King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (14 page)

“Yes!
God, yes, don’t stop.” I pant, and immediately he’s moving urgently, regaining
the passion of the interrupted moment.

I
meet him thrust for thrust, using the headboard behind my bound hands as
leverage while he drives into my body with the power of a man possessed.

“Hey
. . .” He slows his pace and gently kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“What
the hell for?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.

“Caveman
. . .” he says sheepishly, and I raise my bound hands over his head and around
his neck to pull him into a deep kiss. I feel him swell inside of me, and he
breaks away.

“I
can’t control myself with you. I want to seduce you all fucking night, but . .
.”

I
sense him searching for the right words.

“I
need to see you, King, please.” The blindfold has been intensely erotic, but
this is a moment teeming with emotion and I want to read what’s in his eyes.
The blindfold is pushed up. I squint from the light and see King devouring me
with his hungry eyes, fighting for control. His tenderness gradually falls
away, the primal need to conquer builds, and I can’t hold on. My lack of
experience is blatantly obvious when I give no warning. Arching my back in a
fit of emotion and physical pleasure, I explode around King. Every thrust of
his cock brings on another electric spasm, and the fleeting thought that I
might die of euphoria steamrolls through my brain when another wave hits me and
I cry out King’s name. My eyes roll back into their sockets as King claims my
second orgasm. His roar bounces around the room, his cock is pulsing inside of
me, my walls clench around him, and my
life
as I know
it changes forever.

This
isn’t average or normal. Nothing about what has been happening between us for
the past thirty-six hours is ordinary or everyday. This is big, off the charts
powerful, a full speed ahead, epic forever kind of thing. Even at the tender
age of nineteen, I realize it. I just hope King does too.

He
rolls us over, forgetting that my hands are bound as he closes his eyes and
flops back, tossing his arms out to the side. I lay my head on his heaving
chest, and with my arms above my head, I play with his silky hair.

“Let
me get that for you,” he says, reaching up to release my wrists and massaging
the circulation back into my arms.

“Better?”

“Yes,
much.”

King
wraps his arms around me, squeezing so tightly I can hardly breathe. When he
loosens his hold, his chest rises and falls with a deep sigh. Reversing roles
for the first time, I ask him if
he’s
okay.

Chapter Ten

King

Am
I okay? Fucking no, I’m not okay. This creature,
who
is plastered to my skin with honey, has me tied up in knots and feeling things
I’ve never felt before. It’s intense and frustrating, I’m a player, a
self-proclaimed asshole. I don’t do love, but it sure as hell seems to be doing
a number on me.

I’ve
slept with hundreds of women—classy, trashy, addicts, mothers,
daughters—and not one of them has felt so familiar in my hands. Holland
is like a long lost ship returning to port after a dark, catastrophic storm. My
life has been one long string of tragic, shitty circumstances. Sure, I’ve been
given every material thing anyone could ever desire, but the need to be loved
runs bone deep. Holland just smashed through a lifetime of pain and neglect,
and she’s about to be flooded with more adoration than she’s ever known.

Lifting
my head off the pillow, I nuzzle her nose with mine and gently kiss her full,
swollen lips.

“I’m
fine, baby, better than fine. I’m fucking fantabulous,” I say with a wink.

The
shit I’m feeling for her is insane—intense, fervent even—but I
don’t want to scare her. She’s such an odd combination of delicate and strong
that I’m not sure how much of me she can handle. She strutted right into my
existence and made herself at home, capturing my heart and practically turning
me into her slave. I’ll never admit it, though. Ever. Holland could very well
be my future, but I’m not sure she’s safe in my world. I need to make some very
serious life changes if I pursue this woman. Some of the people I deal with use
love as leverage. I love someone, and they automatically become a
target—a weakness, a vulnerability that I can’t afford.

“Ready
for a bath?” I ask and watch the honey ooze between our bodies when she rises
to straddle me.

“Um,
yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever been this . . .”

“Sticky,
happy, satisfied?” I ask.

She
giggles, and another link of the chain holding me securely to my anchor is
loosened. I am such a fucking goner.

