King's Ransom

by Jackie Ashenden

  Apparently he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he didn’t do sweet and nice.

  But that was okay. Because I’d told him that maybe I wanted rough and dirty and if this was rough and dirty, I liked it.

  No, I loved it.

  All I was conscious of was the intense pressure and the slow lick of pleasure that began to build. I lifted my other leg and wrapped that around his waist too, instinctively trying to meet his thrusts, grinding to increase the friction.

  He growled into my neck, answering my unspoken need by upping the pace.

  I dug my nails into his back, gasping as the pleasure began to intensify, wrapping my legs tighter around him.

  There was nothing in all the world but this feeling. Nothing in the world but him and what he was giving me. It was heaven.

  He got faster, driving himself deeper, and I clawed at his back, desperation pulling tighter.

  ‘Ajax.’ I twisted under him, blind to everything but the need inside me, the pleasure almost frightening in its intensity. ‘Please... God...please...’

  ‘Look at me,’ he ordered, heated darkness edging his tone. ‘Look at me, Imogen.’

  My eyes flicked open and I felt the collision as his sky-blue gaze met mine, an impact that shook me right to my core.

  He moved harder, ecstasy winding tight around my soul, making me feel helpless and treasured and powerful all at the same time.

  Then he pushed his fingers between us, finding my aching clit and pinching gently.

  The jolt of delicious pain was all the ignition I needed.

  The pressure inside me released in an incandescent burst of pleasure that swamped me, drowned me.

  And the blue of his eyes was the only thing that kept me from being swept away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ajax

  I WATCHED THE moment her climax hit, a brilliant flare of emerald in her eyes, and I bent my head, kissing her again, taking her desperate cry of release into my mouth.

  Then I moved hard and deep, her slick little pussy clenching around my cock and blowing my goddamn mind. She was so soft and hot against me, all roses and musk and husky pleas.

  I should have been careful with her, but the way she was clawing at me, her thighs clamped tight around my waist, made me think she could handle what I was giving her.

  So I let go, driving her into the mattress as I chased the orgasm that was just out of reach. But my little ex-virgin wouldn’t let me go without her. She moved restlessly, panting and writhing, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she was building up to yet another climax.

  But I didn’t know how long I could hold out.

  My cock was aching, every slide into her wet heat making me grit my teeth not to blow it right there and then.

  I’d never had this problem before, could always put off my orgasm for as long as I wanted to, but not with this woman.

  The way she gripped me, digging her nails into my back so hard they were going to leave marks. The way she moved under me, clearly hungry for more. The way she looked at me, her iris a thin emerald circle around her dilated pupils, staring at me as if I was the centre of her universe.

  She wasn’t afraid and she wasn’t wary. There was no hesitation or doubt. She didn’t care about my reputation or my past. She was with me, hiding nothing. Giving everything.

  I had no idea why that was so fucking hot, but it was.

  Perhaps it was her responsiveness, how she was so into it. Into my touch and all the new feelings she was experiencing. Because, of course, this was all new to her.

  I didn’t remember my first time, though I’d been young. I only remembered Julie, another stripper who worked at one of the lounges Dad went to. She’d liked me and I’d liked her and she took me to bed. Showed me what I liked and how to please a woman.

  But none of it had felt new.

  Not like it was new to Imogen.

  And there was something about that, something that got to me even though I didn’t want it to.

  So I tried to hold back, because I wanted to make her come again, but the feel of her satiny skin and the way her pussy was clenching around my aching dick was too much.

  The orgasm burned like wildfire up my spine, a conflagration of pleasure that made me roar against her throat and sink my teeth into her shoulder, shuddering as it blinded me.

  I lost myself for a while, only coming back when I felt her hands on my skin, stroking over my shoulders as if she couldn’t get enough of touching me.

  What the hell had happened? I’d never had an orgasm that intense before, not with anyone.

  Imogen made an impatient sound, her breath soft against my throat, so I shifted, pulling out of her and adjusting my weight so I wasn’t lying fully on her. Then I looked down.

  Her face was deeply flushed, her eyes grass green. A sheen of sweat was up near her hairline and gleaming in the hollow of her throat, her pale golden hair tangled and spread all over the black linen of the bed cover. Her lovely mouth was pouty and full from my kisses...

  She looked thoroughly seduced and so beautiful my breath caught.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked, my voice gritty and rough.

  ‘Omigod, so okay.’ Her face was full of awe, no trace of those earlier tears now. ‘That was just...wow. Is it always like that?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ I ignored the fact that it had never been like that, at least not for me. ‘Not always.’

  ‘Lucky for me I got the “sometimes” then.’ Her hands moved from my back to my chest, stroking over my pecs and down further, tracing my abs, her touch delicate and light. ‘That’s probably all because of you. You’re amazing, did you know that?’

  Jesus, she’d better not put me on a fucking pedestal just because I’d let her cry then made her come a couple of times.

  ‘It’s just sex, little one. It’s not like I cured cancer.’

  I hadn’t moderated my tone, but she didn’t seem to care, her full mouth turning up into a smile. ‘You don’t know. Sex like that could cure cancer. You might have a magic dick and not even know.’

