King's Baby - A Bad Boy Romance (5 page)

“King,”
I whisper, and he gently places one finger on my lips to quiet me. His
powerful, chiseled body hovers over my soft curves, kissing and tasting, taking
his time until he lands on a spot behind my ear that makes me quiver.

“Spot
number one,” he murmurs in my ear and moves to press a long, lingering kiss
with his velvety lips in the hollow of my throat. I moan and pull my legs
around his hips, pressing my heels into the small of his back.

“Spot
number two.” He pulls away and looks at me with satisfaction.

“That’s
going to be a good one.” He smiles and stares at me for what feels like
forever, and I think, my God, I need so much more, and he’s never going to
move. But he does. He drags his tongue over the arc of my collarbone to my
shoulder, where he stops to softly nip my skin between his teeth. When I gasp
and tighten my grip on his hips with my legs, he informs me that this is indeed
“Spot number three.” I’m dying to find out how many spots he’s going to assign
numbers to.

He’s
adoring me . . . cherishing every inch of me, and I just want him to rip my
clothes off and take my virginity. God, just take it please. I groan and arch
my back. Lifting my hips, I beg him without words to move faster, but he
doesn’t.

Instead,
he positions himself so that we are nose to nose. His eyes are closed, and I
can feel his warm breath on my lips. He inhales a deep breath and slowly
exhales, as if he’s trying to stay in control. When he opens his eyes, he
reaches up to brush a stray piece of hair off of my forehead.

I’m
seeing three of him now, and I can’t decide if this is a bad thing or a good
thing. Supporting the weight of his body with his elbows on either side of my
head, he slowly shakes his head back and forth, blurring my three Kings
together into a blob until he stops and they all blend back into one.

“You’re
so beautiful. There’s something different about you.” He pauses, narrowing his
eyes to look deeper into mine.

“It’s
something special—an innocence, a freshness I’m not used to feeling with
women.” I worry my lip and wait for him to realize that I’m younger than I’ve
advertised myself to be, but if he’s on to me, he doesn’t say anything. He
leans back with his ass propped on his heels, and I fidget under his powerful
gaze. He places his hand, palm down, between my breasts and drags it lazily
over my hypersensitive skin to the jeweled button of my painted-on jeans.

“Spot
number four?” he asks, feathering his fingers along the top of my jeans.

“Yes,”
I whisper so quietly that I’m not sure he heard me until he bends to kiss spot
number four.

“This
is okay?” he asks, rising up off of me after shocking my entire system with a
simple touch of his lips.

“Yes,
please, King.” My words are his undoing. Something clicks, and slow adoration
finally turns into
a frenzy
. He can’t peel my jeans
off of me fast enough. He has to tug to get them past my ankles.
Stupid tight jeans.
When I’m completely bare, he stands at
the edge of the couch, holding my eyes while he lowers his zipper.
Now
I’m nervous.
This
is real.
He
is real.
It’s
going to be real. He lowers his
jeans and boxers, and I peek at his naked body but quickly close my eyes before
I can completely process the vision. I end up feeling him more than seeing him
at first. The quick look I did get of his lean, athletic body sends lightning
bolts to my core and butterflies to my belly.

King
moves over my quivering body, and I feel his knee gently nudge my legs apart at
the same time his lips kiss spot number four again. I gasp as he forges one
last trail of kisses along the inside of my thigh. I don’t know what to do with
my hands or my feet or anything until his tongue touches me
there
. Holy shit! That is, without a
doubt, spot number five. I grab his hair in my hands, arch my hips toward his
mouth, and scrunch my toes so hard they hurt.

“I
was right. You really are sweet.” He growls before abandoning my center to
gently nip at the inside of my thigh, and I wonder how this could possibly get
any better.

I’m
sure I’m about to find out the answer to that question when King returns his
mouth to mine and slides inside of me. Every muscle in my body tenses. I inhale
sharply and squeeze my eyes shut. He stops. This stops. Everything stops, and
I’m glad, because that wasn’t at all what I expected. I don’t know what I
expected, really, but it wasn’t sharp, searing pain—that’s for sure. Everything
else felt so amazing, but this . . . this takes my breath away.

