Masterson In Love

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  I turn my back to the couple and start cleaning up my workspace to keep busy while the two of them spar.

  "Lift the bandage, and take a look."

  "Why are you so stubborn. If you had to get this damn tat while you're still pregnant, then why didn't you use my guy? No offense," he says to me.

  "None taken," I reply.

  "If you would stop grumbling for one second and take a look."

  I love how this woman doesn't take his shit. They are a great match. I'm glad she trusted me to do this for them.

  When he lifts the bandage and reads the words, he grins, and looks up at her as if she's the most amazing woman on the planet.

  "Do you see the colors I used?" she asks him.

  "Blue."

  She waits a second for it to register.

  "Blue? We're having a boy?"

  "Yes!" she says excitedly.

  He grabs her face with his palms and plants a huge kiss on her lips. I don't want to watch, but then again I can't look away. Their obvious connection makes my ovaries want to applaud.

  "And you know what that means," she continues. "It means that I won the bet."

  His face drops.

  "Oh shit."

  "Oh shit is right, Mr. Masterson." She smirks.

  "What do you want?" he asks with a wariness to his voice.

  "You have to give it to me. A bet is a bet."

  "What. Do. You. Want. Nerd."

  "I-want-us-to-get-married-in-Vegas-so-your-mother-can-come," she blurts out.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

  "Uh-uh."

  "Um, Zoe, we're going to need the room."

  Is he kicking me out of my own space?

  "Well, I'm going to be closing–" I say before he cuts me off.

  "Here's a hundred as a tip for the nice work, but we'll be needing the fucking room, or you can stay and watch. Your choice."

  Uh ...

  "On your feet, Duchess."

  "A bet is a bet," she says again teasingly.

  I can't believe she's still egging this maniac on with a victorious look on her face. I was scared to leave her alone with him for a moment, but now I'm starting to think that she's totally got this. Maybe she does realize her own power over this man.

  "And I'm going to honor your bullshit bet, because I love the ground that your pretty little ass walks on; but right now you're going to lean on the chaise, lift up your dress, and spread your fucking legs."

  "Masterson," she exhales harshly.

  "Good thing your panties are already off, or I'd rip those fuckers to shreds right now. Now let me have a taste," he growls.

  And that's my cue to leave.

  My work here is done.

  Well done.

  ♡ ♡ ♡

  Ready for the next story in the series? Read Jade & Camden King’s Story in Claimed By A King (Fixer Series Book Four). Read on for a preview or

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  CLAIMED BY A KING PREVIEW

  Camden & Jade’s Story

  I'm in the bathroom, in my birthday suit, contemplating the day I've just had. As I sip on my second large cocktail consisting of Grey Goose vodka and pineapple juice over ice, I finish wiping off the remnants of my so-called waterproof mascara, and start running the tub when I hear a knock at my hotel room door.

  I'm feeling no pain, but the knock is loud enough that I hear it over my old school nineties jams streaming through an app on my phone. I don't think anything of the interruption though, because I'm expecting an overpriced Cobb salad and an iced tea from room service. So I wrap the oversized bath sheet around my nude body, run to the door, crack it open to let the server in, and immediately turn back to attend to my tub full of water.

  "You can just leave the platter on the bed," I call out. Running back to the bubbles and cocktail waiting for me. But it isn't anyone from room service. It's a greeting from a deep, rolling, familiar voice that makes my stomach flip and flutter instead.

  "Where are you running off to, itty bitty?"

  I whip my head around in shock. Strands of my hair flying in my mouth. Only one person calls me that particular nickname, and he has no business being here.

  "What the hell?!" The words tumble out of my mouth.

  "Come again?"

  The voice doesn't like it when I curse at him. Never mind the fact that he has a foul mouth too. Never mind the fact that he is here invading my space, not the other way around, so in my opinion a couple of curse words are definitely called for.

  "Let me speak clearer for you then." I make sure to enunciate all my consonants and vowels. Especially the bad ones. "What the hell are you doing in my hotel room? No wait, what the fuck are you doing in Maryland period?"

  "Handling some business, and watch your fucking mouth."

  My boss Camden King, deliciously dressed in all black, steps completely into my room, lets the door click shut, and carefully drops his signature black leather backpack on the floor. As soon as I hear the thump of his bag hitting the carpeted entryway, the room suddenly becomes several square feet smaller.

  I can barely breathe.

  His cocky dominance takes up so much oxygen, and there's a seriousness etched across his beautifully chiseled face that frightens and fascinates me at the same time.

  "What business?" I ask with a faux confidence. Not even realizing that I am walking backwards towards the wall as he moves silently forward like the predator that he is quickly revealing himself to be.

  I stop moving when I can't any longer, my back finally against the wall, white knuckling the corners of my towel, making sure that it stays closed. Because if it slips even just a little, I think I will end up slipping.

  Slipping right on top of his enormous dick.

