Money Man (King Maker 1)

“Griffin, take Miss Glicks home,” Kalen said, shutting the door, not getting in.

I watched in horror as Kalen stood, back to me, facing Scott, whose sardonic grin hadn’t diminished. I tried in vain to open the door so I could stop what was about to happen, but it was locked. Then the car was moving away.

Multiple calls I placed went unanswered. I’d even tried Scott. Frustrated, I slammed the door after walking into my apartment. Lizzy wasn’t home, as she hadn’t come to see what the ruckus was about. I stripped down in my room and washed away my annoyance in the shower.

By the time I finished, I felt marginally better. I walked into my room and came to a stumbling stop. There, looming in my doorway like the Grim Reaper, was Kalen. A war brewed in his gaze as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be there.

“Kalen,” I said, breathing hard from my racing heart.

“Don’t talk,” he said, his voice rough like he hadn’t used it in hours.

The possibility of a dream was quickly dismissed, and I asked, “Why are you here?”

He closed the distance and brushed the wet strands of hair away from my face.

“When you didn’t answer your phone, I was worried about you.”

“How’d you get in?” I asked.

“I let myself in.”

“I didn’t give you a key,” I said stupidly.

“I’m handy with a lock.” His smirk was too self-assured.

“Lizzy let you in.”

He shrugged, not answering one way or another. I would talk to Lizzy later and confirm things.

“I’m still mad at you,” I said, unsure how truthful that statement was. Still, I gripped the towel firmly at my breasts to hold it there.

His thumb brushed over my mouth, more tenderly than his expression revealed. He looked beyond angry. “Are you now?”

I couldn’t answer, not without lying at least partially. I went for another tactic, wanting to regain some of my composure. Though I’d asked the question before, his answer hadn’t been the complete story. I repeated myself, “Why are you here?”

My wrists were suddenly captured in his hands as he walked me backward and planted them on either side of my head when my back met the wall. He leaned down and whispered over my lips, “My cock has waited too long to be buried inside you.”

He gently bit my ear and skimmed his teeth down the line of my throat, eliciting a groan from me when I should have told him to go to hell.

Both of my wrists were pulled together in one of his big hands and lifted over my head.

“Tell me to stop.”

My throat grew tight as I couldn’t force the words from my mouth.

“Last chance,” he said, taking hold of the towel, fingers brushing over the tops of my breasts.

I held his gaze as words couldn’t express what I was feeling: excitement, anger, turned-on, and daring.

Seconds later, as we stood waiting for the other to make a move, he tugged the towel free. It fell from my body, leaving me exposed.

He gingerly cupped my breast. Bringing the tip to a peak, he sucked it into his mouth.

I melted in his hold, but found the words that needed to be spoken.

“Your cock wants to be here. But what about you?”

His pants-covered knee wedged between my legs and spread them.

“It’s up for debate.”

His response sent signals to my brain that I should be insulted. But the T-junction of my thighs had other ideas as his free hand headed south like a runaway freight train, taking all my reason with it.

“Don’t move,” he demanded when I angled my hips to rub myself more on his hand and possibly reach the bulge that was in his pants. When he let go of my wrists, I almost reached out to touch him. Then I remembered his command for me not to move. I so didn’t want him to stop, because I was already teetering on the edge.

When he reached up to loosen his tie, I recognized that he was still wearing the one he’d had on earlier. But I didn’t expect him to bind my wrists.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you don’t deserve to touch me,” he said, without humor.

“That goes both ways,” I challenged.

He stilled and used his penetrating gaze to pin me in place. “Tell me to stop, Miss Glicks. That’s your right.”

The ass knew I wouldn’t. “You’re not going to call me lass?”

“You lost the right to be called lass when you let him kiss you.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “It remains to be seen if you will ever be lass again.”

I was reminded of how we got here.

“What did you do to Scott?” I asked, wondering how it might affect my job if Scott went crying to one of the partners, including his dad, that Kalen did anything to him.

“Why are we talking about him? If you want to use that pretty little mouth of yours, you can wrap it around my cock.”