  This woman...

  She’d cried earlier, those tears telling a story that I knew I wasn’t going to like, yet now she was lying here beneath me, looking sexy and sweet and flirting with me as if she’d done this a thousand times before.

  As if she’d never been kept a prisoner by her father or screwed, and screwed hard, by the son of her father’s enemy, with no care given for the fact that she was a virgin.

  Yeah, she was trouble.

  And if you’re not careful you’ll get in deep.

  Ignoring that thought, I pushed back a couple of golden strands of hair that had stuck to her forehead. ‘Did you ever think that maybe it’s got nothing to do with my dick? It might be that you have a magic pussy.’

  Her smile got wider and she spread her hands on my chest, pressing her palms against me, making it obvious she liked the feeling of my skin on hers. ‘Hey, that’s true. I might. Still, me and my magic pussy are going with my original “you’re amazing”.’ Her fingers made another journey over my abs. ‘Can we do it again, please?’

  I was getting hard again, her hands on me so good. A couple of hours only I’d promised her and hell, maybe I could stretch it out longer. Especially since I was only just getting started.

  The consequences of what I’d done and everything that came with them could wait.

  ‘I don’t know—are you up for it?’ I stroked my hand down her body, lingering on the soft curve of her tits and the flare of her hips, down to the heat and wetness between her thighs. ‘You might be sore.’

  She shuddered, parting her thighs to give me access. ‘No, I’m not sore. Oh...’ Her breath caught as I found her clit, brushing lightly over it with the tip of my finger, teasing her. Her lashes swept down and she arched her back. ‘Ajax...that feels so
good...’

  The way she said my name and the way she gave herself utterly to what I was doing to her was like a drug. I couldn’t get enough.

  ‘Wait there for me,’ I muttered, moving off the bed and crossing over into the en suite bathroom to get rid of the condom.

  A minute later I was back and she opened her arms to me like we’d been lovers for years and not a mere half an hour.

  For some inexplicable reason, it made my chest get tight.

  Refusing to examine the feeling, I ignored it, coming back down onto the bed beside her before getting her beneath me once again. Her hands settled on my shoulders and she began to stroke me as if she had every right to touch me however she liked.

  Yeah, and that was hot too.

  ‘What’s going to happen about your plan?’ she murmured. ‘I mean, now that I’ve been de-virginised.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ I said shortly, not wanting to think about it right now.

  There was a silence.

  She began to trace the lines over my left pec. ‘Your tattoos are incredible. What do they mean?’

  I’d got them when I was much younger, the lines outlining my muscles, highlighting my strength. Dad had hated them and so I’d loved them, a secret declaration that I wasn’t my father’s puppet, the way he seemed to think I was.

  But I wasn’t going to explain that to her, so all I said was, ‘Nothing in particular. A tattoo artist friend designed them for me.’

  ‘I love them.’ Her fingers moved down my left side, a look of fascination on her face. ‘Did it hurt? Do you think I could get one done one day? Where’s the least painful place to get one?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions. What’s up with that?’

  Her exploring fingers slowed, her lashes sweeping down and veiling her gaze. ‘I’m...not very good at keeping quiet when I’m curious about something.’

  I looked down at her lovely face. ‘Why should you be quiet when you’re interested in something?’

  ‘It’s not only that. I find it difficult to sit still and I often don’t think before I speak. I’m trying not to be so impulsive all the time and I know I need to control myself better, but it’s...hard.’ She paused, her attention on the black lines of my ink under her fingers. ‘Dad doesn’t like it and I try not to do stuff he doesn’t like.’

  I watched her face, saw the expression on it close down, the lovely green of her eyes darken.

  ‘Why not?’ The protective instinct inside me growled deep and low and it echoed in my voice. ‘I thought you said your father didn’t hurt you.’

  ‘He didn’t. But there are always consequences for not doing what he wants.’

  ‘What consequences?’ It came out as a demand, but I didn’t bother to soften it. William White may not have laid a finger on his daughter, but he’d clearly hurt her in other ways.

  Imogen sighed. ‘A couple of years ago I tried to have something of a normal life, or as much of one as you can with twenty-four-seven guards. I signed up for a course at uni, joined a few clubs to meet people, that kind of thing. Anyway, there was this guy in my history class and I liked him. I’d never been on a date before so I asked him if he’d come out for coffee with me. He said he would, except...he never turned up for it. The next day I read in the paper about a man who’d been beaten and left for dead in an alley near where we were supposed to be meeting.’ She dropped her gaze, staring ferociously at her finger following the line of my tat to my hip. ‘I knew it was Cam. Just like I knew it was Dad who’d hurt him. He’d always warned me that I needed to be careful who I associated with and who I spoke to, but... I don’t know. I guess I never thought he’d actually do anything.’ A flicker of pain crossed her expressive face. ‘It was my fault Cam got hurt. I should have remembered Dad’s warning. I should have thought more about the consequences of asking him out.’ Her tracing finger came to a stop. ‘But I was so thrilled to have a conversation with a cute guy and I...forgot.’

