Kiss Me (Kiss of Death Book 2)

by LP Lovell

  I’m starting to get a headache, so I lie down on the bed while I wait. I must have fallen asleep, because I startle awake when someone touches my shoulder. Nero dodges my reflexive strike aimed at his throat.

  “Don’t do that!” I say.

  He laughs and takes a step away from the bed. “Ah, Morte, I’ve missed you. Sleeping is so…restful without you.”

  I sit up and drag a hand through my hair. “What time is it?”

  “Late.”

  I guess I’m not getting that phone. He strips out of his suit jacket and throws it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. His fingers move over the buttons of his shirt. I can’t help but follow their trail, watching as the material slowly parts, giving way to tanned skin over hard muscle. When I lift my gaze to his, he only stares back at me, his dark eyes sparking with something dangerously hypnotic. Forcing myself to get up, I move away from him. I open the door to the en-suite, and before I’ve even taken a step inside, his hands are on my hips. My body goes rigid for a second, years of engrained conditioning kicking in and demanding that I react before I slowly relax. It’s his touch. Nero, my addictive and lethal exception.

  He steps into me, pressing his chest against my back. His lips brush over my shoulder and I tilt my neck to the side as hot breaths blow across my skin, his fingers digging into my hips. I feel his hard cock pushing against my lower back. I turn around and step away from him. He cocks a brow and braces his forearms on either side of the door frame as he watches me back away. He’s topless, and every muscle flexes in a show of power. Tattoos wind down his arms, the ink work wrapping around his limbs like snakes. In his suit, you could almost mistake Nero for something sophisticated, civilised, but it’s here, when he’s like this that he can’t hide. Everything about him is honed and lethal, created for the sole purpose of destruction. I’ve always glimpsed beneath Nero’s veneer, but the closer I get, the more I see. Right now, he’s like the devil taking his true form.

  He shifts, taking a step towards me. My stomach clenches and heat prickles over my skin as he stalks forward, crowding me against the vanity unit. “Don’t run from me, Morte.” His voice is deep and rough as it works over my senses.

  “I’m not running.”

  He reaches me and wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me onto the vanity. His broad body presses between my legs until I’m consumed by him, surrounded in every way. His finger presses beneath my chin, lifting it until I’m forced to look at him. “You’re always running.” He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, pressing it just inside my mouth. I nip at the pad of his thumb. His eyes swirl, darkness creeping in. That one look is enough to make me shiver and my pulse race. It’s the promise of something explosive, but I never know which way he’ll go. He could fuck me, or he could choke me. He’s a thrill ride of the most unpredictable nature.

  “Not from you,” I whisper. It’s a truth and a lie wrapped in one. I want to run from Nero because I want to run to him and that terrifies me.

  “Lies,” he says. “How far would you have gone if I hadn’t caught you?” The air crackles with electricity and his anger is almost palpable.

  I glare at him and shove him in the chest. He doesn’t budge. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” A slow smile pulls at his lips, ice cold and calculated. My heart thrums in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins, and I can’t help but smile back at him. He’s like my own personal high. A shot of adrenalin straight to my soul, reminding me of what it is to be alive, to be human. I grab his jaw and lean forward, brushing my lips over his. “I don’t run from you,” I say, biting his bottom lip, waiting the entire time for him to lash out. Honestly, I want it. I live for it.

  He scoops my hair away from my neck, trailing his fingers over my skin so lightly that I shiver. “No. Me, you fight.”

  “You make me violent.”

  His fingers wind into my hair and he wrenches my head to the side, brushing his lips over my jaw. “You make me want to hunt down all who would hurt you and bleed them dry.” His voice is low and deep and it makes everything in me rise up to greet him.

  His teeth graze the side of my throat and my pulse hammers in response. “You can’t kill everyone, Nero.” He wraps his arm around my back, pinning me, imprisoning me against his hard body, and I want him. I want him to fight me and dominate me. He brings his face back to mine and our eyes lock for a moment, promises of death and retribution swirling between us, drawing us together and binding us in bloodlust.

  “Fucking watch me,” he says as though it were his solemn vow, and I want to believe that it’s within his power, within our power. His grip on my hair tightens and then his lips crash over mine. I moan as that sweet battle rages between us, the sound of his deep growl like the crashing of steel blades to my ears. His rough stubble scratches at my skin and he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth. Prying his belt open, I slide my hand beneath the elastic of his boxers, wrapping my hand around him. A low breath hisses through his teeth and his body coils tight like a snake waiting to deal a death blow. I work over him, watching him wind tighter and tighter with each stoke. Suddenly, his hand slams around my throat, shoving me backward until I’m braced on my elbows, my head pressed against the mirror at an awkward angle. He grabs my face, his fingers sinking into my skin brutally as he smashes my cheek into the glass. My breaths are nothing more than rapid pants as he leans in, bringing his lips close to my ear. “You are fucking mine, Morte,” he says, touching his forehead to the side of my face and trailing his free hand up the inside of my parted thigh. When he brushes over me, a low whimper leaves my lips. I crave this, his touch, his rage, his utter possession.

