King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (4 page)

“What?”

“Your
eyes . . . they’re haunting.”

Haunting
? I’ve been told my
eyes were a lot of things, but never haunting. They’re an interesting shade of
grey, which is odd for someone with a black daddy and a white mama, who both
have brown eyes. I’ve always thought they were a little big for my face, but
haunting? That’s new.

“Um,
okay. Is that a compliment?”

I
watch the lump in his throat waver when he swallows the entire glass of
champagne in one drink. When it’s gone, he nods.

“Yes,
most assuredly a compliment, Holland. What do you do?”

What
do I do? What do I do . . . shit, he means for a job or a career. I’m only
nineteen. I don’t have a career yet; I haven’t even been to college, but I sure
as hell can’t tell him that.

“I’m
a musician. I play the violin.” Not a lie at all. He never asked what I do to
earn money, and I do play on a professional level. I’m surprised when his face
lights up.

“Impressive.
What symphony are you with?” He would ask that. I just successfully dodged his
first question without lying, but now I don’t have a choice. I have to . . .
sort of.

“I’m
hoping to be with the New York Philharmonic soon. I’m moving to New York in the
fall.” Half-truth, half little white lie; works for me.

“You
have to play for me sometime.” He means another time, as in he wants to see me
again. My tummy flops and I down my champagne.

“Sure.”
I rub the palm of my free hand on my thigh. He’s watching me again—I feel
it, but I can’t look directly at him. I just lied to him—a stranger,
essentially, but I lied just the same, and that’s not like me.

“I’d
like to do something, Holland. I need to go out for a smoke, but I’m going to
kiss you first.”

I
give my eyes to him now. He wants to kiss me.
He wants to kiss me!
He wants to put his mouth on mine. I nod my
head up and down because I can’t speak. I would very much like for this
beautiful man to give me my first kiss I can’t believe this is happening.

He
scoots toward me until there is no one else—nothing else, just King and
me—in this moment right now. I watch him remove the glass from my hand
and set it on the table next to his. He cups my face and watches his thumb
brush against my lips. When he meets my ‘haunting’ eyes, a shockwave like I’ve
never experienced races through my body. I blame alcohol for the overwhelming
urge to climb into his lap and straddle his hips. I want his hands all over my
skin. I want . . . his lips meet mine, and his hand slides behind my neck into
my damp hair, pulling me closer—but not close enough. I don’t think there
is a close enough. He leads and I follow.
I more than
willingly allow him to guide me wherever he wants to go.
Kissing,
kissing and more gentle kissing. My pulse begins to whoosh in my ears with
every beat of my heart as I push my fingers through the soft curls at the nape
of his neck. His tongue slowly slides past my lips. Oh, God. This feels so
good, so very good. How do people ever stop doing this? How have I never
started
doing this?

His
hand slides down my neck to the bare skin at the small of my back, and his
fingers easily dip below the low waistline of my jeans. I pull away for a
breath, but a moan escapes instead. Did I really just moan? The kiss deepens,
and I have no control over what happens next—it just happens. King pulls
me into the straddling position I was dying to be in just seconds ago and
slides his hands under my ass. He pulls me flush against his chest and
effortlessly stands to carry me across the bar, tangled with and clinging to
his body without breaking the kiss. My eyes are closed while he carries me
through a crowd of strangers, and for the fourth or fifth time
tonight—hell, in my lifetime—I don’t care what’s happening. I don’t
care what other people are thinking or what they’re saying. I’m only interested
in pleasing one person other than myself, and his hands are plastered on my
ass. I want this, whatever
this
is.
I’ve been saving my body for a magical moment, a moment I always thought would
be after college when I’m married and successful, but nope, that’s not
happening.
This
is happening.

King
moves fluidly around the tables and chairs, avoiding people—or perhaps
they are avoiding us. I don’t know, because my eyes are closed and his mouth is
consuming mine in a Gone with the Wind-worthy kiss.

When
he stops, a loud buzzing sound startles me and I tighten my legs around his
waist and fist his hair with both hands, but he doesn’t let go. My lips have
found a home they never want to leave.

Click.
Two steps through a door, and he has my back pressed against a wall. He takes
advantage of having his hands free and pushes his fingers through my hair. This
kiss is quickly approaching a nine on the Richter scale for the most
earth-shattering kiss in history.

It’s
quiet here—wherever here is—so quiet I can only hear our jagged
breathing and the sound of our tongues exploring each other’s mouth. My heart
is pounding against my chest so hard that I’m sure King can feel it. I think
that’s my heart, anyway—maybe it’s his—it’s hard to tell where I
end and he begins.

I
can feel King’s hard length growing between my legs, causing a mixture of panic
and need to materialize from nowhere. I’ve never been intimate with a man.
These feelings are so foreign that I’m not sure what to do with them. Now that
we’re alone, it all feels too real. Part of me wants him to just take our
clothes off, and the other part would be happy staying just
like
this, kissing and touching and moaning. Oh, never mind. I need his skin on
mine. Who am I kidding?

I
open my eyes, intending to communicate this latest decision to King, but
instead I blink and then blink again, opening them wide trying to see.
Everything's so blurry. It’s no use. I’m buzzed, or maybe a little more than
buzzed. I think I may be
full-on
drunk.

We’re
alone, totally isolated from everyone in the club. King opens his eyes and
stops kissing me. His lips hover over mine, just barely touching, breathing in
my tiny, panting breaths that aren’t oxygenating my brain nearly enough. He
narrows his eyes and presses one last, gentle kiss on my swollen lips before
pulling away.

“Are
you okay? Is
this
okay?” His hands
relax in my hair and his thumbs caress my temples.

“Where
are we?” I whisper. I squint my eyes, trying to look around the dimly lit
living room that is annoyingly tilting ever so slightly to the left.

