The Darkest King: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Dark Kings of NYC Book 1)
Chapter 5

What am I doing?

The elevator door closes, and we’re standing in a soft ambient light, rising to what I know is the luxurious penthouse owned by Connor Barrett. The man himself is across from me, eyeing me, like I’m his prey. He slides his hands into his pant pockets, his jacket draped over his arm, and watches me.

That’s all he seems to do.

Watch me.

“Not one for conversation, huh?” I ask because direct is my middle name.

Unperturbed, he replies, “It’s usually unnecessary.”

Jesus, he’s arrogant.

And correct. Connor Barrett is wealthy beyond imagination, even compared to my family. Gorgeous women would rip their panties off and beg to be with him.

I’m not going to be one of them.

If he wants me, he will have to work a bit harder.

Says the girl who got out of the car and all but said, “yes, please fuck me.”

Don’t judge. He’s utterly gorgeous. There’s a darkness about him, but he also has that Superman jaw, moody eyes, and a lazy scruff that makes you want to slide your fingers over it.

I want to touch him.

Desperately.

The need is growing the more I’m near him. My panties are wet, my nipples hard as fuck and pressing painfully against my bra. My core is throbbing, and I swear not even my fingers would relieve me at this point.

I want to slide my fingers into the curl of hair flicking along his collar and slam my mouth over his. I want him to ravage me. I want his cock inside me as I scream…and then run away as fast as I can.

But I really shouldn’t.

I need to grab his laundry and get the hell out of here.

There is a chance they followed me, and then I’d have to explain what I was doing in Connor Barrett’s penthouse at eleven o’clock at night.

I hope I haven’t put him in danger.

He might be rich and powerful, but when you’re dealing with a family who lives outside of society’s rules, no one is safe.

I don’t want a man’s blood on my hands.

Also, more selfishly, I don’t want to taste heaven before I go back to hell. A night with Connor would be incredible, but the memories would taunt me for the rest of my life.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asks.

“Twenty-four,” I reply. “Old enough to pick up dry cleaning.”

Connor smirks, and the elevator doors open.

He moves closer to me as I step out and take in the gorgeous view of his forty-fifth-floor penthouse. It overlooks a section of Central Park—a similar view to one of my father’s homes.

Connor walks past me, his eyes dipping to take in my reaction. I catch myself, knowing I should be far more impressed than I am.

“Wow, what a view,” I lie.

He turns and walks to the bar, tossing his jacket on the sofa.

“I’ll take that.” I walk into the room and grab the jacket.

It smells like bourbon, and…Connor. Earth and leather. Like a predator in the wild.

While Connor pours a drink, I stand there hugging the black Armani jacket. He turns and walks to me, stalking like a jaguar, then hands me one of the filled crystal cut glasses.

“Put it down, Mia,” he orders, and my body almost obeys.

“I should be getting back,” I say weakly.

Connor tosses back the gold liquid and puts both glasses down on the table beside us. Then he undoes his bow tie and begins to undo his shirt.

Oh God.

I may have seen him shirtless already tonight, but in the dim mood lights of his spacious penthouse, the view of Manhattan in the background, a fire flickering along the wall nearby, I suddenly feel completely out of my depth.

I mean, how strong does a girl have to be to say no to this man?

Strong.

Really damn strong.

Connor drops his shirt and tie onto the sofa, taking his jacket from me and tossing it on top of them.

Fuck.

My core throbs harder, and I think Sienna might be right about ovaries exploding around this man.

He takes a step closer.

“Say no and you can walk out the door right now,” Connor says, and I know I should, but instead I stay right there, staring at his beautiful face. “If you are still here in thirty seconds, I’m going to touch you. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to own your orgasms and your screams.”

Oh, shit.

My mouth goes dry.

“Do you understand?”

I nod, and my body begins to tremble.

“Twenty seconds.”

Leave.

Go.

Walk away.

But I’m still standing here, and all the reasons why I shouldn’t have vanished into thin air. My only focus is his luscious brown eyes and the way they’re already fucking me.

Mentally.

Like he owns me.

“Ten seconds,” his voice a soft growl.

