“There’s plenty of reason,” I mutter.
“Lower the sheet.” When my fingers tighten around the material, he adds, “It’s nonnegotiable.”
I’m really starting to hate when he says that.
“Summer,” he warns, hard gaze flicking to mine.
With a huff, I shove the sheet to my waist and glare. Not that he would notice, because his gaze is glued to my breasts. My fingers curl, biting into the cotton draped over my lower half.
“Happy?” I growl, embarrassment swamping me. The only thing getting me through this excruciating moment is that the room is cloaked in darkness. It would be so much worse if he were staring at me in broad daylight.
“Extremely.”
What I refuse to do is cower before Kingsley. If he thinks I’ll give him the satisfaction of making me cry, he’s got another thing coming. As that thought circles through my head, I straighten my shoulders and thrust out my breasts.
Fuck him.
He studies me leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world. “You don’t believe what he said, do you?”
“Who?”
“Axel.”
I shake my head, unsure what we’re discussing. He reaches out, wrapping his thumb and forefinger around one nipple. Almost instantly it pebbles beneath his touch as he strokes it. Liquid heat shoots from my breast straight to my core before exploding upon impact.
Every time.
It’s like this every time he touches me.
My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep the sound buried deep inside. I’m guessing that Axel is itty-bitty titty committee guy.
“I think your breasts are fucking perfect.” His other hand rises, fingers reaching out to play with the other neglected nipple before manipulating them in tandem.
He caresses me until my head rolls back, and I’m unable to stop the whimper from breaking free. How is it possible to enjoy his touch all the while hating him? It’s confusing to have so many conflicting emotions warring inside me.
“Does that feel good?” He glances at my face, scrutinizing my expression as if he’s genuinely curious. “Do you like when I touch you?” His voice grows thicker, huskier. Until it sounds as if it’s been dredged from the bottom of the ocean.
Like isn’t nearly a strong enough word, but I’m loathe to tell him that. I don’t want Kingsley to realize how much he affects me. It wouldn’t surprise me if he turned around and used that information against me.
When his fingers disappear, a mewling protest escapes from my lips. His wide hands wrap around my hips before tugging me down the bed. I yelp and prop myself up on my elbows. The movement causes my back to arch and my breasts to lift. He releases my hips as his hands return to my chest.
“I don’t need anything more than this,” he murmurs, continuing to palm the soft weight. “You’re the perfect handful.”
All the other times Kingsley has touched me, it’s been laced with anger and a need to dominate as he forces me to submit. This is different. His touch is unexpectedly tender. I’m shocked to realize that as much as I enjoy the way he’s caressing me, I also like when he manhandles me. My body responds to the control he exerts as if it’s his God given right. A shudder passes through me as I shove that disturbing thought from my mind, unwilling to inspect it with further thoroughness.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Why am I enjoying something I clearly shouldn’t?
When he tweaks my nipples, a strange pleasure-pain shoots through me and those thoughts disintegrate. A gasp leaves my lips before I cut it off.
“Don’t do that,” he growls. “I want your moans. All of them.” As if to reinforce the point, he pinches the stiffened little buds again. “Understand?”
“Yes,” I groan as he soothes my abraded flesh with gentle caresses.
“Good girl.” His gaze flicks to mine. “Tell me the truth, do you like the way I touch you?”
There is too much pleasure rushing through me to lie. “Yes, I like it.”
So much.
Too much.
No one has ever played with me like this. There were a few guys I went out with in Chicago. There’s even been a boob graze or two. At homecoming junior year, my date worked up the courage to lay his hand over my breast and squeeze it, but I quickly knocked him away and that was the extent of physical contact for the evening.
What Kingsley is doing is altogether different. He’s not asking permission. This is more of a claiming. As if he’s making me his. Marking me as his.
Property of K. Rothchild
I should hate the implication and the way he’s forcing my body to crave his touch. With every passing hour, my feelings for him become more muddled. The strange relationship we have forged is no longer black and white. Yes, I hate him, but if I’m being perfectly honest, I want him, too. I don’t know how to reconcile those feelings.
Warm night air hits my nipple as one hand disappears only to be replaced by the heat of his mouth. The velvetiness of his tongue dances around the areola. Swirling over the flesh without ever coming in contact with the tightened little bud that begs for his attention. His other hand continues toying with my breast. Alternately stroking the tip before kneading the soft weight. With his face lowered to my chest and his upper body caging me in, I groan and shift restlessly beneath him.
When he finally drags the flat of his tongue around my nipple before lapping at the center, I nearly come off the bed. He grunts when my fingers thread through his short hair, dragging him closer. He must understand what I’m desperately trying to convey because he draws the peak into his mouth. I can only liken the pull of his lips to a bomb being detonated, sending shock waves of arousal straight to my core.
I whimper as he continues to tug mercilessly on the hardened tip.
With a rumble that comes from deep within his chest, he lifts his head before switching to the other side. Fingers vanish as his mouth takes over. Heat gathers in my core, flooding my panties. Sensation whips through my center like an oncoming storm. My pussy throbs to life with a need so sharp that it borders on agonizing.