  I hate to admit it to myself, but doing Camden King has been a reoccurring theme in many of my dreams lately. Dreams I hoped would cease very soon, because they are a pain in my ass and a strain on my vibrator. Not to mention that I couldn't or wouldn't ever make the decision to actually fuck my boss.

  Only in my dreams.

  Or so I keep telling myself.

  The two of us stare at each other for a moment in uneasy silence. We don't really need words at the moment, because the fact that he is here speaks volumes. Camden doesn't travel much outside of the Philadelphia area. Not unless it's absolutely required for a job, and being in Baltimore was certainly not a job requirement. We don't have any clients in the area, and we both are actually supposed to be somewhere else tonight.

  The beauty of my relationship with my employers: Camden, Cutter and Roman has always been that it's a simple and straight forward relationship. I work for them. They pay me. I take care of them. They protect me. But we give each other a wide berth when it comes to our private lives. They have their women. Lots of women. And I've had my dalliances too, but no one interferes in each other’s lives.

  At least not until today.

  "What are you doing in this hotel, Jade?" he asks while closing the gap between us even more. "Why aren't you home attending the fundraiser?"

  There was an important autism fundraising event hosted by Roman's stepmother that we both were supposed to attend. I was planning all week to be there, but decided at the last minute to come here instead. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, because there would have been too many questions. Questions I wasn't ready to answer.

  "Why aren't you there?" I counter.

  "I asked first," he says while flashing that very wicked smile of his.

  "What business is it of yours?"

  "Last time I checked you are my business." He takes a long pause for effect then finishes his thought. "You work for me, remember?"

  "Well if
you want to get technical about things, Roman is the one who hired me."

  "I think you're very confused," Camden practically growls in my face.

  At this point, we are standing so close to each other that I feel drenched in his scent. All of the domineering men I work for have a signature aroma, but Camden always smells the best. Earthy and natural. Like he sweats sandalwood and leather. The scent is utterly intoxicating and must be permanently etched in my olfactory senses, because sometimes I wake up in the morning and swear that I can actually smell him in my apartment. Which is completely impossible, because Camden has never been inside of my place, and Lord knows that I'm trying to keep it that way.

  "You answer to three men. Roman, me, and my brother. Of course tonight you have the distinct pleasure of only having to answer to me," he says while running the backs of his fingers gingerly down the side of my face. The unexpected touch of his calloused knuckles almost takes my breath away. What is he doing?

  "Listen, Camden—"

  "No, you listen."

  He's so close that his lips are actually touching mine as he continues to speak. His eyes almost dancing. "I tracked you, I followed you, and I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

  He firmly grabs me around my waist with one hand, and places his other on the hand that is holding my towel in place.

  "What did you—"

  He cuts off my idiotic question with his mouth, and kisses me like he was trying to teach me a lesson. A lesson on how to fuck someone's mouth properly. A lesson on how to shut a woman up in the most pleasurable way possible. A lesson on never questioning why Camden does anything he does. It would be pointless. Especially if he was going to do shit like this to stop me.

  I haven't allowed myself to completely let go though. I'm still highly strung like a tightly wound clock, because I haven't been kissed like this since … well I've never been kissed like this. I've only had one serious relationship in my life, which was a complete disaster from start to finish, and then a string of meaningless fucks afterwards.

  I never kiss them.

  It's one of my rules.

  A rule I've seemed to have completely thrown to the wayside as Camden's tongue expertly and languidly explores mine. Soft, tender, exploratory strokes of his tongue that are loosening me up with each swipe. His skills are so amazing that they make me wonder just how good it would feel if he used them on other areas of my body.

  Probably would be life changing.

  There's no way I can let things get to that point though, because that would be damn near close to breaking my never going to fuck my boss rule. Unfortunately Camden's expert command of my mouth and my inability to respond appropriately because of it starts to shake my resolve.

  I release the taut hold I had on my towel. Then he lifts his hand away from mine and slides it in my hair at the nape of my neck.

  Cradling the back and side of my head.

  Stroking his thumb gently near the corner of my mouth.

  Pulling me farther into him.

  Deepening our kiss.

  And ratcheting up the heat factor.

  I completely let go of the towel. It feels stupid to keep holding onto it in the middle of us passionately making out, because that is indeed what we are doing, even though my hands are still in between us. Serving as the last remaining barrier between the two of us making full bodily contact.

  I can't place my arms around his neck like I want to, because Camden is so much taller than me, so I slide them around his waist instead. Decision made. If this is going to happen, then it's going to happen. Maybe it was meant to be. There's no one here to interrupt us. There's no one to talk me out of it. There's just me and him. No one will have to know. It could be a one time thing. Another meaningless fuck. It would have to be.

  He's my boss and someone I've known for a long time, and because of those two things, he knows entirely too much about me, and I know quite a bit about him as well. Things that would make going beyond one night complicated and awkward. So yeah, it could never be more than one night in this hotel room for both of our sakes.

