath me, and I shattered.

I came hard. Harder than I ever had in my fucking life.

It hit like a surge, hot and electric, my body jerking with it—deep and pulsing, endless. My face buried against her throat. My hands gripping her waist like I could anchor myself there.

Like if I held on tight enough, I wouldn't disappear.

I collapsed against her, boneless and shaking, still inside her. Still in it. Neither of us moved.

We lay tangled together, chest to chest, heart to heart, slick with sweat and silence. Her legs were wrapped around me. One of my hands slid up to cradle the side of her face.

She blinked at me, dazed and beautiful, lips parted like she still hadn’t caught her breath.

I kissed her shoulder. The inside of her wrist. The soft dip of her stomach. I didn’t want to stop touching her. Didn’t want to let this end. She was so warm, so alive, and I’d been cold for too long.

Goddamn it, she was going to kill me.

And I’d die with her name on my lips.

I didn’t know how long had passed when she finally spoke.

“You’re still here,” she said, the words barely a whisper.

I shifted, kissing her neck. “Want me gone?”

Her arms stayed tight around me.

“No,” I said, when she didn’t answer. “You don’t.”

I was still buried in her, still reluctant to move. I bent my head lower, tracing my lips over the soft hollow between her clavicles.

“Kieran—”

“Shh,” I whispered, kissing delicate stripes across her skin. “I’m still here.”

For now.