King of Masters by Brynn Ford
CHAPTER 4
Murphy
STELLA.
Latin for star.
She certainly shines brighter than most girls I’ve met. There’s a little something extra to her that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I certainly hope to put my finger on it tonight. She caught my attention before I even heard her speak, which is quite unusual for me. Few people in my life have managed to catch my attention.
Fiona caught my attention a decade ago, but I was wrong about who she would grow to be.
Perhaps my judgment is off…
Or perhaps my judgment is better now than it was before.
Something in my gut twists at the thought of Stella and it’s a little unsettling. It makes me feel uneasy in a way, but hopeful at the same time. Hopeful is a feeling I haven’t had since I was a child.
I feel childlike now in the way she grabbed hold of me so easily, wrung me out until I was dripping with curiosity. She’s beautiful, but what really caught me was the fire blazing behind her eyes—the intensity was bright through an interaction as simple as a polite introduction.
She has some fight in her.
I could sense it immediately.
Declan tosses Cormac down on the black leather seat of a booth he talked someone out of near the back of the club. It will never cease to amaze me the way that Declan can charm just about everyone he comes into contact with. He’s a people pleaser, a coping mechanism he developed to deal with the worst parts of our family business. I think on some level he thinks he can make up for our crimes against humanity by being polite and charming to everyone we don’t seek to exploit.
He’s very naïve, but I don’t want him to change. If he changed, he wouldn’t be Declan, and Declan provides a necessary balance to our cruel reality.
I slide into the curved booth, big enough to seat five or six people, and tug my phone from my pocket. I do an internet search for the tattoo shop next door.
“You think those girls are gonna join us?” Declan grins at me across the table.
“I don’t know.”
“You liked that girl with the dark hair. Stella, was it?”
I lift my eyes from the screen and glare at him. “She was interesting.”
“You hardly spoke to each other. How do you know she’s interesting?”
“It’s a feeling.”
“Aye, a feeling. Are you going in for the shift when she comes by?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You need a good ride, mate. Blow off some steam. I’m worried about you.”
“What are you worried about, then?”
Cormac leans back, stretching his long arms across the back of the booth. “Your mind is always on the job.” His speech is slow and slurred, but he’s fully cognizant. “Have a little fun, will you? I’m getting married soon. It’s the last time the three of us will be single all at the same time.”
I snort. “Declan will be single forever unless he wants to pretend he’s straight and play house with a woman.”
Declan’s cheeks drop out of his constant smile, and I feel a pang in my chest for saying it. “You know what? Fuck you. I was fixing to be your wingman tonight. You’re on your own now.”
Declan’s sexual preference is a bit of a sore spot. I assume Boyd and Bridget know—the rest of us do—but their expectations of us have always been quite clear. The O’Shea sons will marry women and have children to carry on the O’Shea name, whether they want to or not.
I sigh. When Declan gets upset, it bothers me on a molecular level. He has always been my baby brother and there’s not an ounce of me that can think of him any other way. It’s one thing for him to be pissed off about something, but if he’s pissed off because of something I said, it’s on me to fix it. I scoot out of the seat and tuck my phone into my back pocket mid-search.
“You need a drink. I’ll head to the bar. What are you having?”
“Round of shots!” Cormac shouts, his voice overly enthusiastic in comparison to the unenthusiastic way his body slumps against the back of the seat. He’s going to have some regrets in the morning.
I shake my head and walk toward the front of the club, heading for the bar. Halfway there, some lass puts her hand on my arm and squeezes, halting me mid-stride. My heart beats double as my eyes fall on her hand and follow her arm up, hoping to see a certain face with bronze skin and dark brown eyes. But I’m disappointed to find that the face belongs to some trashy girl with dark roots and bleached blond hair trying to take something from me that I have no interest in giving.
Instantly, I find myself appraising her value as an asset, but I don’t think she’d be worth enough to bother with. She’s rail thin, hardly any curves to speak of, and she looks like she’d be a screamer. There’s a market for that, of course, but it’s small. Our buyers want weak, submissive, quiet women, not girls who’ll blast their eardrums every time they play.