  My protective instinct sank its claws deeper, responding to the note of pain in her voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I growled. ‘It was your father who beat him up, not you.’

  ‘I know that. But Cameron didn’t. It was my responsibility not to put him in harm’s way, because I know what Dad’s like.’ She swallowed. ‘And it’s not like Dad hasn’t told me for years that I need to learn how to control myself.’

  I shouldn’t have cared what her father had told her. She was my prisoner, nothing more.

  Yet the pain that threaded through each word caught at something inside me like an anchor catching on a rock.

  Did this have anything to do with the way she’d cried earlier? With how she’d tried to repress it, seemingly angry at herself for getting emotional?

  I’d have bet the whole of King Enterprises that it did.

  ‘You’re going to have to explain to me why your father thinks you need to control yourself,’ I ordered, not caring that my voice had got rough and uncivilised. ‘And then you’re going to have to explain why you believed him.’

  Her mouth got a stubborn look to it. ‘Why? I don’t have to if I don’t want to.’

  I caught her chin with my finger, tipping her gaze back to mine. ‘Because I’m curious, Imogen. And you know what it’s like to be curious, right?’

  She let out an annoyed breath, flickers of anger in her green eyes.

  Good. Let her be angry. That was better than her being hurt.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ she said after a minute. ‘My mother died when I was born and Dad never got over it. He told me that it was my fault she died and that I’ll never be like her. Never measure up to her. I’m too emotional, too impulsive. I didn’t...deserve her.’

  Jesus.

  ‘Of course you deserved her,’ I said fiercely. ‘Don’t tell me you believed all that bullshit?’

  The stubborn line of her mouth softened, became more vulnerable. ‘I didn’t want to. But he’s my Dad. He’s the only person I’ve got.’ A shadow shifted in her green eyes. ‘I don’t have anyone else.’

  Sound familiar?

  Yeah, it did. But my isolation had been self-imposed, while hers had been forced on her, the bright, inquisitive spirit I’d seen behind those green eyes compelled to get what it needed from a man who didn’t give a shit about crushing it.

  Poor little one. No wonder she hadn’t cared about being kidnapped. Her mother was dead and her father had denied her the connection she was hungry for. A connection she needed.

  I stroked my thumb along her jaw. ‘You have me. And I don’t care if you’re impulsive or emotional or curious or any of that other bullshit, understand? You can be yourself with me, Imogen.’

  Emotions shifted and changed like quicksilver in her eyes. ‘Because I don’t matter to you, right?’

  I didn’t miss the half-desperate note in her voice. It sounded a hell of a lot like she didn’t want to matter, which was pretty much the opposite of what I usually got from women.

  ‘You don’t want to matter to me?’ I asked, curious. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t want to have to live up to anyone else’s expectations. I don’t want to worry about disappointing anyone.’

  The way she’d disappointed her father, clearly.

  ‘You won’t disappoint me,’ I said. ‘Not in any way.’

  Colour rose in her cheeks and her gaze flickered. ‘You were disappointed that I wasn’t afraid of you.’

  ‘Apart from that.’

  ‘And that I got into your stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, apart from that as well.’

  ‘And I ask a lot of annoying questions.’

  ‘I can handle your questions.’

  She let out a breath. ‘Just don’t care about me, Ajax. Caring makes people do things they shouldn’t.’

  Hell, I couldn’t argue. I’d had front row seats to that particular shi
t show. There were a lot of things I’d done that I shouldn’t have.

  Such as leaving your brothers to get hurt?

  Ah, fuck, I didn’t need that thought in my head.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Caring about you is the last thing I’m going to do.’ I tightened my grip on her chin. ‘Don’t forget, little one, I’m a monster. And monsters don’t care about anyone.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Imogen

  I STARED INTO Ajax’s eyes and something gripped tight in my chest.

  Did he really think he was a monster?

  But the answer was there in his stunning blue gaze.

  Denial shifted inside me. I knew monsters—at least I knew one, my father—and Ajax wasn’t like him. Not in any way.

  The night he’d kidnapped me, instinct had told me that Ajax King wasn’t a man I should be afraid of, and so far he’d done nothing to disprove that.

  And, anyway, I wouldn’t have let him touch me if I’d been afraid. I wouldn’t be sitting here, lying on his magnificent naked body and tracing his tattoos if he’d been the same kind of monster my father was.

  He radiated protective energy; I could feel it in my bones. In my heart. He might be hard and pitiless, with a violent, fearsome reputation, but he wasn’t a man who’d hurt vulnerable people.

  I was the daughter of his father’s enemy and, despite catching me poking around in his personal things, all he’d done was tell me off.

  Hardly the actions of a monster.

  You don’t know him. He could be just a different type of monster.

  He could be. But if he was a different type, then it was a type that I found completely fascinating and utterly compelling.

  And what made him think he was a monster anyway? What was in his past that made him think he was so dangerous? There were rumours about him, about how ruthless he was as a businessman. Many had expected that, as heir to his father’s throne, he’d go down along with Augustus, yet he hadn’t. In fact, he’d been the one who’d taken Augustus down, seemingly escaping the charges that had caught his father.