“Holland?”
His voice is full of question and concern, and I know it’s time to think fast.
Thankfully, that moment of shock has sobered me up a little.

I
open my eyes and do everything in my power to relax and let him in. I have to
convince him this isn’t my first time, so I slide one hand behind his neck and
the other around his waist and pull him closer. He enters me
completely—slowly, painfully . . . at first. He stops again when he has
penetrated me fully. His neck is strained and his eyes are wide.

“I
can’t move for a second, Holland. You’re so tight that this won’t last long if
I do.” He pants with restraint. I’m not sure what he means. It’s my first time,
but I could use some time to accommodate his size, so I stay stone still and
wait for him to do . . . whatever it is he’s trying to do or not do.

Mechanically,
I know what’s next. As inexperienced as I am, I’ve always gotten As in science.
I know how things work. What I was never schooled on is the pain. I’m
struggling to relax, and King senses it. His lips are on mine again, and he
kisses me senseless for a long time, alternating between my mouth and my neck,
behind my ear—spot number one—and occasionally a few between my
breasts. He does all of this without moving inside of me, but I feel him twitch
and swell when our kisses intensify. Finally, when I’ve relaxed enough, I press
my heels against the small of his back, urging him to move, asking for more.
King doesn’t disappoint. He slowly drags his hips back, sliding out. I feel the
release of pressure combined with the desire for its return. King closes his
eyes. His head falls back, and the muscles of his jaw twitch with restraint.
When he enters me again, I gasp and dig my nails into his biceps. His eyes
open, his lips part, and the way he looks at me with a mixture of concern and
confusion reminds me that this wouldn’t even be happening if he knew I was only
nineteen. I scramble to think of something that would make him believe I’m more
experienced, but I’ve got nothing but my instincts to work with.

“What
are you thinking?” He pushes deeper into me, and I clench my teeth when he
holds the position, waiting for me to answer. I smile and slide my hands up his
biceps to his shoulders, and then I place them on either side of his face.

“I’m
thinking that I want you to kiss me.”
With every intent
of distracting him, I guide his mouth to mine.

It
works. With his mouth busy, he glides in and out, and I start to feel less of
the pain and more of the incredible pleasure of the rhythm.

 
I wonder if I weren’t drunk, would I be
embarrassed or inhibited? I mean, I’m naked on a stranger’s couch, allowing him
to take something from me that I’ve been taught to cherish and only give to a
person I love. I’m not embarrassed, though, or inhibited.
Not
at all.
I want this as much as he does. Maybe I’ll change my mind when
I’m sober, but it’s too late to turn back now. My mental pondering is thrown
out the window when he rises up onto his knees to bury himself even deeper
inside of me.

He
slides one of my legs onto his shoulder, and without losing eye contact the
entire time, he drags his face along my calf, kissing it until he reaches my
foot, where he presses one last kiss in the center of the bottom of my foot,
sending shockwaves rippling up my leg. He repeats the delicious torture on my
other leg until I’m reduced to a puddle of desire. I whimper in this new
position when he buries himself again, and when he senses that I’ve had all I
can
take,
he picks up the pace so we can lose control
together.

What
I learn next is that the pleasure of having an orgasm with this majestic man is
a far cry from doing it on my own. One last groan from King and one unexpected
mewl from myself
later,
we’re riding out the powerful
wave together. His swollen length pulses inside of me while my core does the
same around him. Panting and gasping for air and clutching me, he smiles an
extremely satisfied smile as he slides my legs off of his shoulders and rests
part of his massive weight on me.

 
“Are you all right?” he asks.

“You
keep asking me that.”

“That’s
because I feel like you aren’t telling me something. This was incredible.
Holland, you’re amazing, but . . . I don’t know. From the moment I touched you
on the dance floor, I’ve felt that you’re somehow different.”