“All
of the above,” she says, shaking her wrists fruitlessly. Nothing short of a
good scrubbing will get the sticky goo off of her skin. I sit up and grab her
ass to pull her closer while I work us toward the end of the bed. Standing,
still connected, I’m already getting hard inside of her while I walk us across
the hall for a bath. She clings to me and crosses her ankles tightly, digging her
heels into my ass. I could press her up against any wall nearby and fuck her
again right now. If she were any other woman I would, but Holland isn’t a cheap
hot dog at a ball game that you wolf down without tasting just to curb your
appetite. She’s a delicacy to be savored, nourishing a man for a lifetime.

“Hold
on a second.” Regretfully, I peel her from my chest and slide out to help her
stand beside the tub as I grab my robe from a hook on the wall. “Put this on,
and I’ll turn up the heat and run some water.” She has her arms wrapped around
her waist, so I help her on with the robe. Her skin is sticky so it’s
difficult, but when it’s wrapped tight around her, I start the water and cross
the large, royal bathroom to turn up the thermostat.

I
always shower immediately after a workout, and I keep it chilly in here to help
my body cool off quickly. It also keeps me alert—something that’s been
deeply ingrained in my mind since birth. “Be aware of your surroundings, son.”
“Always look over your shoulder, King.” “Never let your guard down.” My
father’s words are always on repeat, but I’m weary of being alert. I want to
fucking relax and enjoy someone’s company. I want to have a normal life where I
can wake up in the morning, roll over, and see my beautiful wife. I want to
listen to my kids messing around in the kitchen, trying to fix breakfast, while
the dog barks at the fucking mailman.
    

My
life is so dark that it’s almost impossible to consider settling down, but with
Holland, anything seems possible. She is exactly the thing I’ve been searching
for to lead me into the light.

Chapter Eleven

Holland

King
just waltzes around his ridiculously royal bathroom—naked, with a huge
hard on—like he’s at the grocery store shopping for milk. I wonder if all
men are so comfortable in their own skin? No way, most men don’t hold a candle
to King’s physique. I watch as he leans across the black stone island to turn
on the water in his gold bathtub. The tile under my feet begins to warm me, and
the heat from the steamy water rises from the tub. I can’t wait to get in and
wash all of the tacky stickiness off of my skin. After a few minutes of fussing
with bath salts, lighting candles, and piling huge towels on one corner of the
tub, he saunters up behind me to help me peel off his robe.

“Sorry,
it’s kind of a mess now.”

“It’s
fine. I don’t use it much anyway. I’m hot blooded.”

“I’ve
noticed.”

“Come
on, I’ll help you.” King takes my hand tightly and leads me to the tub. The
swooping gold railings go unused as he has a death grip on one of my hands, and
his other hand is firmly on my waist while he guides me up the steps.

“You’re
squeezing my hand,” I gently complain, and he loosens his grip . . . but not
much.

“I
don’t want you to fall. It’s slippery up here.”

And
he’s right. It is very slippery, but I’m safe in his hands.

“I
trust you,” I say. King steps down into the water, never releasing my hand, and
turns to help me in. He stares, drinking me in until a shiver runs through my
body, snapping him from his trance, and he helps me into the hot water.

“You’re
cold. Let me warm you up,” he says as we sink down until only our heads are
above the surface. His hands slide up and down my arms, working the honey and
cream from my skin. King’s tub is more the size of a hotel hot tub than a
private bath. It’s deep enough that we can kneel facing each other and be
completely under the water.

“What
are you thinking?”

 
“I was thinking about how this is so . .
.”

“Overwhelming.”
He ends my thought, and I watch as his face clouds with concern. His arms
circle my waist, and he turns me away so my back is to his front.

“That’s
the second time you’ve said that I overwhelm you, Holland. I don’t want to. I
don’t mean to, but like I’ve told you repeatedly, you’re irresistible. I find
myself doing things I’d never do, things I’ve never done . . . things I’ll
never do with anyone else. Let me tell you a little secret, and I apologize
ahead of time for being overwhelming.”

He
presses his lips to my ear, and I shiver when I feel his warm breath on my damp
skin.

“I
don’t care about people in general. I told you, I’m a loner.” He pauses to nip
at my ear.

“But
I care about you. A lot.” He kisses the area he previously identified as
spot number one
just behind my ear,
making every hair on my body stand on end.

 
“I can see myself with you.” He stills,
waiting for my reaction. A soft gasp escapes from my lips, and it’s just enough
to allow him to relax around me.

“You,
Holland, are a very special woman. You’re ethereal, unique, beautiful, and your
talent—Lord help the world, your talent is prodigious. I’ve never been so
moved listening to a musician play. Today you blew me away, and that’s not an
easy thing to do.”

