I thought it was a dream, or nightmare, I suppose, where the star of the show turned up in the middle of the night. Not to maim or hurt, but to seek comfort and solace. I thought it was a hallucination brought on by the lingering scent of his aftershave still clinging to the fibers of his shirt I stupidly chose to wear to bed.
But it wasn’t a dream because that’s a hard body behind mine, that’s warm breath on my neck and a solid arm banded across me, holding me firmly against a chest made of solid, male muscle.
I don’t recall going out last night so the possibility of the person behind me being a random hook up is pretty slim. The thought is completely eradicated as my eyes drift down to the arm holding me in a way I’ve never been held, to find it covered in dark ink, the swirls and patterns etched into his skin, all the way down to his long fingers.
Slowly as to not wake him, I turn onto my back, keeping it steady. He doesn’t stir and while the sun has yet to rise, there is still enough dim light shining through the window that I can make out his sleeping face, as shrouded in shadow as it is. He looks different like this, not as cruel or wicked but merely a man. He looks peaceful, all those sharp edges softened by sleep.
I slowly lift a hand, careful to keep my movements gentle, so I can trace the curve of his face, from his temple, all the way down to his cheekbone and sharp as marble jaw, through the scruff that scratches against my fingertips. I’m almost at his mouth when his hand darts up and captures my wrist.
It’s a matter of seconds before I’m pinned to the bed, the movements so sudden and jerky that the pillows are knocked to the floor and my hands are thrust against the mattress, held down by his hands. His icy blue eyes boring down into mine.
“What are you doing?” His voice is raspy from sleep.
“Touching you.”
His fingers flex, and a frown tugs on his brows, “Why was there a knife beneath your pillow, Eleanor?”
“For protection,” I admit, my voice a whisper.
“From whom?”
“You.”
My breath rattles from my chest, and that delicious warmth that appears only when he is around, rushes through me as I feel all his hardness against all my soft.
Stop, I tell myself, not again.
But that little voice of reason is snuffed out as my body demands what it needs, and my hips grind against the rigid length of him pressing against that sensitive flesh.
His eyes shutter closed as I grind against him and his own hips move, pushing into me harder. My thighs fall apart further, allowing him in closer. I wanted him closer, I wanted him in me.
“Eleanor,” he cautions, but he doesn’t stop as if he’s just as helpless as me, caught in this riptide between us, drawing us and snapping us apart all the same. He keeps that grinding rhythm going, rubbing at my clit through the thin material of my panties. I’m wet and hot and so fucking turned on it hurts.
I push onto my elbows and press my mouth to his, his lips pillowy and soft, much softer than a man of his harshness should be. He sucks in a sharp breath.
“Don’t.” Kingston warns.
“Don’t what?” My lips are an inch from his, the wetness of his mouth still against my lips.
“Kiss me.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you kiss me, Eleanor, I’m not going to be able to stop. If you kiss me, I’m going to kiss you back, and then I’m going to fuck you.”
My breathing halts, my heart speeding.
“If you kiss me, Eleanor, I’m going to keep fucking you and claiming you, and I’ll ruin you, love. I will destroy you.”
My eyes bounce between his, mind processing his warning, but then they jump down to his mouth, his jaw tight, teeth gritted together and restraint barely holding on by a thread.
My eyes still on him, planted firmly, so I can judge his reaction, I lean forward and kiss the side of that delectable mouth. He growls.
I kiss the other side. Teasing, chaste kisses.
But not chaste enough. Kingston snaps.
He pushes me down into the mattress and completely shatters me with his kiss, tearing me apart and putting me back together all in the same breath. He kisses me until all I can see and think and breathe is him.
His tongue sweeps through my mouth, his teeth nip at my lip while his hips push against me hard enough that a bite of pain shoots through my body.
When he pulls away roughly, he grabs the shirt and rips, tearing apart the buttons that hold it closed and the buttons scatter, pinging off the floor and walls and then his mouth is on my breast, nipple caught between his teeth. My spine arches, giving him more, giving him everything. I allow him to take it all. His hand dives into my underwear, fingers pushing through my folds, circling and pinching until I’m panting and sweating, putty beneath his hands.