I snatch the girl’s bony wrist in my hand and spin to face her, tugging her in close. She gasps, her lips parting in surprise as I lean in to speak directly against her ear. “Girls like you should be careful. You have no worth to men like me. I’d sell you in a heartbeat for a nicer car, you worthless piece of trash.”
I pull back to smile and toss her hand away just as her eyes pop wide. She stumbles backward a step before turning sharply on her heel and pushing her way through the dancing crowd. I’ve forgotten about her by the time I make my way to the bar and order drinks for the table.
I pull out my phone, leaning my elbows on the bar top, and resume my search of Stella’s shop next door. It’s impressive that it belongs to her. The women in my life generally don’t work, let alone run a business of their own, so it’s easy to recognize that she’s not like any of the women who surround me on a daily basis. I reason that must be why I find her interesting.
I find the Artists section on her website and scroll through the page until I find a picture of her. It’s not a professional picture, which should put me off.
It’s actually kind of trashy, but I actually kind of love it.
Her eyes are closed, her mouth is open, and her tongue is out as she holds up her hand with her middle and ring finger down, flashing the universal “rock and roll” hand sign.
I want to spit on her fucking tongue.
“Are you Googling me?”
I turn my head over my shoulder and find her standing behind me, looking at me with a smirk that triggers my own.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, my God. You stalker. You were totally Googling me.” She laughs and I like how it sounds. It’s not a forced, flirtatious giggle; no, it’s a real laugh from a real woman.
Unashamed, I click off the screen and put my phone back in my pocket as I turn toward her. She slides up to the bar beside me, leaning on one elbow.
“Hi,” she says with a tilt of her head.
“Hello, Stella.”
She swallows visibly and licks her lips.
It’s the accent.
“You remembered my name.”
“Of course, I did.”
“I’m impressed.”
I raise a brow. “Is that all it takes to impress you?”
“Honestly, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than that, but my history with terrible men has set my standards pretty low.”
“Why have you spent so much time with terrible men?”
She shrugs a shoulder, and the movement draws my eyes to her slender neck and her smooth, warm-beige skin. “There are more terrible men than good men, so the odds are against me.”
If only she knew…
“I can’t argue that point.”
“Cora,” she points behind us, “found your brothers. But, uh, I found you, here, so…” she trails off.
A smile spreads across my face. “I’m glad you found me, Stella.”
Her cheeks flush red with a hint of heat.
The bartender slides over a tray of shots and I lift it. “Ladies first,” I tell her and wait for her to move.
She strolls away toward the dance floor, heading across in the direction of our booth at the back, and I watch the way her hips sway. It’s not intentional. She’s not trying overtly to pull my attention straight for her arse, but it’s happening all the same.
Stella is a natural beauty, a woman who doesn’t have to try, and she’s all the more appealing to me that she doesn’t. She has curves that could kill, flesh to grab hold of, to grip tightly and dig my fingers into.
I set the tray on the table and wait for Stella to slide in next to Cora before sitting beside her, trapping her in the booth.
“That’s what I told Stell,” Cora nudges her with an elbow as she speaks to Declan—Cormac is between them, reaching for another drink, “but she has a way of scaring men off. And she doesn’t believe she’s fuckable.”
Stella looks at her, stunned. “What the fuck?” But Cora just shrugs with a smile and my brother laughs.
Declan looks at me, leaning on his elbows against the tabletop. “We were just discussing how overworked and pent-up you are. Apparently, Stella has the same issue. It’s the general consensus of the table that you two,” he indicates me and Stella sitting side by side with his finger, “should spend some time alone.” He grins mischievously at me before throwing back a shot.
If anyone else said that to me—even Cormac—they’d be nursing a black eye. Declan gets a free pass. I don’t know when that free pass expires, if it ever does, but I think he’s determined to find out.
“Wow.” Stella’s eyes widen and she reaches for a glass from the tray. “I guess I’d better loosen up a little since the table has decided my fate for me. Fuck.” She tosses back the shot like a champ.
She doesn’t know that every man at this table has a say in her fate, whether she likes it or not. She has no idea what power we wield and how deep our commitment to the family and the business runs.
If I wanted to take her tonight and send her to one of our factories to be processed as a human asset, I could. If I wanted to force her back to my hotel room, use her, and then leave her behind, I could. If I wanted to slit her throat and dump her body in the dark alley behind the club, I could. No judge in the world would convict me because our family is above the goddamn law.
