King of Fury: A Steamy Mafia/Billionaire Romance, page 1
CONTENTS
NOTE:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Also by Willow York
About Willow York
KING OF FURY
Vows of Blood, Book 2
Copyright © 2026 by Willow York
Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs
Editor Grace Bradley Editing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
NOTE:
Trigger Warning: This story includes scenes depicting sexual assault.
ONE
DALLEN
I see him before he sees me. The guy radiates hot, rough sex—exactly what I need tonight. I want to forget who I am and the overly involved family I come from. At twenty-eight, I’m more than ready to make my own choices, and tonight I’m making a big one.
One that I’ve never made before.
Would he go for it if I talked to him? I shivered at the idea of boldness. At work, I’m confident, capable, and sharp—but in a nightclub, squeezed into a tight dress and too much makeup (though my bestie claimed it looked natural), I feel lost and anxious.
Damn it, I can’t do it.
Yes, you can, Dallen!
I squirm and sip my vodka and orange. It’s not trendy, but I like it—nothing too strong, tastes like juice. I need Dutch courage. I’m usually cautious, maybe thanks to my upbringing, but tonight will be different.
I could do this. I could.
A bass pulse thuds through the floor beneath my heels, the kind of beat that makes the whole room vibrate in waves.
“What about him?” I grab hold of my best friend Amy’s arm and nod toward where the god stands beside the dance floor, his eyes skimming the nightclub like a bouncer, not so much a patron. He looks so out of place, like his attire alone says businessman, and yet I’m pretty sure I see a few tattoos poking out of his white, unbuttoned shirt and on his hands. When he shifts, and the light catches his chest.
I sigh, wanting him more than I should. I’m probably setting myself up for disappointment. He may be here with someone—his girlfriend, or boyfriend, or both. Who the fuck knows? But I won’t let the unknowns get me down. Since I still don’t know, that means I have a chance.
And I want him to be my first. It’s high time I lose my V-card, and he looks like he knows what to do with a woman.
“Oh fuck yes, he’s hot. Damn,” Amy whines, pulling herself up on the stool beside me. “I’m depressed now that you saw him first. He’s so fucking hot.” She gasps and clasps my arm. “Unless you want to share him?”
I laugh and push Amy off. “Not my vibe, but thanks. I’m flattered.” I glance back at the god, now talking to a brunette, hope fading. He laughs at something she says, and I stare—he’s so pretty.
Pretty and mysterious at the same time.
“Looks like he’s taken.”
“Yeah.” I turn away, looking for the bartender. I need a stronger drink. Even if I hate liquor, I need a hit after that blow.
Amy chuckles and wraps her arm about my shoulder. “Cheer up, there will be others. We have to get you to lose your virginity tonight if it’s the last thing we do. While I think the guy was hot as fuck and probably knew how to make a woman come just by looking at her, he may have been a little advanced in the sexual department than what we want for you tonight…if you know what I mean.”
“You mean you think I should be able to walk normally tomorrow, and that guy’s undoubtedly large, capable cock wouldn’t allow that.”
A coughing sound to my side makes me aware our conversation—even in the thrumming, loud music of the nightclub—isn’t as private as I’d hoped. I turn and feel the blood run from my body. In fact, I’m pretty sure I die in my chair.
The god of a man that had been chatting up the pretty brunette is beside me, his wicked, amused smirk sending my heart into overdrive. I thought he was fucking hot from half a room away, but now, up close—damn it all to fucking Hades—this guy is gorgeous.
And tattooed, just as I thought. My eyes dip to his strong jaw, his wicked mouth that’s grinning at me. He does have tatts on his chest, but I can’t make out what they’re about; they’re dark and not colored. He’s tanned, dark-haired, looks like he’s stepped off the Mediterranean beach, and yet here he is in a nightclub in New York.
Next to me.
Smirking.
“Hey.”
Holy shit, he’s talking to me. I force myself to stay calm, resisting the urge to freeze like a deer in headlights. I manage a hesitant smile, feeling exposed standing next to him now that he’s heard. “I guess you heard what I said.”
He chuckles. The sound is deep, cultured, and—holy shit—Amy has joked about getting wet over guys. I’ve always thought she was on crack. But here I am, eating humble pie. My panties are wet—all thanks to one guy in this club, now speaking to me.
“The part about the large cock making tomorrow tough?” He smiles like before, and I fight not to swoon. “Yeah, I heard. I hope that doesn’t happen—unless you meant me. Then I’m open to negotiations.”
WHATTTTTTTT.
I hear Amy squeal into her drink behind me, but thankfully she doesn’t interrupt. For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve never had a guy I’ve wanted in my bed hint at joining me there as well.
“What about your girlfriend?”