I’m so fucking wet I feel it soaking through my panties.
He leaves my breast with a wet sucking noise, and lifts onto his knees, grabbing at my underwear to peel it off. He’s surprisingly gentle as he unhooks it from my injured foot, but then he’s staring at my pussy, tongue wetting his lips and pupils devouring the icy blue of his eyes like a man starved.
“Look at this dripping cunt,” he rasps, “all for me.”
My breath comes in heavy, desperate pants, and when he grips my hips and urges me to turn I do so willingly. With a hand beneath my body, fingers spread over the intimate top section of my pelvic area, he lifts, shoving my face down into the mattress with zero gentleness, leaving my ass in the air.
I feel vulnerable and exposed, but then his hand glides down my spine and his hands squeeze my arse cheeks before he spreads them to see.
“Kingston,” I’m not sure if it’s a moan or a hesitation.
“Shh,” he murmurs, running a digit over the slick entrance before abruptly thrusting it inside. I stifle my groan with the mattress, teeth grabbing the fabric.
He’s barely removed it before the thick head of his cock is pushing into me, the piercing rubbing against the soft tissue on the inside. He’s slow, purposeful, as he only fucks me with the first few inches of his dick. I try to push back, try to get more just to satisfy this deep-rooted need, but he keeps me at bay, holding my hips still.
“Just fuck me,” I demand.
“Such a greedy girl, aren’t you, love?” He chuckles, “So desperate for my cock. Will you beg for it like you did before?”
“Yes!” I reply shamelessly, “please.”
He slams forward so hard my head hits the headboard, but he doesn’t care nor does he stop as he pounds forward again, and again, his hips slamming against my arse so hard I feel the vibrations of it in my bones.
“Fuck you feel so good, baby,” he rasps, the sentiment clearly slipping out in the heat of the moment, “So fucking good, so tight on my dick, love, it’s like your pussy was made for me.”
My fingers curl into the sheet, my teeth still gripping the thin cotton between them to stop the scream from bubbling up my throat.
He’s rough, and harsh, and it’s so good, I can hardly think straight.
When his hand suddenly strikes me across the backside, the biting sting mixed with the hard, punishing thrusts of his hips I’m not able to stifle it anymore.
“Kingston!” I scream.
“That’s right, love, scream my name!” He praises, “Scream it until it’s the last one you remember, until it’s the only thing you remember.”
He grips my hips and tugs me back to meet his every blow and I come apart. Stars burst behind my eyes, and I moan loudly through my orgasm, my pussy clenching and convulsing, and yet he continues through it, prolonging the exquisite torture until his own release stills his hips, and he bellows my name.
I still hear the echo of it as he collapses to the side of me, pulling me down with him and for long, quiet moments we lay there in the early morning light, as dim as it is, with skin drenched in sweat and breaths coming in hard, fast huffs.
The peaceful truce between us however can only last so long.
“Eleanor,” King breaks that silence first.
My head tilts to look at him. To look at the man that is a literal nightmare made flesh, that holds a room and commands attention, everything I could possibly hate.
His eyes meet mine, satiated but heavy, like the weight of a thousand worlds rests there, and maybe it does. God knows I knew he was into a darker kind of business, one that obviously dealt in blood and money, and I had managed to ignore that for now, but it was there. That threat. The knowledge that was not knowledge at all, but an incline that this man had no problem hurting people. He vowed to kill Tobias and everyone surrounding him for their crimes, and I couldn’t blame him for that, but I was also a woman who believed in justice.
It was justice.
He doesn’t continue with what he was going to say, seeing clearly in my eyes my response. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to be involved further than what I needed to be, and that settled everything else.
After all this was done, after Tobias was gone and whatever vendetta Kingston held was settled, him and I would be nothing but a memory.
And that was okay.
That was okay.
We couldn’t be anything more than this anyway, not with his life like it is and mine the complete opposite and I tell myself that’s how it should be, how I want it to be but a small part of me, a part of me that screams the loudest, told me that was a lie.
He terrified me.
I wouldn’t entertain the idea that him suddenly not being there terrified me more.