Page 26 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

twelve

the girl and the gangster

Whitney

Little Girl Gone: Chinchilla

T ension is thicker than the smell of perfume in the club's atmosphere, and I can hardly breathe as I make my way up to the second floor to King's office.

Already hearing yelling coming from behind the closed door, I debate whether or not I should turn around, but the door swings open before I can make my choice.

An angry Cade storms out, shoving past me on the stairs, almost knocking me over, and he doesn't bother stopping, which lets me know something isn't right.

Carter follows behind him, stumbling hard, but manages to catch me before my ass hits the wooden steps.

"Sorry, Little Mischief, he's a little on edge tonight," he slurs, but takes off after him, not waiting for my response.

It's very odd for both of them to just run past me and not stop to talk or whatever.

So my nerves begin to catch on fire inside me, and my heart beats so fast it feels like it's about to burst from my fucking chest. Still, I make my way up the rest of the way and nervously knock on the open door, waiting to be invited in.

"What is it, Whitney?" King spits, clearly pissed.

I walk in slowly, running my hands down the tiny mini skirt I have on, with nothing underneath.

And with the black shiny pasties the only thing covering my nipples, I feel more exposed than I ever have.

King sits behind his desk, a drink in one hand and a blunt in the other, four lines of cocaine in front of him on a dirty mirror.

He leans back in his black leather chair, the smell of vanilla and tobacco wafting heavily, coming from the air mist machine that Boston gave him.

The blinds are half drawn on the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlook the club below, even though they're tinted, one-way glass.

A shiver dances along my spine, spreading along the base of my tailbone and giving me a chill that wracks my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I cross my arms over my chest, covering my bare breasts as King's eyes lock onto them, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

"Close the door," he says, his voice deep, demanding, and slightly intimidating.

I do as he says, turning so he gets a view of my ass poking out from the hem of my tiny skirt, and I hear a grunt come from him just as I turn back around, ready to put my arms back over my chest.

"Uh uh, arms down by your side, Little Mischief," he orders, making me feel more uncomfortable by the second.

Still, I obey, knowing not to defy an order from him, or D; I've seen what they do to those who dare to defy them, and I'd rather not be on the receiving end of their anger.

He pats his lap as he pushes his chair away from his desk, wanting me to sit.

My heels dig into the carpet as I walk on shaky legs over to him, biting the inside of my cheeks to keep from talking and getting myself in trouble.

"You know I don't bite, Little Mischief," he laughs, downing the rest of the amber-colored liquor in his glass and then refilling it by the time my ass makes contact with his thigh.

He puts the blunt to my lips, and I inhale on instinct, aware that he's watching my every move. While I'm distracted, he wraps his arm around my waist and trails his fingers up and down my upper thigh, dangerously close to my bare pussy underneath.

"What can I do for you?" He asks, whispering softly in my ear as he leans in, dragging his teeth along the nape of my neck, making me shiver again.

"I was... I was looking for Boston; it's time to head home, and we usually walk together," I whisper, trying hard not to let him hear the nervousness in my voice.

He chuckles, slipping his hand under my skirt and gliding his fingers up and down my soaked pussy lips, eliciting an involuntary moan that I'm too slow to hide.

"I sent her home," he growls, licking the shell of my ear, pushing his fingers between my lips and circling them around my entrance, his thumb pressing on my clit.

"I'll make sure you get home. But first," he says, his voice changing as embarrassment floods my cheeks, turning them bright red.

"You're gonna ride my cock because I want to know what it feels like to be buried inside you. "

I can’t believe this is happening. My heart races, and I fight against the primal urge to react to his touch.

This is wrong on so many levels, yet part of me can't help but respond to the adrenaline surging through me, making me think that he must have drugged me and laced the blunt; it's the only way I would ever let him get this close, and he knows it.

"King, please," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper as embarrassment continues to flood my body.

"Please what?" His voice drips with wicked amusement, and the way he stares at me—like I’m a toy waiting to be played with—makes my skin crawl and awaken all at once.

"I need to go... I don't think—" Before I can finish, he yanks me closer, his grip firm and possessive.

