King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

“It’s
cracked meringue filled with a white mousse. I hope it goes over better than
our entrée.”

“It
looks . . . interesting.” As long as it doesn’t set my mouth on fire, I’m good.

“It’s
very good. I promise there’s nothing hot in this one.”

One
bite and I’m hooked. This is the most delicious dessert I’ve ever tasted. It’s
light and tangy, with just the perfect amount of sweet. I close my eyes and
moan in appreciation.

When
I open them, King is watching me with his elbow resting on the arm of his chair
as he strokes his five o’clock shadow.

“How
old are you?” he asks, and the hand holding my fork freezes halfway to my
mouth. Shit. Is this just another getting to know you question, like asking
about my favorite color, or does he suspect something? I don’t want to lie to
him, but I certainly can’t tell him the truth, or he’d be hauling me home to my
parents in a hot second, never to think of me again.

“Why?”
I say, bringing the fork full of meringue to my mouth, hoping to stall him for
a minute.

“I
don’t know . . . you seem to have an old soul,” he answers thoughtfully.

I
chew much longer than is necessary, as the dessert requires no chewing at all,
and finally decide to be vague.

“So
my soul looks old, huh?”

“That’s
not a bad thing, you know. Just an observation.”

“Well,
a lady doesn’t reveal her age on the first date,” I say, batting my eyelashes
playfully.

“Touché.”

 
Hopefully, he’s going to leave the age
thing alone. God, please let him leave the age thing alone.

“Eat.
You barely had dinner. At least fill up on dessert,” he says, jutting his chin
toward my plate.

“Deal,”
I say and take another bite of the heavenly dessert while I relax. I can’t
believe I averted the age issue . . . for now, anyway.

The
club is quiet. The music has stopped, and I miss it.

“What
happened to the music?”

“Oh
yes, I almost forgot,” he says, reaching behind the flower arrangement on the
table for a large tablet. Where the heck did that thing come from?

“I
wanted to let you choose what we listen to next,” he says, handing me an
enormous remote of sorts with a list of thousands of songs to choose from.
They’re all broken into genres, but I immediately know what I want. I shovel a
bite into my mouth and set my fork down before taking the remote and tapping
the button labeled
Easy Listening
. I
scroll through the artists until I find Sinatra’s
Let’s
Fall
in Love
. My finger hovers over
the play tab.
Should
I suggest such a thing? Being in
love isn’t anything I’ve experienced before, but if I had to guess, the
feelings I have for King are close. What the hell—it’s only for the
summer. I tap
play
and hand the
remote back to King, who raises his brows when he hears the first few bars of
the song.

Chapter Eight

King

I
thought she would choose something classical. I never imagined her a Sinatra
fan. With any other woman, this song choice would be a complete turn-off. Women
who suggest foolish things like love and throw themselves at me come off as
weak, but not Holland.
Quite the opposite.
In fact,
using a song to suggest love is a strong, bold move—as well as
unnecessary. I felt something strong for her the second I saw her dancing alone
on this very dance floor. Romero men are known for falling in love at first
sight. It used to sound ridiculous to me, but now?
Maybe not.

“See?
Old soul,” I say, putting her at ease. I saw her hesitate before choosing this
song, but she went for it, and I love that about her.

“I
guess so,” she says shyly, reaching for her champagne.

“Sinatra
fan?” I say, leaning forward to slide my hand under the table and over her
thigh. Her smooth skin makes me so hard, it’s all I can do not to take her
right here on the table, or bent over it, or up against the wall, in my lap . .
. fuck, how did this happen? King Tomas Romero is pussy whipped. She doesn’t
know it yet, but she could have anything in the world that she wants right now.
Anything—it’s hers, no questions, no qualms—including my heart.
Never in my life have I wanted to give a woman the world on a silver platter,
but with Holland the urge is staggering.

She
places her fork on the edge of her plate and turns in her chair, making it
easier for my hand to slip between her legs. The way she moves is so innocent.
I know she didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s arousing all the same. Our eyes
lock as Sinatra sings
Now
is the time for it, while we are young.
Let’s fall in love.
Her crystal clear grey eyes blink slowly as I move
closer to cover her mouth with mine. A tiny moan vibrates in her throat when my
tongue slides across her full bottom lip. I want so much to bite it, but I deny
myself the satisfaction to spare her the mark it would leave. My fingers brush
against her damp panties while my other hand gathers her hair, gently tugging
it to expose her elegant neck. Kissing trails down her silky skin to her nape
and back up, I nip at her earlobe.

“Holland.”
I whisper in her ear.

“Mmm?”

