Midnight Kingdom

by Amelia Wilde

  Mine to use.

  Mine to keep.

  Mine.

  “Hades,” she murmurs. “Hades.”

  I pause, gritting my teeth against the need to thrust. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m your queen.” She’s breathless, her eyes glistening. Fuck. Did I hurt her? A tear runs down her cheek, but she isn’t really crying. Not with her trembling smile. “And I’m carrying your child. I’m carrying your heir.”

  A fist around my throat. It’s love, that fist. I’m not an urn after all. Not burned to ashes in the sun. I’m alive. Blissfully, achingly alive. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” So solemn. So brave, linking herself to a man like me.

  “I’ll never let you go. You know that, right? Persephone. God.” I pull out, even though the cool air feels like nails on my hungry cock. It doesn’t matter. I place a palm on her stomach, which is still flat. No sign of the child inside. “Are you okay? Have you seen a doctor?”

  She laughs softly. The sound washes over me, rain on a desert. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Do you feel sick? Do you need…” I know nothing about babies. Or pregnant women. I’m the one who feels faintly sick. “Pickles? Or ice cream?”

  Her smile looks fully serene. A queen on her throne. Her arms pull me down. Her body cradles me—her breasts, her stomach, her wet cunt. “Only you, Hades. You’re all I need.”

  And when I bury myself inside her, I know I’ve finally come home.

  Epilogue

  Zeus

  I’ve finally found a problem I can’t fuck my way out of.

  It’s a mindset issue, really. Being this despondent makes it difficult to be interested in sex. It’s not that I can’t do it—that would be a cold day in hell—but that I have no interest. I might as well be dead.

  It’s very charming, this desolate look I have going on. Staring out the window is a regular habit in a whorehouse, where one needs to rest his eyes every so often to avoid too much tampering with the merchandise. A certain amount is allowed if you’re the owner, which I am, but even now, I’ve cleared out the prizes that I usually use to decorate my office. They’re useless when I feel like this.

  A knock at the door.

  “Come.”

  Savannah is pretty, like all the others, but less timid. Spent hours on her makeup, obviously, and probably more on her hair. She chose a nice dress. And now she is here in my office with red lips and a coy smile. “They’re waiting for you downstairs.” She touches my things, which is asking for me to pin that hand behind her back and walk her out of here. “Everybody sent me up to tell you.”

  “You volunteered and you know it.” I’ve fucked her before. It was fine. A nice distraction.

  “You’re right.” A pout. She tosses her hair over one shoulder. “I thought you might want to relax a little before you went downstairs.”

  “No need.”

  “Are you sure?” I stand up and straighten my jacket, reaching for my face out of habit. It turns out some stitches are required when your head goes through glass, and a bruise on my cheekbone is still healing. Savannah makes a sad face, the corners of her mouth turning down. “You still look hurt. I could make it feel better.” This time, when she reaches for my face, I catch her wrist in my hand and squeeze. Tight. Tighter. Then I drop it and brush past her.

  Savannah hurries to keep up with me, rubbing at her wrist with a pasted-on smile that becomes a real one before we’re even down the hall. She’s good, but not the best. I expect more of the same from the new girls I’ll be inspecting in thirty seconds.

  She follows me, my own personal shadow, all the way down to a room on the first floor, which is conveniently close to the loading dock and the back entrance. I can feel myself becoming the man who owns this place and everyone in it. A benevolent dictator, emphasis on benevolent. Buttoned suit. Perfect posture. Smile.

  Reya’s waiting with the new hires, all six of them stripped down to panties and bras. If they can’t handle this, then I won’t put them out on the floor. Each one has her own attitude. The blonde on the far left is the first to meet my eyes and stick her chin in the air. She lets me turn her face from side to side and winks at me when I let her go. Saucy.

  “Promising,” I tell Reya, who makes a note in my ledger. She’s good for many things, one of which is recordkeeping.

  The redhead next to her is promising too, but the third girl is trembling. Her arms are locked over her chest tight and when I touch her face she clenches her teeth. I’m not in the business of making pity hires, but what the fuck else am I going to do? Judging by the peaked lines in her face, she’s hungry. “I think you’d be better off in the kitchens. Can you cook?”

  “W-what? Yes. I cook all the time.”

  Lie. “Reya, she’ll go to the kitchens. She can start on dishes and work her way up.”