“My
apartment. I live here right now.”

“In
a bar?” I tuck my chin against my chest and look at him through lazy lids and
thick lashes.

“Yes.”
He chuckles and touches the tip of his nose to mine. He lives above a bar. What
kind of person lives above a club? I straighten my legs and slide down the
wall. King moves closer, supporting me until my bare feet touch the floor. With
no heels on, I’m now face to face with a lovely sternum and pecs wrapped in a
fitted sapphire blue shirt. I try to take a step away from him to explore this
apartment over a club, and I stumble. His arms steady me for the second time
tonight.

 
“You’re not used to drinking, are you?”

“Um,
no. Actually, I never drink.” I shake my head back and forth like a bobble head
doll—or maybe more like a person with Parkinson’s disease—and it
makes
me dizzy.

“I
think you should sit down.” He frowns and takes my elbow to lead me to a large
couch.

“That’s
a king-sized couch ya got there.” I giggle at my little joke, and we don’t sit
so much as collapse onto the couch, facing each other on our sides. My giggles
keep coming, and after a while, I can’t decide if they’re a result of my
drunkenness or anticipation of what’s coming next . . . probably both.

He
props himself up on his elbow and lifts his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his
head. Then he smiles down at me, and I reach out to stroke the scruff on his
angular jaw. I examine it closely, smoothing it out and then ruffling it up,
and I realize he’s searching for my eyes again. He’s the only thing that’s in
focus. Everything else in the room is hazy and unclear.

I
know I’m drunk and all, but I am positive there is a higher level of connection
going on between us than normal. I’ve never been this close to a man other than
my father, so I have nothing to compare this moment to, but something tells me
it’s important, unique. I continue to stroke his face, bringing my other hand
up to explore as well.

His
hand covers one of mine. Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses my sensitive palm,
flooding me with more new feelings and emotions. His warm, sultry eyes are
trying to read my mind, but he’s frustrated. Does he know? How could he know?
Does he feel my innocence . . . my inexperience?

“When
I saw you on the dance floor tonight, I was taken with the way you seemed to
feel the music.” He kisses the tip of each of my fingers one by one between his
words, causing tiny electric jolts to shoot up my arm to my chest.

“I
never leave Ecstasy’s VIP floor, but something about you called to me. I had to
see if you were real,” he says, following his hand with his eyes as it drifts
to my hip and then down my thigh, until he hooks it behind my knee and pulls my
leg over his.

We’re
so
close,
I’m having trouble focusing with all the
heat swirling between us. I flop onto my back and pull my leg off of his.

“I’m
real, all right . . . real drunk.” I flop my arm over my eyes and the giggles
return.

“Holland,
before we go any further, I want to make sure you’re protected. I just flew in
this afternoon, and I don’t have anything on me.”

I
don’t know what he’s talking about for a second. Protected from what? He
doesn’t have what . . . oh, birth control . . . he means birth control. I’ve
had endometriosis since I started my periods when I was thirteen. That counts,
right? I hope so, because I’m not stopping this now.

I
peek out from under my elbow and melt into the cushions of King’s king-sized
couch when I see him smiling at me. It’s a beautiful smile, full of perfect,
white teeth and full, soft lips. I think I may love this man’s smile. I nod to
answer his question.

“You’re
sweet.” He blinks slowly, and those amazingly long lashes seem to brush against
his cheeks.

“You
said that before.”

“Yes.
Yes, I did, and I was right. You’re very sweet.” He leans over me until his
lips softly brush against mine. An unfamiliar heat smolders just below the
surface, waiting for a fire to catch. Our kisses bloom into so much more than
mere kisses, and he celebrates every curve and dip of my body as our heartbeats
synchronize. My head spins as he kisses a trail down the side of my neck. He
nudges the strap of my tank top with his lips until it slides off of my
shoulder, causing gooseflesh to spread across my skin. His warm, roaming mouth
commands control of me. I can’t even breathe. A whimper slips from my lips, and
I can’t organize two thoughts in a row to even know what this feels like.
Something intense and exhilarating deep inside has been awakened, and I can’t
stop it—I can’t even slow it down. I need him closer to me. I need his
skin against mine.

His shirt is unbuttoned—I think
I
did that. When I push it off of his
shoulders, he moans. He slides his hand across my bare midriff under the hem of
my tank top, working the damp material upward. Our mouths part just long enough
for him to pass it over my head and toss it somewhere behind me. A powerful
aura flows from every pore of his body into mine when our skin connects. We
gasp for breath, panting into each other’s open mouth, and we pause for several
pounding heartbeats before King slows our pace. His fingers trail over the
curve of my hip until he skims my breast, testing my boundaries.

        
I’ve
never done this before. Do I really want to now? I’m filled with alcohol, and I
can’t think straight with King’s energy surrounding me. My body has no doubt as
to what should happen next, and honestly, my head isn’t far behind, but there
is still part of me—the sensible part that is being crowded into the
corner of my mind—that is saying this is too much, too fast.

“Holland.”
He moans my name between kisses, cutting my last thread of restraint. The
niggling thought in the back of my mind evaporates—poof! Gone. My
trembling fingers work to unbutton his jeans, and King moves to straddle me.
His eyes are much darker now; all of the warm chocolate brown from earlier is
gone, replaced by black desire and heat. He straightens up and laces his
fingers
with mine, spreading my arms out to my sides and
baring my half-naked body
. As his eyes wander over my skin, I can feel
him memorizing me, burning every tiny birthmark and scar into his brain. His
hungry gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth, where he lingers longest, and
then to my breasts. I squirm under his stare right before his eyes settle on my
tummy, where a diamond sparkles just above my navel. When our eyes connect
again, I sense a moment of hesitance mixed with his passion, and I want to tell
him not to stop.