He looks puzzled before he leans on one elbow, studying me. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“But I saw you talking to a woman just before.”
“That’s my brother’s fiancée. She’s not mine.”
She’s not mine?
Wow, was that how he spoke about the women he dated? Like they were his property—something for him to protect? To own. To lay claim to. Shit, that was hot, and not something I thought I’d be into, but…here we are.
“What would our negotiations consist of if we were to discuss that particular partnership later tonight?” I say.
He rubs his jaw, as if weighing my reckless proposal. He can’t be. I can feel my pulse hammering at the thought of being so bold—so unlike myself. But tonight I’ve sworn I’m done haunting the city as the lonely, desperate twenty-eight-year-old virgin.
I want to lose my V-card. I need to live and explore. This guy seems like the perfect place to start.
Somewhere behind us, glassware clinks sharply at the bar, noise slicing through the music like a reminder of how real this moment suddenly is.
Near the dance floor, colored lights flicker over the crowd, casting brief flashes across his face that make his expression look even more dangerous and unreadable.
“What do you want me to do?” he says, and I’m dead.
Again.
TWO
STEPHEN
How can I refuse a lady’s offer? I stare down at the pretty little redhead—Pumpkin, I decide to call her. Even in the middle of July, she looks like a woman who suits fall.
I bet she wears those ridiculous sweaters with Rudolph on the front.
Although tonight her little black dress doesn’t look wholesome at all. It looks like a little piece of cloth I’d like to remove with my teeth. And after hearing her conversation with her friend, that possibility might just be the perfect way to top off what’s already a good night.
Especially with my brother’s marriage to Briar.
I gesture to the barman, who, of course, works for Moretti Global, since this nightclub is part of our real estate portfolio, among the many others we own in the city.
Not that this woman seems to know who I am, which is perfect for me. I don’t like women chasing me because of what I can offer them—money, power—even if that power has a dirty little history we’d all like to forget.
The low amber lights above the bar cast a warm glow across the counter, catching the shine of bottles and glassware.
“Another beer?” the barman asks.
“Yeah, thanks.” He slides my drink across the bar before going off to serve others. “So,” I say, turning toward Pumpkin. “About this dilemma of yours. Who is the guy you think won’t allow you to walk tomorrow? Consider me intrigued.”
She goes bright red, her eyes wide and clea r as they look up at me. Green— the greenest eyes—reminding me of Ireland, a place close to my heart, simply because it isn’t the craziness and busyness of this city. Which I also love, but my cottage in County Cork does keep me sane whenever I need to get away.
She bites her lip, and I can see she’s hesitating. The weight behind that trepidation makes me even more curious. Maybe it’s me she’s been ogling and hoping to be the one to fuck her. I’d be more than willing to make her walk tomorrow a little less comfortable.
“Actually, it’s you.”
I raise my brows, surprised she would out herself right away. I thought she would play it a little less forward and tell me it’s someone else. The idea of her fucking any other rando in the club makes my lip curl, and I take a sip of beer to remind myself this woman is a stranger. Not someone I know or care for. I sure as fuck shouldn’t give two shits whom she fucks.
“You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk? Are we clear on the rules?”
It’s her turn to choke on her drink, which looks like pop. “Is that vodka and orange? I think your drink stepped out of the nineties.”
A smile breaks over her plump lips, and I grind my teeth, unable now to not think about what they would look like wrapped around my cock. After all, she’s brought up the conversation regarding sex. It’s no wonder my mind has well and truly landed in the gutter.
“I like vodka and orange. I’m not a big drinker.”
I nod and wait for her to answer my first question. When she doesn’t, I ask again. “So, about us fucking. You in?”
Her attention dips to my chest, and like a physical caress, moves up my body. I see her eyes narrow on my tats, on my shoulders, before she raises her pretty face to mine. She’s interested and eager—I can see it in her features—but will she act on those emotions?
I lean down, clasp her about her nape, and wrench her against me. She slams into me, her breasts pressing hard against my chest, making my cock hard. I dip my head, give her a chance to pull away, to protest, before I kiss the fuck out of those sweet lips that I’ve been wanting against mine for the past ten minutes.
She doesn’t push me away.
Perfect. My cue.
She tastes like vodka and morning juice—sour, and yet I know she’ll be sweet. Our tongues tangle, and I hear her moan, her body molding to my every muscle. I reach down and clasp her ass, lift her against my cock, and kiss her deep while I grind her against me. She relents, goes limp, her fingers tangling into my hair, fisting my locks and pinning me against her.
I’m not going anywhere—unless it’s in a car where I can get her alone and fuck the shit out of this Pumpkin.
I pull back and move away, picking up my beer—anything but to reach for her again and lift her onto the bar and eat her sweet pussy in front of everyone. I know she’s wet for me; I can almost smell her desire, and it’s a fragrance close to my heart.
