She starts to shake.
“Not yet,” I say. “I haven’t finished my picnic yet.”
“We just ate—”
“Nah, you just ate; I’m only beginning,” I tease.
She throws her head back and lets out a nervous laugh while I start my assault, while I kiss her, suck her, make sure she remembers I’m the only man who can make her feel this way.
Her taste is mine.
It feels like it’s mine, not his.
And I want him to know it, even when he’s not here, I want him to hear it, hear how much she wants me, not him, me in this moment.
I shove her back onto the blanket and cover her body with mine, my mouth riding hers in a way that has my dick so hard I can barely concentrate. She’s so warm, so slick, so perfect, almost like she’s squeezing my tongue like the would my cock, and I can’t get enough of it.
“Wow, King, I can’t—”
“Who do you worship!” I demand with a rasp.
“What?”
“Who…” I shove my tongue in deeper and swirl it around her wetness. “Do…” I go deeper still. “You…” Fuck, she’s basically weeping for me. “Worship?”
Her body falls apart as she whispers, “You.”
“Yes,” I whisper against each creamy thigh. “Yes.”
I look up moments later, becoming livid when I realize Roman’s back, and he’s fucking watching us, his eyes uncertain, burning with rage.
Am I upset he heard? No.
Am I upset he watched? Fuck, yes.
She’s mine.
MINE!
I want to both cover her up and hold her close. I’ve been respectful—until now until he pushed that line and forces me to cross it.
He stares at me while my body is still covering hers. Does he realize how hard this is? How hard I’ve worked to create a balance between me, him, her, this crazy scenario where in the end, he wins?
I want to rage, but instead, I just pull back and regard him, my eyes hard with unmasked fury.
“Back to work.” I bite out.
He takes a minute, nods, then turns his back, and I wonder just how much he saw, how much he heard. And the anger is back full force again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Don’t ever let anybody teach you to think, Lance. It is the curse of the world.”-King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
Roman
I’m still in stunned disbelief when I get back to that hotel room. I knew that they were together. I knew that it was part of the bargain, but to actually hear it and see it for myself up front and personal —I have no words.
I don’t even know how to respond. Yesterday it seemed like she was being semi-forced, doing her job, but today?
She didn’t just like it—she wanted it.
I tell myself I’m overthinking things. I mean, of course, she liked it. He’s a powerful, good-looking individual holding her life in his hands. Insecurity creeps in, though, so hard and fast that my head spins and all I can do is tell Tiffany to go back to our room and take a break while I follow them to theirs. Yeah, because that’s a great idea, follow them to their room while I’m still upset, stressed, angry, take your fucking pick.
Do I even have a right to be upset?
They’re married.
But she’s mine still, right?
I try not to think too hard about it as I shadow them. They’re not holding hands, but every so often, she looks over at him and smiles. I clench my fists like they’ll be able to hit him if he oversteps when I know all I can do is stay dark and quiet.
After a few deep breaths, we’re all finally back in the hotel room, and I do the usual, looking down the hall to make sure they’re safe to enter. It takes mere minutes, and then I stand next to the door with the position I’ve always had: guard, don’t look, don’t touch, don’t act.
The door’s about to shut behind them when a hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me into the room; the door slams behind me.
It’s King.
Shit, he’s going to kill me; I just know it. The look on his face is pure rage as he leans in and says, “How much did you see?”
“What?” I snap. “What do you mean?”
“Of us.” His nostrils flare. “How much? Don’t lie.”
After a few seconds of my heart beating out of my chest, I finally sigh. “Enough.”
“Did you like it?” He sneers.
“What?” I snap.
“Did you like it? What you saw? What you watched?” King shoves me against the door and then turns on his heel and walks into the room farther. “Come on.”
Shit, shit, shit. What the hell does he want now?
I can’t see Del yet, and then I really wish I couldn’t when she comes out of the bathroom with her blouse basically falling across her chest and exposing every inch I’ve always wanted to see of her.
I pause.
Her green eyes lock in on mine; her hair’s no longer in a braid but tousled around her shoulders. She looks every inch the dream I’ve always wanted but felt I couldn’t even reach like a star in a sky that shines so bright you’re convinced it can never be yours.
I say nothing when she walks toward him.
King lifts his chin and then says. “Strip.”
“I’m sorry, what?” He’s kidding, right?
“Strip,” he says again. “I mean, that’s what you want, right? To be with her? Does that mean you get to be with me too? Because you don’t get to have her on your own?”
Del takes a step away from us, her eyes wide.
The room is blanketed in darkness, the curtains pulled. Everything else has been cleaned, the bed made. Things smell clean and fresh, and yet this feels, I don’t know—dirty.
Because that’s not fair to me, to her, to him.
And why the hell am I even thinking about him? It’s like I can’t stop the bleeding as I watch her look at him, look at me, look back at him.
I stand still.
Del shakes her head. “What are you doing?”
“He watched,” King says, looking between us. “He watched us today. So, I just figured if he was so interested in the only fucking time I have with you before he gets you, he wants to have you with me. I mean, is that so wrong?” His nostrils flare. He’s pissed, so pissed I’m actually ready to run from the room. “You’re fucking mine!” he roars. “Mine!”
I hold up my hands.
“Mine!” he says again. “And he watched the way I would with such jealousy and anger that I don’t blame him, so I thought wow, let’s just have him join us if he’s that fucking desperate—”
“Stop!” Del covers her ears, “Stop it!”
King lowers his head and turns, then presses his hands to his head like he doesn’t know what to do.
The room is tense, quiet.
Del’s chest heaves, she breathes in and out, and then she just walks out through the front door without either of us, her shirt clutched between her fingertips.
I stare at the door.
It shuts with a finalizing, damning click.
And then I look back at King. “Was that necessary?”
King shakes his head then sits down on the bed, hanging his head in his hands. “You do realize,” he says without looking up, “that I’m in love with her? That I love someone who will never fucking love me and on top of that because life can’t get any worse, that the people I actually love and love me back the most in this world—want to kill me?”