  When I step away from her she visibly sags, letting out a breath.

  Four and five, unmemorable but beautiful. They’re doing they’re best, putting on a pretty show, and it’s fine, fine, fine. Excited to be here. They should be, because they know I treat my staff well. Mostly. They bounce up and down on the balls of their feet when I move on, eager to get to what’s next.

  And then there’s the last woman, and suddenly I am far less interested in rushing through this and far more interested in looking at her.

  She’s gorgeous. That’s not what’s so arresting about her. It’s that she is giving me absolutely nothing.

  Nothing.

  Not excitement. Not fear. What the fuck is she feeling? A long look into her eyes reveals nothing else. I spent most of my waking hours reading women, getting their worth out of them, and this one?

  A closed book.

  A book with uncut pages, wrapped in locks and chains.

  I hate it.

  “If you’re going to look any longer, you could at least pay me for my time,” she says.

  The rest of the room goes silent. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Reya’s hand frozen above the ledger, her mouth open in shock.

  “Take them out, Reya. Show them their new rooms. We’re done here.”

  All of them start to file toward the door, but I hook a hand around her elbow and stop her. This woman. This alluring, irritating woman. Reya hustles the rest of the girls out into the hall and pulls the door closed.

  “Is this part of the interview, then?” She crosses her arms, and I slip my fingers between them to pull them down.

  “It’s an inspection, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’ve passed.”

  I circle her closely, and breathe her in. She smells like cheap shampoo and something sweet, which is at odds with the fire in her eyes and the games she’s playing.

  “Why not?” She’s trying to keep me in her line of sight but I make it hard, because I might be a benevolent dictator, but inside I am a consummate asshole. “Am I not pretty enough for you?”

  “Men will want you sweet and compliant. Stand still.”

  She does, but I can tell it’s hard from the way she tenses. I stroke a hand over the naked skin of her belly. Nothing shows on her face. “I’ll spread my legs. What more do you want?”

  I brush my fingers up to the tiny bow in the center of her bra and higher, seeking out the delicate flesh underneath her chin. She lifts it for me, and fuck, I’m pulled into her, stepping far inside her personal bubble until the front of my suit makes contact with the skin of her back. I only mean to kiss the side of her jaw, touch it with my lips, really, but at the last moment she turns her head and kisses me first.

  It’s brief, glancing, her eyes fluttering shut for the shortest surrender I have ever seen.

  A spark.

  A single match in the night.

  A thrill.

  I let go on instinct—hot—and marvel at this development. My heart has gone out of rhythm, racing, getting ahead of me. That’s what they mean when they say thrill. A lifting sensation, like running fast and taking flight. What the fuck? I haven’
t felt something like that in forever. Or maybe ever.

  She turns her head away, putting an inch between us, and looks toward the door, a slight color to her cheeks but no other evidence of the electric jolt that just happened.

  I’m going to keep her.

  It’s a rash decision, but sometimes there are only rash decisions.

  I’m going to keep this woman. But I won’t let anyone else touch her. Not until I've had my fill of her. She’s for me.

  Thank you so much for reading MIDNIGHT KINGDOM! If you need another dangerous hero in your life, then look no further than RICHER THAN GOD. Zeus’ story begins in July 2020.

  People always assume my brother Hades is the ruthless one.

  Those people have never met me.

  Reserve your copy of RICHER THAN GOD today!

  Need another forbidden romance right this instant? Try my epic best friend’s little sister romance with a scorching military hero in BEFORE SHE WAS MINE!

  Download BEFORE SHE WAS MINE, free everywhere!

  Connect with Amelia

  Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.

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  See you on the other side! <3

  P.S. There’s more where that came from!

  Are you in the mood for wounded warrior heroes with huge hearts? Read BEFORE SHE WAS MINE, free everywhere!

  Do New York billionaires strike your fancy? Read about the irresistibly intriguing men of the Purple Swan, starting with DIRTY RICH, free for a limited time!

  And don’t miss my favorite sweet, angsty, hilarious single dad hero in SINGLE DAD’S WAITRESS, first in my laugh-out-loud Main Street Single Dads series! Read FREE today!

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  Copyright Information

  © 2020 Amelia Wilde

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For more books by Amelia Wilde, visit her online at www.awilderomance.com