“Kingsley,” I moan, arching my body to get closer.
“Tell me what you need, baby girl,” he whispers against my aching flesh.
When he draws me back into the warm cavern of his mouth, I teeter on the edge of the precipice. I don’t understand how my body can be so worked up. All he’s doing is playing with my breasts. But it feels so damn good.
“More.” It’s the only thought spinning through my head.
I need more.
“You’re so fucking greedy,” he groans. “I love it.”
I’ve never thought of myself as greedy, but he’s right. Where Kingsley is concerned, I can’t get enough. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get my fill. There is a cavernous well of need buried inside me that he has tapped into. This is a Summer I know nothing about. A sexual being I no longer recognize in the mirror.
He peppers a fiery trail of kisses across my ribs, sliding lower with every flick of his tongue, moving closer to the sheet pooled around my waist. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch as he drags the crumpled material away from my body until he has an unobstructed view of my panties.
He groans against my belly before sliding further down my legs. All I want to do is widen them and give him access to the part of me that throbs with an intoxicating concoction of pleasure filled pain.
My tummy trembles as his tongue darts out to trace the flesh directly above the elastic band sitting low on my hips. Warm night air kisses my breasts as his hands drift away from them to the cotton barring entrance to my core before he hooks his thumbs under the thin bands at my sides. His gaze flicks to mine, capturing it with a fire that will burn me alive if I let it.
I’m physically incapable of dragging my attention away from him. I felt this strange power the first time I met him on the beach, and the tentative bond was strengthened the day we spent on the boat. And then again, two months later, when I saw him at Hawthorne
Prep. I don’t understand why there is a connection between us. Every time he lays his hands on me, it intensifies, becoming stronger.
“Are you mine, Summer?” He slides the panties down an inch before nipping at the delicate skin that has been revealed.
“Yes,” I whimper. Whether or not I want it, there’s no denying that I’m his.
His eyes darken with pleasure. “To do what I want with?”
My teeth sink into my lower lip.
Say no!
I’m my own person. Not a toy he can take out and torment when he’s bored.
He pulls the cotton lower so that the top of my mound is exposed before nipping at me. “Answer me,” he growls. “Are you mine to do what I want with?”
Not only is the question dangerous, so is the answer. It’s the equivalent of handing over my soul to the devil for safekeeping.
When his teeth sink into the plump flesh, I yelp as pain throbs through me before dissolving into pleasure. A heavy wave of arousal crashes over me, flooding my panties with slick moisture. It makes little sense how something so painful can be filled with so much gratification. There must be something wrong with me to enjoy this so much. Some kind of deviant trait he has awakened inside me.
“Yes,” I moan, unable to stop the word from escaping.
“Now you belong to me.” He tugs the underwear lower, exposing the top of my slit before pressing a kiss against it. A growl rumbles up from his throat before he nips at the flesh. “Do you have any idea how bad I want to eat you up?”
A thick shudder of need works its way through my body as he buries the tip of his nose against me before inhaling. “Goddamn, you smell fucking edible.” His eyes glint in the moonlight. “Which is good, because I plan on making a meal out of you.”
The words pouring out of his mouth should shock the hell out of me. On some distant level, they do. But not nearly as much as I wish they did. Twenty minutes ago, I wanted to scream the house down because I’d been so frightened. Now I want to scream the house down for an entirely different reason.
“Widen your legs.”
Whatever he demands, I’ll give without question.
Never breaking physical contact, Kingsley positions himself between my thighs. Even though I’m still wearing panties, I’m spread impossibly wide. His mouth hovers inches from my throbbing center. All that separates us is a thin scrap of material.
“You’re soaked.” An appreciative tone fills his voice.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet or turned on in my life.
He rolls the material down until more of my pussy is exposed. I shift restlessly beneath him as his gaze drops to my center. “Are you a virgin?”
Even though I’m unsure how he’ll respond, there’s no choice but to tell him the truth. “Yes.”
“Good.” As if satisfied with the response, he caresses the top of my slit with the fullness of his lips. “Now your cherry belongs to me.” Using his thumbs, he parts the plump flesh, exposing the hidden part of me that throbs with need.
“All this sweetness is mine.” Our gazes fasten as he licks at my clit. “You know why?”
Sensation ricochets through me, making it impossible to concentrate on his words, and I cry out.
“Because I’m your king.” Another lap of his velvety softness leaves me twisting beneath him. “Do you understand?”
“Yes!” My eyes nearly cross when he strokes over me with the flat of his tongue.
Oh.
My.
God.
The hot rush of pleasure that washes over me is like nothing I’ve experienced before. It’s more explosive. The sensation buzzes under my skin, almost as if it’s trying to claw a way out. It makes all the tentative petting I’ve done under the covers, alone in my bed, seem ridiculously innocent.
A knock on the bedroom door has my eyes popping wide. I stiffen as Kingsley’s gaze glitters with wickedness. Instead of hesitating, his tongue swirls with renewed intensity around my clit and I have to stifle the desperate moan attempting to break free.
“Summer?” There’s a pause. “Are you all right?”