I open my mouth.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Mia?” Connor asks.

His hand lifts, and a finger nudges some loose hair from my face.

Yes.

Moisture pools in my panties, and I’m so ready to do this. A primal need draws me to him. Our mouths are so close we’re sharing oxygen.

“Say yes,” he says.

I can’t breathe, so I begin to nod, but there’s no need. He can see my answer.

“One second.”

I swallow.

Then Connor slams his mouth down on mine, and I almost cry out in relief. Instead, he yanks me up against his enormous body, and I’m surrounded by power and his masculine essence.

I grip his enormous biceps as our tongues tangle greedily, desperate to take as much as we can of one another, and pray this is the most amazing night of my life.

It has to be worth it.

Then in a growl, Connor lifts me, my legs wrap around him, and he carries me up a set of stairs. He keeps kissing me, running his hand over my hair, and then pulls it out of the hair tie.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” Connor says, placing me on the floor of what I assume is his bedroom.

The quick glimpse I get is of a room filled with black furniture, an enormous bed, and black silk linens. One wall is floor-to-ceiling glass with a view of the Manhattan skyline.

It suits him.

He removes my top. Goddamn, I wish I’d put on my nice lingerie, but event management is not for the fainthearted. Comfort is a priority. How could I foresee that instead of working, I’d be going home with one of the richest and most gorgeous men in America?

It most definitely wasn’t on my task list.

So, nude T-shirt bra and bikini bottoms it is as Connor unzips my skirt and fanny pack, which I’d put back on when we exited the car.

Both go flying across the room.

He pulls me back against him, lapping at my mouth and gripping my hair, tugging it back. It hurts a little, but I like it.

He groans.

“I’ll give you all the pleasure you could dream of, but you need to do as I say.” Connor’s fingers slide along the line of my panties.

I’m not surprised he’s dominant in the bedroom, so I don’t argue. Honestly, he can do as he pleases. I’m ready for all the pleasure he wants to deliver.

Bring it on.

Especially since we will only have this one night.

I’m going to savor every damn second.

“Much as I want to taste you and thrust my cock inside you right now, we need to talk business,” Connor says.

I’m sorry, what?

I still, panic slamming into me.

Does Connor know who I am?

It’s one thing worrying my father will replace out I’m here, having sex with the billionaire, but the real danger always lurking in my world is far greater. As the daughter of one of the most powerful mobsters in the world, I’m valuable.

Hence my identity being kept as suppressed as it has been for most of my life.

I’m an asset. A very valuable asset.

Who knows what my father would pay if someone were to kidnap me? This fear has been drummed into me since my birth, and it comes flooding to the surface in a rush, nearly paralyzing me.

I draw in a long breath and shove at Connor’s chest. Then take a few steps away. “What?” I ask again, my heart pounding.

He stares at me like I’ve lost my marbles.

“Woah, relax, Mia,” Connor says, running a hand over his jaw. “I just need you to sign a document. A contract. It asks you to keep what happens here confidential. I know you couldn’t understand the complexities of my—”

“What?” I repeat, shaking my head again.

Contract?

He wants me to sign a contract?

Connor walks to the cabinet by the door and lifts the printed sheets of paper.

So, he’s not kidnapping me?

My brain cells start firing again, my shoulders relaxing, but my heart is taking a lot longer to get the message that I’m safe.

“You can’t talk to the media. You cannot discuss anything you see or do here with anyone.” Connor waves the paper in the air. “And you cannot make any claim against me financially. Blah, blah.”

Thank God.

Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, and I remember I didn’t eat lunch—or dinner—and I thought I was going to get kidnapped…

My legs start to give way under me, and Connor destroys the space between us. He catches me.

I feel like an idiot, but when you grow up in a mob family and are told every day people want to capture, torture, or kill you, different situations are triggering.

In hindsight, Connor is the most unlikely person in the world to do that, and yet, as my brain went straight into fight or flight mode, I wasn’t able to rationalize.

For those few seconds, fear raced through my body, like molten steel.

His chocolate eyes stare down at me in concern, but I also sense his judgement.

Great. It’s not like I can explain any of that.

I just killed the most seductive and sexy night of my life.