“I’m
taking you upstairs,” I say, licking her ear with the tip of my tongue. She’s
quiet while I surround her with temptation. She’s not agreeing with words, but
her body is screaming yes. Her heart is pounding. She’s melting in my hands,
but I feel the need for her to approve, so I stop my advances and wait.

“King?”
she whispers. She’s wondering why I’ve stopped.

“Tell
me what you want, Holland. I need to hear you ask for it.” She fidgets in her
seat, and I slide a finger inside her panties to tempt her further. She’s
soaked for me. Fuck, I need her.

“I
want you to take me upstairs.” She whimpers, and that’s all I need. I scoop her
up and kiss her deeply as I stride toward the elevator. Just as I press the
up
button, her phone begins to ring in
her purse on the table. Pulling away from the wet heat of her lips, I look
toward the annoying interruption and back into Holland’s eyes. She’s
struggling, and I can’t bear the thought of her refusing me. I walk back to the
table in a few hard strides, snatch her purse, and make it back to the elevator
just as the doors open.

I
punch the button to the VIP club and return to kissing the sugar-sweetened lips
of this unexpected bright light in my life.

“King.”
She breathes my name through our kisses.

“Mmmhmm?”
I murmur, desperately trying to keep her focus on what’s about to
happen between us and not the phone that continues to squawk in her
purse
. I have been thinking about Holland spread out naked in my bed all
day, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a phone squash that fantasy. If I
had my way, I’d drop the damn thing over the edge of the VIP club’s railing and
onto the dance floor and let it explode into a million pieces.

Holland’s
hands that have been threaded in my hair move to my chest, where she gently
pushes me away. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I wait for her to pop the bubble
of passion surrounding us.

“King
. . . open your eyes.” She pants as the elevator doors slide open. I oblige,
but with only one eye.

“Don’t
say it.”

“I’m
sorry. I have to get that, or at least see who it is.”

With
a sigh, I carry her to the apartment door as she rummages around in her purse
in search of that annoying phone.

When
we’re inside, I make my way directly to my bedroom. I’m determined to have her,
and when I’m determined, I get what I want. I walk through the dark apartment,
down the hall, and into my bedroom, not even turning on a light. Her damn phone
is light enough. I want to look and see who’s fucking up my time with her, but
I don’t. Instead, I lay her down as she says hello, and I ignore the fact that
she’s talking to someone other than me. Her purse is dropped onto the floor
next to us, and I work on the tiny buckles of her shoes. When her perfect feet
are bare, I kiss the top of each one, causing her breath to hitch. From this
end, it sounds like it’s her friend, Savannah. I’m going to have to set that
woman straight. No calls when I have Holland. Never losing contact with her
body, I reach out and turn on the dim light next to the bed. Her silhouette is
equally as sexy as if every light in the room were on. I’m going to
relentlessly kiss, lick and nip at every inch of her skin until she hangs up
that fucking phone, and then I’m going to do it again.

Chapter Nine

Holland

“Um,
yeah. I can’t talk right now.” Savannah has the absolute worst timing ever. As
much as I despised doing it, I had to answer the call though. It could have
been one of my parents, but
it’s
just Savannah, thank
God.

“Sorry,
but we need to solid up a plan. My mama and her new
man friend
are going to the Jacksons’ for drinks, and when they do
that, they don’t come home till like five in the morning.”

“Okay,
and what does that have to do with me?” I ask, watching King remove my shoes
and kiss his way up my calf. Currently, he is spreading my legs apart for
better access to the tender, sensitive area behind my knees. I can hardly speak
to Savannah through the haze of sex surrounding us.

“It
means you can stay overnight with your new
boyfriend
if you want to. Just call your mama and tell her you’re worn out from
swimming and you just want to stay with me tonight. I’ll make a lump in my bed.
My mama will be too drunk to care what’s going on. She’ll never know you
weren’t here.”

“What
about . . .” I’m trying to line this all up in my head so that it makes sense,
but King is removing my clothes and kissing me in places I’ve never been kissed
before.

“What
about what, Holland? What are you doing? Sounds like you just ran up a flight
of stairs.”

“Why
are you doing this?” The question is meant for Savannah but could be for King
just as well, and consequently, they both pause—her talking, him kissing.
Why does she want me to spend the night with him, and why is he torturing me
while I’m on the phone with her?

I
nod at King that the question wasn’t meant for him, and he returns to my leg
while Savannah begins talking again.

“What
do ya mean? You want to stay with him, don’t you?”

King
has climbed onto the bed behind me, where I’m sitting on the edge. His lean,
muscled legs slide around me from behind, and I feel his hard length pressing
into my backside.

“I
just thought . . . I mean . . . I figured you wouldn’t want me to . . .” God, I
can’t concentrate with his hands on my breasts and his warm breath in my hair.

