The Darkest King: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Dark Kings of NYC Book 1)
Chapter 8

Bang.

“Oh, shit,” a voice says.

My eyes fly open. Jesus, I can’t believe I fell asleep with Mia in my bed. In my penthouse.

No one sleeps at my home. Ever.

I’m clear with the women I entertain—pleasure—they need to leave after we’re finished. I don’t want to mislead any of them, and I certainly don’t want them here with the nightmares I’m prone to from time to time. Showing weakness and vulnerability is not smart and just leads to questions.

Except there were no nightmares, and there was no dreaming. We just collapsed and fell asleep. Not surprising, given how hard I fucked her.

Mia has the single most delicious pussy I’ve ever slid my cock inside. Plus, those damn icy blue eyes of hers kept making me harder as they pleaded for more.

I’ve never wanted to kidnap a woman so much in my life, fly her to an island, and spend a week just fucking her.

I do with Mia.

I won’t, but it would be a fucking incredible week.

Lifting my head, I see she’s already half dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, doing up that god-awful fanny pack.

It’s not dawn yet, but it’s close.

Mia turns her head when the sheets rustle.

“Sorry, everything fell out.” She slides her phone back inside and zips it up. “Oh, crap.” She disappears onto the floor and stands up with a lip gloss in her hand, holding it up and adding it inside as she smiles.

It’s nearly comical.

She’s way too alert for me. I’m still groggy. I rub my hand over my hair and then my face, fighting the desire to pull her back in bed.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She has a magic pussy, that’s what.

I climb out and pull on some boxer briefs, then grab my phone and begin to message Benson. Though I hate doing this to him at this ungodly hour, I want to make sure Mia gets home safely.

Wherever home is.

Mia spots what I’m doing. “No need. Uber is on the way.”

I lift my eyes. “Don’t even think about it. My driver will take you home.”

She lets out a little laugh, and I arch a brow.

I step closer to her. I need to know she got home safe. She’s spent the evening here with me—this is my responsibility.

“Cancel the Uber,” I say, and she pats me on the pec.

What the fuck?

I’m a big man. Over six foot three, four in shoes. My body is solid muscle. Not as much as when I was an active marine, but pretty goddamn close. I intimidate men, and women either melt or stutter around me.

Mia is unfazed.

“Thank you for last night, Connor. I’ve got it from here.” Then she tiptoes up and plants her lips on mine.

I’ve got it from here. Is this girl for real?

Without looking, I toss my phone on the bed and pull her body against mine. I deepen the kiss because I need one last taste of her.

But if she thinks I’m letting her walk out the door to fend for herself in Manhattan at four in the morning, she’s mistaken.

I release her as her heels drop back on the floor.

“Either let my driver take you, or I’m getting in the Uber with you.” I won’t. I’ll pay the guy the tip of his life, and he can fuck off.

Mia lets out a little sigh.

“Connor, I’ve lived in New York all my life. Trust me when I say I’m safe.”

I feel like I’m missing something.

Also, no.

I walk to my wardrobe and pull on a pair of gray sweats and a Harvard University sweatshirt. Then slip into a pair of Nikes.

When I return, Mia is gone, but she won’t go far. The elevator in this penthouse works on a metric system. Without my eyeball, she isn’t leaving. When she comes marching back into the bedroom with her arms crossed, I hide my smirk.

She’s figured it out.

“Okay, well, this is kidnapping,” she snaps.

I laugh.

“I’m trying to get you home safely, not keep you. That’s the opposite of kidnapping.” I walk to her and cup her face. She keeps her arms down by her side, and I nearly laugh again.

Mia is very sexy when she’s angry.

“Look, let me be a gentleman and make sure you get home. I don’t want Donna mad at me.”

Couldn’t give a fuck about Donna.

Mia’s eyes fly wide.

“Shit. Your dry cleaning,” she cries, beginning to pull away.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I shake my head and growl. “Leave the damn dry cleaning. It was you I wanted.”

Her phone beeps.

Mia bites her bottom lip. “Please open the elevator. I don’t want my Uber rating to drop.”

After staring at her for a long moment, I throw back my head and laugh. I’ve laughed more times in the last twelve hours than I have in a month.

Then I scoop her up and walk through the penthouse, with her wriggling in my arms.

“Mia, you need to behave, or I will slap that ass of yours so hard you will come.”

When she goes still and silent, my cock hardens. Suddenly, I don’t want her to leave, yet she can’t stay. Regret fills me, and honestly, it’s confusing.

We take the elevator to the garage, where I put her back on her feet, and we both ignore the heat simmering between us once more. Silently, she walks beside me to the parked black Maserati. I rarely use it, but I figure Benson deserves some sleep, and I don’t trust her not to manipulate him.

Ten minutes later, I pull up outside her building and let the car idle. I turn to Mia. She’s been fidgeting her hands and muttering this isn’t good the entire drive.

When she faces me, she looks worried.

“Is it the dry cleaning?” I ask, frowning. “I can have my PA email Donna if you’re concerned.”

Maybe she regrets what we did, which I’m not going near with a barge pole. She can book a therapy session.

My cock is happy as Larry.

I’d like to have more of her, but that’s not how I work.

“No. But thank you,” Mia says, her eyes casting outside the car.

What is she looking for?

I glance around, my wrist resting on the steering wheel. I’m trained to spot danger, but there’s nothing outside she needs to be concerned with.

This woman is giving me whiplash.

Is she concerned about her safety or not? One minute, she’s trying to run out my door. Now, she looks worried there might be someone lurking in the shadows.

Fuck sakes.

I get out, circle the car, and replace her already on the fucking sidewalk. Jesus.

“Come on.” I put my hand in the small of her back and walk her to the entrance. It’s then I notice she lives in a fancy building. One that would cost far more than an events coordinator would earn.

A light goes off.

Mia still lives with her parents. Who clearly have money. Of course, she’s worried about what they will say when she arrives home in the early hours. I rub my mouth to cover my grin, then lean down, tug her against me for the last time, and press my lips to hers.

“You were fucking perfect, Mia.”

Big crystal eyes gaze back at me, blinking. “You too.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, then steps out of my arms and walks through the glass doors.

And out of my life. Or so I thought.