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My body tries to laugh, but I’m still a little breathless.
“That was…” King starts to say but his phone rings.
We both look over to where it’s sitting next to him.
King rubs a hand down his face. “Shit, I forgot about this call.”
“Answer it.”
He shakes his head. “Not until I get you off.”
I use his thighs to push myself back to standing. “You can owe me.”
Before he can argue, I lean down and press my lips to his.
Instead of minding where my mouth just was, King’s tongue delves between my lips.
He starts to slide his hands around my waist, like he might pull me down onto his lap, so I reach my hand out and tap the phone screen, answering the call.
“Hello?” an older man’s voice sounds through the speaker.
King’s lips smile against mine. “Brat,” he whispers, before letting me go and picking up the phone.
I don’t fight my smile, because the one still on King’s face has my chest feeling lighter.
Before I leave the office, I detour to his desk.
Finding a pen and a scrap of paper, I scrawlthe price doubles after four hours.Then leave it on his desk for him to read later.
I can feel his eyes on me as I walk out, but I don’t look back.
When I came in here, I was just planning to talk to King. Maybe slice my heart open and tell him about all the feelings I’ve been having for him. Explain why I’ve been avoiding him, throwing myself into work, since the night of my show.
He was justso muchthat night.
He was everything.
He was the family I’ve always wanted.
And when I still wanted him just as much the next morning, it freaked me out.
Freaked me out because, apparently, I’m okay knowing that he’s killed a man.
Knowing that it doesn’t justnotbother me. I truly don’t care.
I should care that the man I’m living with has murdered people. Probably lots of people. And yet, when I walked into his office, and saw him sprawled out on that couch, all intentions of talking went out the window. Because he looked like an overworked CEO in some magazine spread. And it was hot as absolute hell.
My eyes were automatically drawn to the front of his pants, and it reminded me of our last time together, and how good he’d felt in my mouth.
I was ready to enjoy it. Knew I would like it. But I hadn’t been ready to be that turned on by the act.
My King.
Canine footsteps trot up from behind me.
“Hey, Duke,” I greet the dog that I’ve come to adore just as much as his owner. “Shall we go back to work?”
Duke knocks his big head into my hand and we head through the house to my studio. Where I plan to occupy myself until King can pay me back.