I don’t feel an urge to do any of those things, and for that, she’s lucky. Her blue-haired friend is, too. I’m more interested in the challenge Stella poses. It’s all telling in her eyes. Her spirit is filled with passion, determination, hard-headedness, and bravery. That much was easy to figure out, but the motivations behind those traits are a mystery to me. The mystery has me drawn to her in a way that makes my pulse quicken.
I look at her and wait until her captivating dark-brown eyes meet mine. “If anyone chooses your fate tonight, lass, it’ll be me, not them.” I look at her plump lips, at the deep dimple in the center of her upper lip that defines their perfect shape.
She doesn’t try to hide her flirtatious smile. “So then tell me…” She leans in close. “What’s my fate tonight?”
The corner of my lips quirk up as I stare her down, wondering if the intensity and assuredness of my gaze will outlast hers, wondering if she’ll back down and look away before I do.
Several beats pass.
“I need another drink.” While I hear Cora, I hold Stella’s eyes to keep her attention on me. “You guys buying?”
“Aye,” Declan says. “Come on, Cormac, let’s go buy the lady a drink.”
“Spot on. I need another one, too,” Cormac slurs.
I search Stella’s expression for a tell as they all scoot out of the booth, but I can’t find one in her scrutinizing gaze. All I find is absolution—the stare of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
“I’m still waiting for your answer,” she says.
“My answer?”
She turns her body toward mine, puts her elbow up on the table, and tilts her cheek against her fist as she grins at me. “What’s my fate tonight? Actually, I should be asking what you wish my fate were tonight, because God knows I don’t let any man choose for me.”
“Oh, lass, you have no idea who you’re dealing with here.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Enlighten you?” I reach out, slipping two fingers into her black hair and brushing them down the small section peeking out from behind her ear that’s dyed a bright, unnatural red.
She lifts her head from her hand. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch a woman without her permission?”
I push her hair back over her shoulder and lean in close to whisper against her ear. “I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission.”
I move back again so I can look at her and her jaw twitches as she forces her lips to curl down. She’s displeased, but she’s still fighting a smile.
I lean back casually and lift my eyebrows at her as I smirk. “Are you offended?”
Her brown eyes flash down to my chest, then back to my eyes. “I haven’t made up my mind about you yet.”
“Let me help you sort it out, then. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking you might be a bit of a narcissist.”
“Spot on.” I grin. “What else?”
Her thick eyebrows furrow toward her nose. “Well, there goes that theory. A narcissist would never admit to being a narcissist.”
“How would you know?”
“Trust. I’ve wasted enough time with them to know.”
“Bad ex-boyfriends?”
“Quite a few of them.”
“Hmm. So I hear you’re not used to being taken care of.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“And what if I wanted to take care of you for the night?” I rub my hand over my beard as I watch her chest sharply rise and fall heavily.
“I guess it depends on what you mean by take care of...”
I turn and come in close enough for my beard to scratch her cheek, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. Her spine straightens, but she doesn’t pull away. “What do you want it to mean, lass? Tell me.”
The woman radiates heat, like fire burns beneath her skin. Maybe that blaze is what pulls me in, like a moth to a flame. Except there is no way for her to burn me.
She turns her cheek toward mine, as if she wants to feel me there, and shrugs her shoulder a little as I lean into her. “That almost sounds like asking for permission.”
I reach around behind her and press my palm to her back, then drag her in a little closer. “If I were, what would you let me do to you?”
This conversation wouldn’t be necessary if she were my slave…not to say it’s exactly necessary now. I can take what I want when I want it, though I suppose that’s exactly what repels me from Fiona. I’m supposed to use her, abuse her, take what I want without asking, without regret. But the lack of challenge bores me.
It bores me and it bothers me on a fundamental level when my fucking humanity slithers its way back into my heart. I have to snatch the slimy creature, yank it free, and toss it away…or else it sinks its teeth into me and injects poisonous guilt into my veins.
There’s no room for guilt in the heart of an O’Shea.
But this, with Stella…this little back and forth with her…this is fun. It’s like playing a game.