Austin.
My gaze stays pinned to the dark head between my spread thighs. He won’t stop tormenting my aching flesh. If anything, his attention has become more focused, more persistent with the need to drive me over the edge. It’s like he wants to be caught. When I struggle, attempting to dislodge him, his hands tighten around my thighs, dragging them further apart. His tongue never stops circling, dancing over the delicate flesh.
Oh God!
I can’t.
If he keeps this up much longer, I’ll end up coming and my brother will burst through the unlocked door. And that, I can’t allow to happen. It’s that knowledge that keeps me from splintering apart into a million jagged pieces. But that doesn’t mean the intensity isn’t building inside me, gathering energy like a ferocious storm. Any moment the heavens will open and dump buckets of rain.
“Summer?” Austin’s voice grows sharp. Less groggy, more insistent.
I clear my throat and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I can’t watch Kingsley lap at my clit while holding a coherent conversation with my brother. “Sorry for waking you. It was just a bad dream.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “Anything you want to talk about?”
No!
“Nope, just gonna go back to sleep.” It’s difficult to keep the heavy tension from bleeding into my voice.
“Okay. See you in the morning.”
Yes! Morning!
As soon as the footsteps fade down the hall, Kingsley sucks the tiny bundle of nerves between his lips and I nearly come off the bed. A scream builds in my chest as I fall onto my back and grab a pillow, yanking it over my face so that no one will hear me as I’m hit with the most powerful orgasm of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When my alarm goes off the next morning, I stretch against the sheets as a surprising amount of satisfaction reverberates throughout every muscle of my body and a smile curves my lips. For the first time since moving to Hawthorne, I feel strangely contented.
My eyelids flutter open, and a sigh escapes.
A handsome face materializes in my thoughts.
My eyes pop wide as I jack knife straight up in the bed.
Kingsley!
My lungs empty as memories from last night crash over me like a tsunami.
No!
Someone tell me he didn’t sneak into my room last night and play with my body until I screamed out an orgasm so intense that I nearly passed out.
I can’t.
It happened.
Oh God, the horror. A tortured moan escapes as I collapse against the pillows. Grabbing one, I drag it over my face before letting loose a long scream. The muffled sound echoes in my head.
Just like it did last night.
I cringe with embarrassment. How am I supposed to face him at school after I let him lick me in the most intimate way possible?
Heat scorches my cheeks, making them feel like they’re on fire. I can only imagine that I’ll find him loitering near my locker with a smug expression. One dirty word from him and I’ll burst into flame.
Everything he said filters through my head.
Now your cherry belongs to me.
All your sweetness is mine.
I’m your king.
Gahhhh!
Know what the worst part is?
I agreed!
Oh God, I agreed with all of it.
Afterward, while I lay sprawled and dazed, he had pressed one last kiss against my soaked flesh before his mouth drifted over my body and claimed my own. His last parting shot had been—remember to wear your shirt tomorrow. I want everyone to know who owns every inch of you.
I scream into the pillow again. If only it were possible to smother myself. The humiliation of falling apart under his touch is almost too much to withstand.
You know what?
Screw him.
I’m not going to sc
hool today. Not only do I deserve a break after everything I’ve endured, I need one. For my own mental health or I’ll snap, and no one wants that. Least of all me. I need to take a day off and regroup. Maybe find a better way to deal with Kingsley. To keep him at arm’s length.
Is that even possible?
A sigh of relief escapes as I come to a decision. Just knowing I won’t have to see his smug face today already has me feeling better. I toss back the covers and pull on the tank top I’d discarded last night. Even now, at six o’clock in the morning, the heat of the day is evident. When I grab my robe from the chenille-covered bench tucked beneath my vanity, I find the bra I’d worn yesterday to school neatly folded on top of it. Kingsley must have returned it last night. I wrap the robe around myself before padding down the staircase. My footsteps falter outside the kitchen as I pause and give my cheeks a few hard pinches.
“Hey, honey,” Mom says from her perch at the island when she spies me. A steaming cup of coffee sits on the granite countertop in front of her. She blinks in confusion before taking me in. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I mumble, wrapping my arms around my middle.
“Hmmm. You look a bit flushed.” She rises from her stool, coming around the island before laying a hand against my forehead. “I don’t think you have a fever, but still,” her voice trails off. “If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should stay home and rest.”
Agreed.
Mental health day, here I come.
But I can’t give in that easily.
So, I shake my head and protest. “School just started, and the teachers give so much homework. I can’t afford to fall behind.”
A stubborn light enters her eyes as she plants her hands on her hips. “Give me a break, you won’t fall behind after one day. It’s doubtful your teachers would want you to come to school and spread your germs around.”
“It doesn’t matter. I should go,” I murmur before tacking on a long-suffering sigh.
“Absolutely not, young lady!” Mom’s voice grows sharp as I continue to argue. “You’re going to spend the day in bed resting. For lunch, I’ll make your favorite homemade chicken noodle soup. Lucky for you, I have a rotisserie in the fridge. I’m sure by tomorrow, you’ll feel better.”
King of Hawthorne Prep Page 17