“Okay,
yeah, sure. We can work out the details tomorrow.” The words rush out, and King
has had enough of being ignored. I hear Savannah huff in frustration at my lack
of clear communication before King takes the phone and presses
end
, tossing it into my purse on the
floor.

“Everything
alright?” he asks, slowly sliding the material of my jumper off of my shoulders
as he kisses every area that it had been covering.

“Ah,
yeah, fine. Just Savannah . . .” My words become more and more nonsensical as
he begins to bite at the skin around my shoulders and the back of my neck. I
whimper and feel the heat between my legs intensify a million fold.

“Do
I have all of your attention now, Holland?”

“Yes.”

“All
of it? Are you sure?” he asks, pushing the gauzy tangerine material down to my
waist and exposing my breasts. His hands explore my belly and my waist and
finally glide over my taut nipples, occasionally pausing to roll one between
his fingers and then the next. My nails dig into his thighs that are wrapped
around my legs, and I drop my head back onto his shoulder.

“Yes
. . . all of it.”

“Good,
now lift up.” I arch my back and lift as his fingers work the rest of my
clothes over my hips until they slide onto the floor at my feet. I am
completely bare, and I’m glad we aren’t facing each other, because this time,
without the alcohol coursing through my veins, I am nervous. I wasn’t myself
last night, and this afternoon we were still dressed for the most part, but
this is the first time I’ve been completely naked and sober with King. The
light is so soft that only our shadows are visible, but that doesn’t do much
for my nerves.

King’s
hands cover mine, loosening my clawing fingers.

“Relax.
You’re safe with me.” He breathes into my ear. Shivers run the length of my
body, and I try like hell to do as he asks.

His
hands are still covering mine as he guides them away from his thighs and onto
my own. Our hands glide together along the outside of my legs until we arrive
at my knees, where we spread them open wide. King’s body molds with mine,
transferring his intense energy to me with his touch, his kisses . . . his
breath. He presses his soft facial scruff between my shoulder blades, and a
moan vibrates from his chest, triggering something deep within me. My
inhibitions about being exposed dissipate when I realize that he is in control,
and I am indeed safe in his arms.

“Touch
yourself,” he murmurs, leaning our bodies back so I’m against his chest and his
chin is on my shoulder. I hesitate, but he’s right there, moving my hands to my
core, pressing his finger against mine so we’re circling my clit together.

“You’re
so responsive, Holland. Your body hears mine, as if it’s been waiting for me to
bring you alive. Look at me,” he says softly, and I turn my face to his so he
can take my breath away with a kiss that sends jolts of electricity to where
our hands move in a figure eight along my clit and down to the entrance of my
apex, where I’m pulsing on the edge of ecstasy. King senses that I’m teetering.

“Uh
uh . . . not yet,” he says, licking a toe-curling trail down my neck to my
shoulder while moving our hands to smooth over my flat belly and along my waist
until we are both cupping my sensitive breasts.

“Do
you trust me, Holland?” His voice is low and serious. I innately have no fear
of this man. Somehow, I trust him unconditionally.

“I
do,” I answer with conviction.

“Close
your eyes,” he commands quietly.

When
my eyes are closed, he moves away from me and off of the bed. I instantly miss
his heat when the cool air of the room swirls around me in his wake. I hear him
padding around the room on the thick carpet and wonder what he’s up to, and I
wish he would hurry up and come back to me.

“Keep
them closed,” he says, standing directly in front of me. I hear the zipper on
his jeans lower and the ruffling of his shirt being pulled over his head.

“You’re
fucking beautiful, Holland. I wish I had a camera. I’d take a million
photographs of you.”

His
comment makes me stiffen on the edge of the bed. I’m not sure how I feel about
being photographed nude.

“Don’t
worry, I don’t have my camera tonight. But I’d like to another time if you’d
let me.”

Instantly
I relax, and he moves between my legs, his thick cock brushing against me while
he covers my eyes with what feels like a thin scarf.

“Can
you see?” he asks, and I open my eyes, only to see the black material covering
my eyes.

“No.”

“You’re
going to bite through your lip if you don’t relax, sweetheart,” he says,
pulling my bottom lip from between my teeth. “Scoot back toward the head of the
bed.”

I
move in that direction, and when I’ve got my back against the padded headboard,
I feel the covers slide out from under me and land on the floor with a whoosh.
I wait with my knees together, palms down on the mattress, panting with
anticipation.

“Turn
over and lay down, baby,” he says, and I cock my head in question. “Believe me,
you won’t regret it. Lay down,” he says, and I do as he asks.

On
my belly, I wait for further instruction, as that seems to be how this game is
played.