Come
on, Holland, you need to figure out something to say without telling him you
were a nineteen-year-old virgin thirty minutes ago.

“I’m
fine, really. I just don’t usually do things like this.”
Again
with the half-truths.
I’m inwardly freaking out for more than one
reason, and I am definitely
not
fine.
I was telling the truth when I said I don’t usually do things like this,
because I don’t, haven’t, won’t ever again, probably. I’m going to New York in
a few months, and that will be the end of my short-lived wild social life. I’m
sure Savannah doesn’t have ‘find someone to deflower Holland’ on her itinerary,
but if she wants to add it, I can cross it off for her now. Savannah. Shit. How
long have I been gone? I need to text her and tell them I’m okay. Shit, where
is my phone?

“See?
Like right now, something’s wrong, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes,
actually. Now there is something wrong. My friends don’t know where I am, and
they’re going to freak out soon, if they aren’t already. I lost my phone, and I
need to call them.” Panic starts to set in, and I push against his chest. King
places one hand on either side of my face and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs
while he tries to calm me down.

“You’re
fine. Everything's going to be fine. We can get dressed, and I’ll help you find
them. And I’ll bet you left your phone in the booth. I can check for you,
okay?” I listen to his soothing words and nod, trying to contain my hysteria as
I begin to sober up. King presses another soft kiss on my lips and fixes me
with a look of bewilderment before he slides out of me. His eyebrows are drawn
together for a brief moment before he pulls me upright onto wobbly feet.

“The
bathroom is right through there if you need it.” His words are dismissive, but
his actions speak louder as he gathers me into his arms to kiss my forehead
again before holding me out at arm's length. “I’m finding it hard to leave
you.” Our eyes follow his hand feathering down my arm until he slides his palm
against mine. Our hands float up until our fingers lace together.

“I
feel like we’ve known each other much longer than just an hour.”

“Me
too,” I agree almost inaudibly, and there is nothing about that answer that is
a lie. Finding King has been like finding a part of myself I didn’t know was
lost.

“I’m
going to call the bartender about your friends and your phone.” His eyes search
mine one last time for the thing he can’t quite put his finger on, and I wish
more than anything that I weren’t nineteen right now.

“Okay.”
My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “I’ll just . . .”—I release his
hand and grab my clothes from the couch and the floor—“I’ll be right
back.”

With
my head clearing fast, I dash down the hall toward the bathroom. I open the
door and feel around in the dark for the light switch and flick it on. Light
floods the room, and I stare at the gaudy decorating job. It’s ridiculous. Four
glossy black lacquer steps with a sweeping gold railing lead up to an island in
the center of the room that holds a huge
gold
soaker bathtub. The toilet and vanity are black lacquer too, and
they’re equally as garish as the tub. Statues of angels and candelabras are
situated around the room and on the vanity. There’s even an angel on the back
of the toilet, for God’s sake. Who would purposely decorate a room this way?

I
wander around to the other side of the tub and gaze into a large, round mirror
over the sink. It reminds me of the mirror from Snow White. I suddenly have the
urge to say, ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the fairest of them all?’ Until
I catch my reflection, that is. I look terrible. Naked and clutching my
clothes, with my hair sticking every which way and mascara smudged under my
eyes. I hardly recognize myself. I trudge back to the door, tugging on my shirt
as I go. When I reach the intricately carved, gold painted, atrocious piece of
wood separating the hall from the bathroom, I lock it and realize my panties
aren’t with my clothes. Shit. I’ve never gone commando, but hey, this is a big
night of firsts, so what the hell. I have to pee first, but I’m a little
intimidated to sit on King’s golden throne. It’s so . . . fancy. Wrinkling my
nose in distaste, I chalk the experience up as another crazy first. Peeing in a
gold toilet—one more thing Savannah doesn’t have on the summer itinerary.
She is never going to believe this. If I had my phone, I’d take a picture and
send it to her.