“You had to deal with your family, and in that moment I wasn’t prepared to face them, but I am now.”
King grins down at me. “Feeling feisty tonight?”
I return the smile. “I think I might be starting to get the hang of this whole confronting the problem thing.”
“Well, I like it. And I think my family deserves to stew for a bit. Besides, Gerald is drunk off his ass, and I don’t feel like being the one who has to manage him tonight.” He dips down and brushes his lips over mine. “I can think of a few good ways to capitalize on that feistiness, though.”
I clasp my hands behind his neck. “Would that include nudity and orgasms?”
“See? We’re totally in sync.” His mouth crashes down on mine, tongue sweeping my mouth in a wet, furious tangle. He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me across the room, shouldering open my door. “Tomorrow we deal with my family. Tonight I get my fill of you.”Awareness trickles in at the feel of a finger trailing along the edge of my jaw. I stretch, and my muscles ache deliciously. Cool air hits my chest when the covers slide down. A light tickle along my collarbone follows, and I moan at the wet warmth and suction when soft lips close around my nipple. The sensation is amplified by the sweet sting of teeth.
My lids flutter open, the haze of sleep drifting away as King’s profile comes into view, long lashes fluttering as his palm curves around my other breast and squeezes gently.
I run my fingers through his silky hair, pushing it back off his forehead. It’s damp.
He tips his head in my direction, freshly shaven cheek rubbing over my wet nipple. “Morning.” He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Well, afternoon.”
The clock reads half past twelve. “Oh wow.” My voice is hoarse, so I clear my throat, but it’s still scratchy and soft. “How long have you been awake?”
“Awhile.” He circles my nipple with the tip of his tongue. “I was trying to be patient, but I got hungry.”
“We can make breakfast, or maybe brunch would be better.”
“I didn’t mean for food.” His palm smooths down my stomach, fingertips circling sensitive skin, causing me to jerk and moan.
Half an hour later I’m wearing his discarded shirt from last night—mostly because I don’t want him to put it on—and he’s wearing his khakis and a very satisfied smile.
I hop up on the counter, sucking in a breath when the cold marble meets my bare butt. Kingston stops chopping pineapple and uses his pinkie to lift the bottom of my shirt. “Where are your panties?”
I shrug. “I never know when you’re going to get hungry again.”
He sets the knife on the counter and pushes the cutting board aside. Moving into my personal space, he taps on my knees, a silent request to open for him. I’ve already come twice since I woke up. And I lost track last night once we got to my bedroom. Apparently King loves my feisty.
“I’m always hungry for you.” His palms ease up the inside of my thighs, and he parts me with his thumbs on a low groan.
“Not sure this is a particularly hygienic location for kitty snacks.”
He smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up if I make a mess of you.”
He leans in for a kiss, and we both startle at the loud knock on my door. “Shoot, that’s your dad.” He shifts to the left and makes a quick adjustment in his pants.
I don’t consider the fact that I should probably be wearing more clothes, or that Kingston should be wearing a shirt, when I call out, “The door’s open!”
Kingston gives me a What the heck? look, but it’s too late, because my dad’s let himself in.
“You should probably wash your hands, Boy Scout.” I cough as I jump off the counter. At least the shirt is long and hits midthigh. “Hey, Dad.” My voice is nice and pitchy.
“Morning, Jake.” King’s face is the color of a beet. “I mean, good afternoon.”
My father’s eyes bounce from a shirtless King to me, in King’s shirt. Yeah. It might’ve been a good idea to remedy the clothing situation before telling him to come on in. “Looks like you kids made up just fine, huh?”
“Yuppers.” Well, this is awkward.
“Well, uh, I hope you’re being safe.”
Annnnd now it’s more awkward.
If my dad means Kingston painting my chest every time he pulls out, then we are definitely being safe.
“Of course, sir.” Kingston dries his hands on a towel. “We were just about to prepare some brunch, if you’d like to join us.”
“Oh, uh, before you do that, you might want to call your . . . momster? Hanna?” He holds up Kingston’s phone and keys.
Kingston feels his back pockets. “Did I drop those in the driveway?”