He
has a unique way of making me feel like so much more than I believe I am.
Playing the violin is just a part of me, like my toes or my hair. I’ve never
done anything to deserve my talent. It’s just always been there. If anyone
deserves credit for where I am today, it’s my parents for pushing me to be the
best musician I could be.
My parents . . . shit.
I was
supposed to let my mama know I was spending the night at Savannah’s. I’ve been
so distracted, I forgot to call or text her. She’ll be going across the street
to look for me at Savannah’s house herself if I don’t do something fast.

“What’s
wrong, Holland?” King turns me in his arms so I’m facing him again. I naturally
slide my legs around his waist and feel his thickness against my core.

The
lines between right and wrong are so blurry that I can’t figure out what to do
in the simplest, most obvious situations anymore. Get out of the tub and call
your mama—easy, right? Not when King is involved. He’s every temptation
I’ve never had to resist balled up into one seriously complex experience.

“Every
muscle in your body just locked up,” he says, holding my face in his hands.
Staring into my eyes, he searches for the cause of my sudden stress.

I
stammer and scramble for a good excuse to get out of this tub and make a phone
call, but I’ve got nothing.

“Um,
I just remembered I was supposed to do something . . . important.”

His
brows lift, and his eyes dart back and forth between mine with concern.

“Well
what is it?”

Two
deep frown lines form between his eyes. What am I supposed to say? What on
earth could be important enough to distract me from a moment like this? With no
better ideas, I go with the truth . . . well, sort of the truth.

“I
need my phone.
I was supposed to make a phone call . . .”
Lame, lame, lame.
We’re sitting in a luxurious, sensual bath on a
Saturday night at ten o’clock. Who the hell would I be calling? His face is a
mixture of concern and suspicion, but I’m surprised when the little frown
between his eyes relaxes. He moves to position me on the seat behind him, and
without a word, he effortlessly lifts himself out of the water on the opposite
end, away from the stairs. I watch the water sluice down his chiseled, muscular
backside, leaving a trail behind him as he confidently strolls out of the
bathroom—without a towel—to find my phone.

Chapter Twelve

King

I
can’t imagine what the fuck could possibly be so important that it interrupts a
moment like the one we were just having. I’m about to find out, though. I’ll
bring her the phone, but I’m not leaving when she makes the call. Women don’t
think of phone calls when they’re naked in my arms—at least, I never
thought they did until now. Certainly no one has ever admitted to it, anyway.
It’s kind of an ego crusher that I didn’t have Holland’s complete attention.

“Sir?”
Sebastián’s voice comes from the door of my bedroom, where I’m just about to
rummage through Holland’s purse for her phone.

“Sebastián,
what the fuck are you doing here?” I turn, and he averts his eyes when he
answers me.

“You
couldn’t be reached by phone, and there is a serious situation going on in
Miami,” he says, staring at the floor. I don’t know why he feels the need to
look away. This is hardly the most compromising position he’s found me in.
Sebastián has been with me for . . . well, for as long as I can remember. He
knows more about me than anyone on earth.

“Sebastián,
do I look like I give a fuck about what’s happening in Miami? Handle it
already,” I bark, but he holds his ground, looking me directly in the eyes.

“I
can’t handle this one. Multiple deaths require the club owner's presence. The
police want to speak directly to you.”

Fuck.
That’s all I need, cops running around my club, investigating multiple murders.

“What
the hell happened, and how many people are dead?” I ask, dropping Holland’s
purse onto the bed and heading to my closet to dry off and get dressed.

“Six.
Two women and four
men,
all gunned down in the VIP
club.”

Now
that information stops me in my tracks. VIPs killed in my Miami club . . . that
is extremely bad for business in so many ways. I can’t even fathom the
repercussions.

 
I grab the closest thing within my reach,
which happens to be one of two stupid crystal letter K bookends that Crystal
gave to me for my birthday. I hurl it across the room. Sebastián ducks when it
shatters into a million pieces against the wall next to him. He knows it’s not
personal. He’s dealt with my temper for years.

“I’ll
have the jet ready for you in fifteen minutes,” he says calmly, as if I hadn’t
just lost my shit. I grunt something inaudible and enter my closet to dress.
The fucking universe is screwing with me tonight. I just wanted to spend an
evening with Holland, and instead, I’ve had interruption after fucking
interruption.