"You're forgetting your fucking place, Little Mischief." His voice is low and dangerously seductive, leaving me teetering between fear and excitement. “Tonight, you're fucking mine."

The warning bells ringing in my head clash violently with the heat building in my core.

I feel my body temporarily betray me as my hips instinctively push against his hand, seeking friction, seeking something I shouldn't want, but the drugs have made me a slave to him, and all I can think about is how dangerous the situation is.

If Raze and Hawk find out King drugged me so he could fuck me, hell, even Cade and Carter, they'll fucking kill him, and all hell would break loose behind the doors of Club Mayhem. King chuckles darkly, leaning back slightly as if he’s studying me like a puzzle he intends to solve.

"Look at you, all flustered. You enjoy this, don't you?" His fingers slowly, teasingly glide over my sensitive skin, testing me.

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but my body tells a different story. His gaze sharpens, and I know he can see the conflict front and center.

"You’re afraid—good. A little fear is healthy in a place like this," he says, his fingers picking up pace again, coaxing soft moans from deep within me. “But losing control—that’s where the fun begins.”

He leans over, his breath hot against my face.

The intoxicating scent of his cologne mixes with the smoke in the air, dizzying me even further.

I can feel the weight of his stare and hear the faint pulse of the music from the club below, and it seems to intertwine with the rhythm of my racing heart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind a whirlpool of contradictions. I don't want this; I know I don’t, but with every brush of his fingers against me, the frantic pounding of my heart begs for more. The tension between us crackles like static electricity, threatening to explode.

“Say my name,” he commands, his face dangerously close to mine, his eyes flashing with a mixture of mischief and something extremely darker.

“King,” I manage to whisper, and the way his lips curl into a smirk sends a tremor down my spine.

“Good girl. Now say it like you fucking mean it.” His fingers apply just the right amount of pressure, and I feel the heat pooling low in my stomach, burning hot and insatiable.

“King!” I gasp, the word spilling from my lips more pleading than I had intended.

“See? It’s not so hard to give in,” he replies, revealing a set of sharp teeth in a wicked grin.

My breath catches in my throat as dread slithers back in. King holds my gaze, and I can see the wicked glimmer in his eyes. The mixture of excitement and fear paralyzes me.

"Stay still," he whispers, his grip tightening on my waist, demanding my submission.

I freeze, breath hitching in my throat, the world outside the door fading into a distant murmur.

I can hardly breathe, and my body betrays me further as King subtly increases the pressure against my clit, coaxing a sound from my lips that I can't suppress. His smirk widens, eyes glinting with dark amusement as I feel my cheeks flush even deeper with shame. King doesn’t move a muscle, his gaze still locked on me, as if daring me to react.

My heart races faster than I thought possible, and I manage to stammer, “I—”

“Shut it,” King snaps, his voice cold and commanding as he pulls me closer to him again, my body firmly pressed against his. “You don’t get to talk unless I say so. Right now, you’re just a pretty little thing sitting pretty on my lap.”

I can feel King’s breath against my neck, his warm fingertips still playing their dangerous game, teasing and testing my physical limits before he roughly pushes them inside me, thrusting brutally hard.

I can't breathe, can't think as the tension snaps around us, bold and thick like smoke.

I'm trying to regain my sense of control despite the circumstances.

King leans closer, trailing his fingers lightly up my arm, and I swear I can feel the burn of his gaze through my skin.

“Now,” he says, almost purring, “are you ready to play?”

I take a breath, the weight of uncertainty settling heavy in my chest, the drugs he gave me making my body feel fuzzy and my limbs heavy and weak.

The temptation is still there, flickering tantalizingly close.

I wonder just how much I’m willing to sacrifice for the thrill, standing at the edge, caught between dread and allure.

My voice trembles. “I don’t want—”

“Wrong answer, Little Mischief,” he interrupts, leaning back slightly, a storm brewing in his eyes. “You don’t get to hesitate now. You either give in fully or walk away. But if you walk away…”

“What?” I say, a mix of defiance and curiosity bubbling in me.

His grip tightens on me, his voice dropping to a low growl. “If you walk away, you’ll fucking regret it. I swear. I’ll fucking make sure of it.”