  Camden abruptly pulls away from the kiss and glares at me almost angrily. As if he's upset that he's just kissed me, or something. Me too, buddy I think to myself. I never thought I would be kissing Camden King naked in a hotel room.

  Honestly, I have no idea what he's thinking. Which is one of the things that drives me absolutely nuts about Camden. I can't read his facial expressions or lack thereof for shit. Which makes handling him that much more of a challenge. It's always been like that, and oddly enough, one of the things that draws me to him.

  "What?" I ask open-mouthed.

  He slowly rakes his eyes up and down my nude body before asking the craziest question.

  "Are you fucking someone here?"

  "What?!"

  "Did I stutter? I asked you if you're fucking someone."

  "What does that matter?"

  "Not the right answer, Jade."

  "Don't make this more difficult."

  "Don't make what more difficult?"

  "Whatever I think is about to happen in this room."

  "Nothing is going to happen in this room until you tell me if you're fucking someone or not."

  "Are you actually trying to throw down an ultimatum? Let's not forget that I didn't invite you here. You barged your way in here. I could care less whether anything happens between us tonight or not."

  "Your pussy begs to differ."

  "You don't know shit about what's in between my legs, and you never will."

  I bend down to pick up my towel, suddenly very self-conscious about my lack of clothing.

  "Anyone who stepped inside of this room right now would know. You can smell it. It's wet. It's weeping. It's hungry. And I made it that way."

  For just a moment his gifted kissing technique made me forget what an arrogant prick Camden King can be, and the reason why I in fact have rules in place to begin with.

  "Get out," I order firmly.

  "I'm not going any motherfucking where," he growls.

  "I don't want you here. Get out—"

  He cuts my words off again, but this time with one of his hands wrapped around my throat and the other shoved between my legs. I inadvertently drop the towel again, and immediately feel a warm gush between my legs as he slides his fingers back and forth between my folds.

  Assertively and expertly.

  My knees would have buckled if it weren’t for the fact that he was firmly holding me against the wall by my neck. I am so turned on by his passionate manhandling of me, I can't think straight and the yeses seem to keep flying out of my mouth.

  "Do you like how this feels, Jade?"

  "Yes," I moan like the weakling the vodka has made me.

  "Do you want me to keep doing this until you come on my hand?"

  Dammit, he's dirty too.

  "Yes," I exhale in defeat.

  "So are you going to be a good girl and answer my question?" His deep voice rumbles closely beside my ear as he continues to stroke me between my legs.

  "Yes," I gasp in pleasure.

  "Yes you are fucking someone here?"

  His hand stops moving.

  "No," I puff out in frustration. Sick of the twenty questions. "The only person I'm fucking is you in about three seconds in this hotel room."

  "Good fucking answer, itty bitty."

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  Bonus Scene

  Cutter & Sloan At The Gala

  Author's Note: This is a scene from the Autism Gala that didn't make the book, but one which I thought was fun between Sloan and Cutter. I thought you'd enjoy it:)

  "Here to catch an investment banker tonight, Ms. Pearson?"

  "Very witty," I say with sarcasm to the dressed up caveman seated next to me.

  He grins like he thinks that I'm actually amused by his degrading question, even though it's closer to the truth than I would like
to admit.

  "Me see that you found suit," I retort in the manner that Jane would speak to Tarzan.

  Then he lets out a deep belly laugh that garners us a few glances from the other guests at our table.

  "Let's dance, Princess."

  Ick! I hate that overused, unimaginative term of endearment.

  "If you're going to address me, please use my name. It seems like you and your friend have a problem with calling people by their God given names. Is that how they do things in your 'hood. Everyone gets a ridiculous nickname."

  "You were much nicer when we first met. Why can't you be that girl again?"

  "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Now go away before people think we're here together. As if."

  I motion for him to shoo with the back of my hand.

  "Scoot. Shoo!"

  The asshole laughs even harder.

  I swear I don't know what on earth I'm doing to encourage this guy. I sat on his lap for ten seconds when we first met at The Lotus, and he's been giving me googly eyes ever since. Why am I not inspiring this type of adoration from the gazillion other men whom I've met over the last few weeks?

  "Fine," I say in frustration. "I'll move then."

  As I motion to stand up, Cutter King grabs me around my waist with clear purpose. His eyes dancing. His grip strong. And he pulls me in toward his very large pecs. Then he stands up slowly. Making sure to slide his chest against my breasts as he rises to his full height.

  He's tall. Really tall.

  Muscular. Massive.

  Brick hard and built like a caveman.

  Strong enough to bash the head in of any intruder. Fast enough to catch any prey. And I'm not going to lie, big enough in all the right places to give me the fuck of a lifetime.

  "Save that dance for me, Princess."

  Now I understand. This is why Bitsy wears panties, and me going commando was a bad idea.

  What the hell is going to soak up all the wetness that the bass in his voice just produced between my legs?

  "I need to excuse myself please."