What can I convince her to let me do to her?
How satisfying will it be to get her to give up control?
What will her face look like when I make her come?
“Just one night,” she whispers next to my ear and my stomach clenches. “I’m not looking for a relationship. And you’re only here for the night. I probably won’t see you again.” My shoulders tense. “So I won’t have anything to be ashamed of when you leave, right?”
Her hand lands on my thigh and my muscles twitch at the overt confidence. I’m not sure whether I like it. I need to take back control and make her think she gave it to me.
I grab her wrist and toss her hand back onto her lap. She gasps and pulls back to look at me. I slip my hand up to grasp the back of her neck and forcefully slam my lips against hers. There’s a moment where she pauses in surprise, but then there she goes again, trying to lead us.
No, lass, no.
I splay my hand over the back of her head and hold her firmly in place as I open my mouth, slip my tongue between her lips, and devour her. She tugs backward once, twice, and then she stills. She sighs, whimpering into my mouth as she gives in and lets me taste her.
She tastes like a woman, a goddamn warrior. Kissing her makes me feel something and it’s fucking good. I want to possess her, though not as a slave.
But then, as what?
Her hands slide up my chest, spreading her blaze over my body with the trail of her touch. My breath quivers as I inhale, the touch of her igniting something feral inside me.
What is this feeling?
I stay close when I break our lips apart. “We’re leaving. You’re coming with me to my hotel. You can walk beside me or behind me or I can carry you out of here kicking and screaming over my shoulder, but one way or another, I’m gonna find out what your pretty little cunt tastes like.”
She pulls back with a snap, her lips parting with shock and her eyebrows slanting inward in horror. I wonder which part of what I said horrified her. I flash her a true smile because the look on her face shoots straight through me and makes my cock twitch.
She shoves against my chest to push me back and it only makes me want her more. I hold true to the back of her head and pull her in for another kiss. She tries to shove me, but she abruptly stops when I deepen the kiss, sweeping my tongue so deep inside her that she doesn’t know how to respond. Her fingers curl over the fabric of my shirt, trying to find something to hold on to.
I drag myself away with a snap and slide out of the booth unceremoniously. I grab my lapels and straighten them with a quick lift before smoothing down my blazer, then I grab my overcoat from the seat. I look at her and cock an eyebrow, enjoying the flush of red around her kiss-swollen lips.
What will she do?
How will this end?
She licks her lips, then slides out and stands in front of me. Without any shame, she steps in close, slaps her hand over my cock and looks up at me with sin in her deep, dark eyes.
“Don’t say cunt. I find it offensive.”
“Oh, I’ll have you saying cunt before the end of the night. I’ll make you beg me to taste your sweet, swollen cunt before we’re through.”
Her half-smile returns, twitching at her cheek. “I’d like to see you try.”
I take a step forward, pushing her a step back. “Am I dragging you out of here or what?”
Her eyes flicker, sizing me up. “I have two feet and I’ll walk my own damn self wherever the fuck I wanna go. And I’m not walking beside you or behind you. I’m walking in front of you. Because I’m the one making the rules here.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I’m no fucking princess. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into with this bitch.” She points to herself.
I look at her sideways. “Does this bitch need a shorter leash, perhaps?”
“Wow. Wow.” She chuckles and spins away, walking a few steps before spinning around to face me again. “This bitch fucking leads.” She claps her hands at me like a dog. “Come on, boy, come fetch your bitch.” She widens her stance, crosses her arms over her chest, and scowls at me.
Fuck, I have to hide my smile.
She waits.
She hasn’t left yet.
She’s enjoying this as much as I am.
I hold up a finger and twirl it. “Start walking then, bitch. Lead the way.”
I smirk and her expression instantly mirrors mine, filled with hate and humor all at once. She gives me a quick once over and humor wins, playing at her cheeks. She turns and starts walking.
I like her…I like her a hell of a lot more than I expected.
She has heat. I can imagine it’s too hot for most men she meets, but she’s never met anyone quite like me. I like the way her fire burns, the way it fuels me with flames that lick hot across my skin.
She needs a man who doesn’t back down when faced with her heat. She needs a man who can put her in her place. She needs a man who can effectively reward her submission when she finally breaks.
She needs me.