“Arms
up,” he says, and I finally feel him crawling across the enormous bed toward
me. I lift my arms up as he straddles me, and again I feel the weight of his
thick cock against my ass. I close my eyes, even though I can’t see anyway, and
take a deep breath and hold it.

Another
scarf circles my wrists, tying them together.

“Keep
them right there, do you understand?” His lips brush against my ear, and I nod
while still holding my breath. I feel him reach to my right to retrieve
something. Suddenly, sultry music fills the room and I recognize the silky
smooth voice of The Weekend. Does he know I love his music, or is this just
another thing we have in common? It’s not classical, but this music is the key
to my relaxation. I release my breath and allow myself to melt into the
mattress under the light pressure of King’s body.

“Good
girl. I thought that might help,” he says as he stretches again to my right. I
hear him setting what I imagine is another sound system remote down on the
table, but he also picks something up, and after a click, I can see a faint bit
of light behind my mask.

“I
need to look at you. I’ve turned the lights up a little,” he informs me. His
hands slide up my back. As his body hovers over mine, he gathers my hair
together in a messy knot and wraps a rubber band around it, securing it on top
of my head.

“Are
you comfortable? You’re not tied too tightly, are you?”

I
shake my head no, and again I feel him lean away from me.

“Holland,
you don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

Food
allergies? Why the hell is he asking me about food allergies when he’s got me
naked and tied up in his bed?

“Um
. . . no. Why?”

“Good.”

Before
I can wonder any more on the subject, I feel something hot drizzling across my
back. Initially I tense, but as he continues to pour the thick liquid in
patterns over my skin, I begin to enjoy the sensation.

Rising
over me, he continues lacing my skin with the mystery liquid until I recognize
the scent. It brings visions of tea and toast to mind. It’s honey . . . he’s
pouring hot honey in tiny ribbons all over my body, from my neck to the soles
of my feet.

“Honey?”

“Mmm
yes. I wish you could see yourself.”

“Tell
me.”

He
stops and sniffs an approval.

“You’re
going to be good at this, aren’t you?”

I
don’t know what he’s talking about, so I quietly wait for him to tell me what
he sees.

“Well
. . . your bronze skin is flawless in the soft light. The curve of your back
that blends into your perfect, round ass has a pool of sticky honey right in
the center, between the most adorable dimples. A trail of redness appears under
every thread of honey along your skin, but it disappears, leaving a glimmering
stream of sweetness in its wake.

His
narrating halts as I feel him move to put the honey down. I have no idea what’s
next. I lay still and wait until something else begins to dribble onto my
oversensitive skin. This time it’s cold, and I suck in a breath and tense as it
tickles its way across my backside. I don’t recognize this scent. It doesn’t
smell like much of anything, so I ask.

“It’s
cold,” I say, feeling goosebumps forming on my skin.

“Cream.”

“You’re
making me into a cup of tea?” I say, and he chuckles.

“I
hadn’t thought of that, but your skin is the color of tea, and with honey and
cream, you’re my perfect cup of tea,” he says, lowering
himself
down to straddle me again. He swirls the mixture with the tips of his fingers,
down to the pool in the small of my back between my dimples. He scoots back
just enough so that he can reach the area that he has just erotically
described. His tongue lavishes my burning flesh, exploring, searching, seeking
to find every secret my body holds. He forges along the crack of my ass,
nipping and licking until my heart threatens to beat right out of my chest. I
can’t even hear the music anymore. The
whoosh
of my pulse fills my ears, and the sensation of King’s mouth traveling over
forbidden areas of my body consumes me. I whimper and moan as his lips travel up
my spine and to the back of my neck.

“So
sweet,” he murmurs, and I smile. His chest is stuck to my back, and I feel the
pull of the honey trying to keep us together when he rises to massage my
shoulders. We have to be a sight, and for a second I almost wish he had taken
some pictures.

King
trails his finger through the honey again and slides his hand around my neck
and against my face, spreading the sticky liquid along my bottom lip with his
thumb before slipping it between my lips. I suck gently and swirl my tongue
over the tip of his thumb, tasting the delicious combination of milk, honey and
King.

I’m
flipped onto my back within seconds, with my tied hands pushed over my head. I
gasp as his sweet mouth covers mine, and I open my legs to thrust my hips
against him, begging him to enter. With my hands bound, I use my legs and feet
to urge him closer. Locking my ankles, I make it clear that I will not wait
anymore.

He
only has to adjust his position a fraction, and he is filling me with a
forceful thrust.

“Oh,
God,” I cry out, and he is immediately stone still. The pain is sharp, but the
relief is overwhelming. I’m not sure what I’m experiencing more.

“Holland?
Are you okay?” he asks, his voice heavy with concern.