MY AFFAIR WITH A DEADLY SOLDIER

4

PHOEBE POV

My heart slammed straight into my throat. Panic hit me like a cold bucket of water.

I ripped my hands out from under the shirt and scrambled backward, and sprinted out of his room.

"Don't even think about running, little bird," his deep voice echoed from the shower.

I didn't listen. I panicked and sprinted across his bedroom, my bare feet practically flying down the hallway.

I burst into the guest room, slammed the heavy door shut, and turned the lock with a sharp click.

I leaned my back against the hard wood, breathing heavily like I had just run a marathon. My heart was beating so fast I could barely catch my breath.

What is wrong with you, Phoebe?!

I raised my hand and lightly slapped my own cheek. Then I slapped it again.

"Are you completely crazy?" I whispered angrily to myself, rubbing my warm face. "You were kidnapped! You watched a man commit murder tonight, and you were just touching yourself while watching him shower?! Are you insane?!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, pure shame washing over me in heavy waves. How was I ever going to face him tomorrow? I couldn't stay locked in this room forever.

I paced back and forth, trying to practice a speech in my head.

"I was just hungry... and I got lost... and the door was open..."

I stopped pacing and groaned. It sounded so ridiculous. He saw me staring straight at him. He knew what I was doing. There was no lie that was going to fix this.

Overwhelmed with embarrassment, I threw myself onto the massive bed, face-down into the pillows. I rolled back and forth, kicking my legs as my cheeks burned red hot against the dark sheets. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

But as the shame slowly settled, the embarrassment didn't wipe away the memory.

It was burned into my mind. Every single detail. The broad width of his shoulders, the water tracing down his cut abs, and the heavy length of his c**k hanging between his muscular thighs.

A sudden, sharp heat coiled tight deep in my lower belly.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling. My breath hitched.

Without even thinking, my fingers slipped back under his big t-shirt, brushing over my bare breast and pinching my hard n****e. A soft gasp escaped my lips into the quiet room.

I arched my back against the mattress, letting out a soft moan.

Every touch on my hard n****e sent a hot spark straight between my legs. The shame was still there, but the urge was way stronger.

I couldn't get the image of him out of my head—the water running down his cut abs, his broad shoulders, and the pure power coming off him.

My other hand slid lower, slipping past my shorts until my fingers touched my wet, aching skin.

"God," I whispered into the dark, my hips lifting off the bed.

I moved my fingers faster and faster, squeezing my eyes shut. In my mind, it wasn't my own hand touching me anymore. It was Kingsley. It was his rough, heavy hands holding me down, his hot mouth on my neck, taking what he wanted.

My breath completely hitched. My body tightened into a hard knot, and an intense wave of pleasure crashed through me. I squeezed the sheets tight, riding the sweet, shaking high until my body finally went soft against the bed.

I lay there for a long time, staring at the dark ceiling as my breathing slowly calmed down.

I pulled my hand out, completely exhausted. I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and finally let my heavy eyes close.

The next morning, bright sunlight hit my face through the huge glass windows.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I dragged myself out of bed. I limped over to the guest bathroom, feeling completely wiped out.

It wasn't until I stepped inside that reality hit me like a truck.

I looked down at the dry wetness stuck to my inner thighs. I smelled the dried scent on my skin, and I looked at my own fingers.

Everything from last night came rushing back into my head.

Watching him shower. Touching myself in the dark. Running away like a crazy b***h.

My face burned red hot, and my head started spinning fast.

Oh my god. Am I insane?!

And to make matters worse, I suddenly remembered what time it was.

I needed to be at the library in an hour.

Panic seized my chest. How the f**k was I supposed to walk out of this room, face a dangerous killer after what I did last night, and ask him to let me go to work?

I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were completely flushed, and my eyes were wide with pure terror.

My mind was a complete mess. I was supposed to be a quiet library archivist who kept her head down, paid off her dad's stupid gambling debts, and stayed out of trouble. Instead, I had spent the night trapped in the penthouse of the city's deadliest mafia boss—and touched myself thinking about his naked body after getting caught spying on him in the shower.

Get it together, Phoebe! I splashed cold water over my face, trying to scrub away the shame. Just wash up, act normal, and figure out how to get to work.

I quickly stripped off his massive t-shirt, took a fast shower, and washed away every trace of last night. But even under the warm water, my skin still felt like it was on fire.

Once I was clean, I pulled his big black t-shirt back on. I rolled up the long sleeves so my hands weren't swallowed by the fabric, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom.

I stood right in front of the locked guest room door, my hand hovering over the handle.

My heart was beating like a sledgehammer against my ribs. I had two massive problems:

First, I had to open this door, walk into the hallway, and look a dangerous, drop-dead gorgeous murderer in the eyes after acting like a complete freak last night.

Second, if I didn't open my library section by eight in the morning, my supervisor was going to write me up, cancel my shift, and leave me without a paycheck. And if I didn't get my paycheck, my father would drag me right back into his debt drama.

"Just act confused," I whispered to myself, resting my forehead against the cool wood of the door. "Preemptively blame it on sleepwalking. Pretend you were looking for water. Just don't look at his chest."

I took one last shaking breath, turned the lock, and slowly pulled the door open.

The hallway was quiet, but the rich scent of dark roast coffee and toasted bread was floating down the corridor from the kitchen.

I took three tiny steps out into the hall, keeping my back pressed close to the wall.

"Glad to see you're finally awake, little bird."

Kingsley's low, gravelly voice echoed from the end of the open-concept living space.

My whole body went completely stiff.

He was sitting at the massive kitchen island, completely dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, reading through a black tablet. A hot cup of black coffee sat right next to his hand. He looked impossibly polished, dangerous, and calm—like he hadn't spent the night running around his apartment half-naked.

He slowly set the tablet down and turned his eyes straight toward me. A small, dark smirk touched the corner of his lips as his gaze tracked down to my bare legs, then slowly rose back up to my red, burning face.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked softly, taking a slow sip from his mug.