The storm raged on outside the bulletproof windows of Blackwood Manor, but inside the master suite's cavernous marble bathroom, the air was thick, heavy, and sweltering.
We were both soaked to the bone. The rainwater dripped from my tactical clothes, pooling on the heated black marble floor.
I reached up to unclip the damp holster from my thigh, but a large, warm hand wrapped around my wrist, stopping me.
Darius stood right behind me. He had taken off his ruined trench coat, leaving him in a wet, clinging dress shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The scent of rain, gunpowder, and his intoxicating natural musk filled my senses.
"Let me," Darius murmured, his voice a dark, gravelly whisper that sent a sudden shiver down my spine.
He slowly sank to one knee in front of me.
To see the undisputed Mafia King of the city—the man who had just crushed an assassin's throat with one hand—kneeling at my feet was a sight that would have made any other woman lose her mind.
His long, calloused fingers brushed against the bare skin of my thigh as he deftly unbuckled the leather holster. His touch burned right through the chill of the rainwater. He took the holster and set it on the marble counter, but he didn't stand up immediately.
Instead, he looked up at me, his dark eyes glowing with a raw, ravenous hunger.
"You were magnificent tonight, Elara," Darius said, his voice reverent. "When you told that cartel rat that the Living Yama was no longer hiding... I have never wanted a woman more in my entire life."
My breath hitched slightly, but I maintained my cool, authoritative composure.
"Stand up, Darius," I commanded softly. "You exerted too much force lifting that man at the pier. I need to check your chest to make sure you didn't tear my sutures."
Darius obeyed, rising slowly to his full height of 6'3", towering over me. But he didn't step back. He stepped closer, backing me up until my spine pressed against the edge of the marble sink.
"Check them, then," he challenged, his gaze dropping to my lips.
My hands, which had been perfectly steady while throwing scalpels into human flesh, trembled just a fraction as I reached out and began unbuttoning his wet shirt. I pushed the fabric aside, exposing his heavily tattooed chest and the stark white bandage covering his heart.
I carefully peeled back the tape. The wound was slightly red from the exertion, but the stitches had held perfectly.
"You're lucky," I whispered, my fingertips lightly brushing the edge of the wound. "No internal bleeding."
"I am lucky," Darius agreed, but he wasn't talking about the bullet wound.
Before I could pull my hand away, he captured it, pressing my palm flat directly over his wildly beating heart. The rhythm was fast, violent, and completely out of control.
"Do you feel that, Living Yama?" Darius stepped completely into my space, trapping me between his arms. "I don't fear the cartel. I don't fear death. But the thought of you standing in front of those rifles tonight... it almost made my heart stop."
I looked up into his obsessive, blazing eyes. "I had it under control. I don't need a savior, Darius."
"I know," he breathed out, lowering his head until our noses were almost touching. "That's exactly why I'm completely addicted to you. You're not a damsel. You're a queen. My queen."
The tension that had been building since the moment he first pinned me against the Rolls-Royce finally snapped.
Darius didn't ask for permission. His large hand tangled in my damp hair, tilting my head back as his lips crashed down onto mine.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was demanding, possessive, and bruising—a clash of two apex predators. He tasted like expensive scotch and the intoxicating thrill of danger. A gasp escaped my throat, which he immediately swallowed, his tongue parting my lips and invading my mouth with ruthless authority.
For three years, I had lived a muted, boring life, suppressing the fire inside me for a man who didn't even appreciate my warmth. But with Darius, it was an inferno.
My hands acted on their own, sliding up his wet chest and gripping his broad shoulders, pulling him even closer. I kissed him back with equal ferocity, letting him know that I was just as dangerous as he was.
When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily, our chests heaving together.
Darius rested his forehead against mine, his thumb gently swiping across my swollen lower lip.
"The world is going to burn for what the Vipera Cartel tried to do to you today," Darius whispered, his voice a lethal promise. "But tonight... tonight, Elara, you belong to no one but me."