  He pushes two fingers inside me and I clench my teeth. “Look at me,” he groans, his hot breath washing over the side of my face. I turn to face him and he uses his hold on my throat to pull me upright again. Our eyes lock as he fucks me with his hand, and I feel so exposed to him, so raw. I both love and hate it. He makes me willingly vulnerable, and I’m so desperately weak for him, yet unbreakably strong.

  His hand leaves me and he steps away, stripping out of his remaining clothes. I’m still panting and my body is humming with need when he moves back between my legs. He grips my ass and lifts me, slamming his mouth over mine once more. There’s movement and he slides the shower door open before I feel a wall hit my back and the spray of water bouncing over my skin. I gasp as the icy cold liquid soaks through the shirt I’m wearing, making it stick to my skin. Dropping his head, he sucks my nipple through the material, and then, he thrusts into me so hard and fast that all the air leaves my body. I feel both invaded and complete. He’s branding me, claiming me all over again. Nero and I will never trust each other completely because we know what we’re capable of. We are two predators circling each other with a mutual respect. But I want him, and isn’t this the most primal of instincts? A simple factor bred into the DNA of every living creature…to be attracted to the strongest of the species. I am the strong, and Nero is the only one who has ever matched me. I want him because I respect and fear him, and that combination is intoxicating. This is attraction and want and need on such a basic ingrained level—it’s undeniable.

  He places hungry, open-mouthed kisses on the side of my neck, lapping at the water as it streams down my body. I break for him, surrendering and shattering apart as I cling to his broad shoulders. He throws his head back. Every muscle strains against his skin as he thrusts into me and stiffens. “Fuck!” His fingers bite into my thighs hard enough that I feel the dull sting of his short nails against my skin. His eyes lock with mine, and the silence between us is permeated only by our heavy breaths and the water hammering over tile. “Don’t run from me.” There’s an edge to the way he says it, spoken like an order, but the expression on his face is something I’ve never seen on him before, desperation.

  “I’m not running,” I say as I cup his face and lean in, brushing my lips over his. The kiss feels foreign, the gentleness of it jolting me. It’s as though we�
�re standing on a precipice. The predators stopping and staring at each other for a moment and wondering if perhaps there is more in this world than the thrill of the kill. I tentatively brush my tongue over his bottom lip and he pushes forward, deepening the kiss.

  He eventually pulls back, his eyes locking with mine. “You will run, Una. I know you that well.”

  I allow my fingers to trail over his warm skin, dropping my eyes to his lips in the hope that he won’t see the truth in them. I’ve never had a problem keeping my cards close to my chest where my thoughts and feelings are concerned, but Nero sees through me like glass. He’s right. It won’t be long before I have to run, and I almost feel bad about that because as much as Nero scares me—as ruthless and unforgiving as he is—I actually believe him when he says he would protect me. When he tells me I’m his, I almost want to be. I crave that sense of belonging I have when I’m with him like this, when nothing outside of us exists. But when we step out of this shower, my enemies will still be there. I know without a doubt that Nero is the biggest monster I’ve ever come across, and I’ve met some despicable people in my time. There are no lengths he will not go to in the pursuit of what he wants. Add into that an unrivalled intellect and the ability to strategize and manipulate those around him, and Nero is formidable. Yes, he could protect me. He makes me feel safe, but safety is only ever an illusion. The feeling of safety is in and of itself a weakness because it makes you sloppy. If I weren’t having his child then it would be the simplest thing in the world to allow myself to want him, to stand shoulder to shoulder with him against all who would harm us. But I am, and I can’t explain how this driving need to protect my baby overrides everything else. Nero, me, it doesn’t matter anymore.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and tilt my chin up, pressing my lips to his. He fists my hair, sending a sting of pain over my scalp that makes me hiss. Smiling against my mouth, he bites down on my bottom lip hard enough that I taste blood. His tongue swipes over the wound and he groans. “I’d almost forgotten how sweet you taste,” he breathes against my lips. “So violent.”

  He slowly lowers me to my feet, his fingers slipping over my skin. His hand traces over my breast, before brushing down my stomach. He stills there, closing his eyes as he touches his forehead to mine. I can barely breathe, barely move as he spreads his fingers wide, almost covering the bump. And then, just like that, he steps back and drops his hand.

  “I don’t like your hair like this,” he says a few seconds later, picking up a lock of hair.

  “Needs must when you’re blending in,” I say acerbically.

  He smirks. “I prefer it when you stand out.”

  “So you can see me coming?”

  “That…” He shrugs. “And so our enemies see you for what you really are; extraordinary.” My stomach clenches at his words. “Dangerous.” His fingertips trail my collarbone. “Viscous.” Drifting lower, he skims the top of my breast. “And mine,” he says, his deep voice drawing the word out. I can’t help but take solace in his words. I have never belonged, never had anyone to rely on but me. And even though I know that’s wise—I know that relying on anyone but yourself is stupid – I can’t help but want the sense of peace that he gave me a taste of before I ran. Even in the midst of chaos, he showed me a glimpse of something that I hadn’t experienced since I was thirteen years old. He had my back, and I want that. It’s sad, the fairy tale lusting of a girl who has never known anything but death. My head tells me he makes me weak, and my heart wants to lie in his arms for just a little while and rest from the never-ending vortex of death and war that seems to orbit around me.