Somewhere behind us, the DJ shifts tracks, the beat dropping heavier and making the crowd erupt in cheers.
She stares at me, a little confused, and I grin, taking a deep swig of my drink. “You okay, Pumpkin? You seem a little dazed, but since you were hesitating, I thought a kiss might help you make up your mind a little quicker. I’m eager to start if you are.”
“I’m Dallen.”
I chuckle, having not asked her name, and yet I can’t help it. In her confusion, she thinks I may want to know. Of course I do, but it isn’t essential information. I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Dallen. I’m Stephen.”
“Okay, great.” She reaches for her drink and downs it with one swallow. “Now that we’re introduced, let’s fuck.”
THREE
DALLEN
What am I doing? I wave goodbye to Amy, who salutes me with her glass of wine, before I take Stephen’s hand and start toward where I think the exit is to this nightclub. I haven’t been here much in the past, not being much of a party girl.
Case in point, why I’m still carrying around my V-card. Even so, I think I’m going in the right direction and hope the little gumption the alcohol has given me lasts until I fuck the man who’s holding my hand and making me feel all kinds of tingly.
I don’t know how I managed to score a guy who looks devastatingly fucking hot and built who seems more than willing to do what I want for my first, but I have, and now I have to go through with it.
No, you don’t, Dallen. You can leave whenever you want.
I know that’s true, but I so want to experience what I feel like I’ve been missing out on. A connection with another person that I’ve not been able to take part in, mostly due to my parents—my father in particular—and his possessiveness over everything in my life. Understandable after the death of my brother Daniel due to getting caught in the crossfire of a gang killing he’d been assigned to that went wrong.
I push the thought of my brother away. I can’t be sad tonight. Tonight I’m a little tipsy, and I’m going to use that bolster to my confidence to fuck the shit out of this hot dude who seems willing to scratch the itch I have.
A cool draft from the hallway brushes over my bare legs as we near the doors, the change in temperature snapping my senses awake. I debate my decision all the way to the nightclub doors. Fuck the shit out of him? Who am I kidding? This is probably going to hurt, and I’ll end up regretting my life choices in the morning. But at least I won’t die a virgin and will have ticked off another one of life’s gifts that I promised myself I would do before turning twenty-nine.
Stephen steps out in front of me just as I’m about to hail a cab and gestures up the street. A car’s lights turn on before the black vehicle pulls up to the nightclub. Stephen reaches for the door and opens it for me.
“You have a car?” I ask.
“I have lots of things.” He grins and gestures for me to get in.
I look into the vehicle. It seems clean enough, and the driver is an elderly man who looks over his shoulder and gives me a friendly smile. I smile back, wondering how many other women Stephen has brought into this very vehicle over the years.
Probably more than he could count on his hands.
“Are you going to get in, or are we not going to fuck as you asked me?”
I feel the heat kiss my cheeks, and I gape at Stephen. Did he truly just say that out loud? Loud enough for the driver to hear and anyone standing close enough to us on the street? I hear someone behind us clear his throat, and I turn to see the bouncer trying to hide a grin.
I purse my lips. So he heard. I lift my chin, not willing to let him know I’m hoping the earth will open up and swallow me whole right about now. “Of course. I was just ensuring the car was clean, which it is, so that’s fine.” I inwardly groan at my absurd excuse for hesitating and climb into the back of the car, shuffling to the other side before the creak of leather tells me that Stephen has followed. “64th St, Lenox Hill, please,” I advise the driver.
The door shuts, and the interior light turns off. I swallow as the sound of the city is muted, and all I’m left with is the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I can feel Stephen’s heat beside me, his strength, and his scent, Oud of Gods if I’m not incorrect, smells delicious.
Outside the window, neon signs streak into colored blurs, giving the whole moment a dreamlike edge. The car pulls easily out into traffic, and for several heartbeats, I think he won’t say anything. Shouldn’t we talk some more? Get to know each other?
The feel of his hand slipping onto my leg startles me at first, but in for a penny, in for a pound—I don’t remove his hand. Instead, I pretend to be someone I’m not. I turn to look at him and fight not to sigh in pleasure when I find him watching me with an intensity that leaves the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.
He’s so intense, so goddamn good-looking I ache at the very sight of him. His hand squeezes my thigh and slips closer toward where my panties are. Boldly, I open my legs. How I have the ovaries to do such a thing, I have no idea. This isn’t me. I don’t do these kinds of things. I’m a good girl. I do as I’m told and what I’m asked, and that’s the end of my life.
But here and now, tonight, I don’t want to be a good girl. I want this man to make me a woman. I want to feel what it’s like to be taken, to be owned by a man.