I
drag my fingers through my wet hair and make my way back to the bathroom when
I’m dressed to tell Holland I have to abandon her. Fucking gang bangers
probably shot up my club, and now I have to fly to Florida to deal with cops.
This is absolutely the last thing I want to be doing right now.

 
I open the door see my beauty patiently
waiting exactly where I left her just a few minutes ago. My cock twitches and
my chest aches when her innocent, gentle eyes connect with mine. Just one step
inside the bathroom, and I have to grip the doorknob, drop my chin to my chest,
and take a deep breath.

“King?”
she says, her voice laced with concern. Great. She must have heard the glass
breaking.

“I’m
really sorry, Holland, but there’s an emergency at my club in Miami. It’s very
serious, and I have to handle it personally. I’d like you to stay until I get
back, though, if you will.” She fidgets on the seat of the tub before nodding
in agreement. I expected some sort of negative reaction—a few sarcastic
words, or at least a question or two—but she says nothing. Crystal would
have given me the third degree, demanding to know what exactly happened and
where I was going to stay in Miami. Not Holland, though. She doesn’t show any
signs of annoyance. In fact, I could swear she looks a little relieved, and
that makes me uncomfortable.

“So
you’ll stay?” I want her to stay, but something tells me she’s not going to be
here when I get back.

“How
long will you be gone?” she asks.

 
“No more than twenty-four hours,” I say.
She shifts her eyes to the left a fraction and back. I knew it . . . she’s
leaving. If it were anything other than a murderer, I’d pack her up and take
her with me, but this could be dangerous. No matter what she says to me now, I
know she won’t be here when I come home.

“I
have practice tomorrow, but we could get together later when you get home,” she
says, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. I round the tub
and reach over the edge to rub her shoulders and softly bite her earlobe.

“I’ll
be counting the minutes, sweet Holland.” I breathe into her ear and feel her
smile against my lips. That’s better.

“I
can have Sebastián give you a ride home tonight if you want, but I like the
idea of you sleeping in my bed.”

“I’ll
stay tonight then.”

“Mmm,
good. I’ll text you. Keep your phone close and let me know if you change your
mind.” She nods and I slide my hand across her delicate neck to her chin and
guide her mouth to mine. Sliding my tongue between her lips, I kiss her, no
holds barred. I want her to think of me and nothing else while I’m gone. I
already know that’s unlikely, but I do my best to make it as memorable as
possible anyway.

A
knock at the door quickly switches my boiling blood from desire to anger.
Fucking Sebastián is trying to rush me, dammit, and just when Holland has
relaxed. The arms that were protectively clutching her knees are now roaming
around my neck, her fingers threading through my hair, and when I open my eyes,
the sight of her perfect breasts bobbing just above the water has me thinking
homicidal thoughts regarding Sebastián.

“You
should go,” she says, breathless and flushed.

“I
don’t fucking want to.” I growl and slide my hands down her chest and over her
slick breasts, and I cover her mouth with mine again. My God, she has
jurisdiction over me. My business is my life, and a terrible tragedy is going
down in one of my establishments, and all I can think about is peeling off my
clothes and climbing back into the water with Holland to worship her. The knock
comes again, firmer and more insistent this time, and I seriously consider
opening the door and slamming Sebastián’s head in it to make him stop.

“Maybe
you should answer that,” she says with her lips brushing against mine, eyes
closed, still gripping my hair.

“Yeah,
I have to go,” I say, sighing deeply, and I untangle her fingers from my hair.
Like pulling off a bandage, I step away quickly and start for the door. I’ll
never get out of here if I don’t just get on with it.

“I’ll
see you when I get home tomorrow,” I say without turning around. I pull open
the door roughly, just enough to slip out. I know Sebastián wouldn’t be trying
to sneak a peek at Holland, but I’m not risking an accidental sighting.

I
shoot my short, fifty-year-old, muscular head of security a death glare, but he
doesn’t look away. Sebastián is more than a little aware that he is the
levelheaded one in this situation, and with that knowledge, he stands his
ground.

“I’m
fucking coming, Sebastián,” I hiss.

“Yes,
sir. I see that,” he snaps back. The only man on earth who will stand up to me
quickly turns on his heel, heading down the hall, carrying my overnight bag
like we’ve just had a casual, friendly exchange. After a few frustrating,
pissed off seconds of standing alone in the hall, I roll my eyes and follow him
down to the parking garage.