  He places a finger under my chin, pulling my gaze to his. “I will protect you,” he vows, almost angrily. “Both of you.” I swear he can read my mind sometimes and it bothers me because I should be unreadable.

  “I’m tired,” I say, dismissing him. I can’t think about this right now, and I certainly don’t want to make promises to him that I know I’ll break. He nods and turns the shower off before wrapping a towel around me. “Don’t make me hurt you,” I say, scowling at him.

  He laughs and I get out of the shower, snagging his toothbrush from the vanity. I raise an eyebrow at him in the mirror, daring him to say anything. He simply smiles and shakes his head, and the second I’m done, he takes it from me, making a slow show of putting it in his mouth. I roll my eyes and leave the bathroom, changing into one of his shirts before crawling into bed. A few minutes later he turns the lights off and climbs in, snaking an arm around my body and pulling me back against him. “Just so you know, if you slit my throat in my sleep, there are guards outside the door and window,” he rumbles against the back of my neck.

  I glare into the darkness. “I have no weapons.”

  Warm breath caresses the strands of my hair. “You’re inventive.”

  8

  Nero

  I wake up in the morning and stretch my arm out looking for Una. The bed is still warm, but she’s gone. I get up and check the bathroom, but she’s not there. I yank on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and open the bedroom door. Louis is crouched down in front of Frank who’s slumped against the wall, clutching a broken nose. Blood pours down his chin, spilling down the front of his white shirt.

  “Where is she?” I sigh.

  Louis flinches when he meets my gaze. “She said she was going to the kitchen.”

  I swipe my hand over my face and head down the stairs in search of her. The second I step into the hallway, Zeus greets me. George is nowhere to be seen which means he’s with Una. I go to the kitchen, but she’s not there. I search nearly every room before realising she might be in the other kitchen at the back of the house. Opening the door, I push aside the plastic dust sheets hanging on the other side. Footprints, accompanied by paw prints, mark the fine layer of dust coating the floor. I round the corner and find Una sitting on the kitchen island with George at her feet staring up at her. She’s clutching a mug in her hand and taking marshmallows from a bag beside her. She pops one in her mouth before offering one to George, completely unbothered by the total destruction surrounding her. The exterior wall is halfway through being re-bricked, and the plastic sheeting covers the gaping hole that leads outside.

  “Admiring your handy work?” I say, folding my arms over my chest.

  She glances at me briefly before turning her attention back to George. “If I’d known it was going to be your house I might have blown more of it up.” Her lips pull up at the corner as she strokes George’s head. “Or mounted Arnie’s head on the front gate.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s not structurally sound.” She ignores me and I push away from the wall, approaching her. I glance inside her mug and see hot chocolate, marshmallows swimming in the brown liquid. “Marshmallows for breakfast?” I say and she shrugs. “And there was me thinking you liked blood in the mornings.” I wrap my fingers around her wrist, halting her hand halfway to her mouth. I bring her hand closer and wrap my lips around her fingers, stealing the sugary little lump. Her eyes darken and narrow as she tries to glare at me. “Did you really have to break Louis’ nose?” I ask.

  “If you want me to stay here, then you should probably warn your men what will happen if they touch me. He’s lucky it was just his nose,” she snaps. I love that she can’t tolerate anyone else’s touch but mine. “Now, I let you off yesterday, but now I want to know where the fuck my sister is.” Her expression morphs into something hard and aggressive.

  “I told you, she’s safe.”

  “Where? Because I don’t see her, and all your best men are here with you, so how can she possibly be safe?”

  “Nicholai knows about her.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “Says who?” I hesitate and watch her jaw tighten in aggravation.

  “It doesn’t matter…”

  “No, if you know anything about Nicholai, that means you have someone on the inside. Who is it?” She glares at me for long moments. “Who?” she shouts.

  “Sasha,”
I say. She presses her hand against my chest and pushes me out of the way, hopping down off the counter. I watch as she paces backwards and forwards a few times. “You went behind my back.”My temper spikes, manifesting itself with cold efficiency.

  “You weren’t exactly around and he came to me.”

  She stops and drops to a crouch the way she does when she needs to think. “Where is Anna?” she asks quietly.

  “Mexico.”

  She slowly lifts her head, her gaze locking on mine. “You left her with the fucking cartel?”

  “She’s with Rafael. She’s safe.”

  She laughs humourlessly and tilts her head back to the ceiling. Her eyes drift closed and she takes a deep breath. “It’s the fucking cartel. They aren’t like your precious Italians. They don’t have ethics or a code. They’d sell their own mother for more power. If Nicholai knows about her, she is not safe.”

  “Even Nicholai won’t go to war with the cartel.”

  “People can be bought, Nero. And Nicholai will pay any price, because if he gets her, he knows he has me.”

  “No.” I step forward and pull her to her feet. “No, he does not have you. And if he gets Anna, he still won’t have you.”