Keeping King

by Anne Jolin

  Lifting his head, he stares at me through red-rimmed eyes, pain rippling through his features. I’d give anything in this moment to rescue him from this living nightmare, but a sane part of me somehow knows that he needs to suffer through this to come out stronger on the other end.

  “It was winter,” he chokes out. “We were only seventeen—high school sweethearts.” He laughs bitterly and without humor. “I wanted to see some stupid concert in the city, and I begged her to come with me even though I knew she hated my music. She loved me, so she did.”

  I check for cars again, grateful it’s the middle of a work day for most people.

  “She was supposed to drive, but I was nervous about teaching her, so I said no.” He stops, swallowing roughly, and my heart breaks for him. “The snow was coming down hard, and I couldn’t see past the headlights.” He hangs his head. “I didn’t see the semi until it was too late. The driver spun out on black ice. I swerved, but I couldn’t miss him. He took up too much of the road.”

  Tears cascade down from my eyes as I listen to him recount his horror.

  “I heard her scream when the truck impaled the driver’s side of the car.”

  I hug him tight, forgoing the proper care of my healing wounds.

  “When I came to, there was glass everywhere. I begged her lifeless body to come back to me, but she wouldn’t wake up.” He presses a kiss to the palm of his hand before pressing it back down on the pavement in the same place as before. “This is where she was lying when the paramedics called her time of death.”

  I can barely see through my own tears as I hold him, trying to fill his open wounds with my affection.

  “She’s dead because of me. I killed her.”

  The weight of his false guilt crashes down on my shoulders, and I grab his tear-stained face, roughly lifting it to face mine.

  “Look at me, Jayden.” I struggle against the lump in my throat. “What happened here was tragic, but it was not your fault.”

  “I begged her to come with me that night,” he argues. “I should have let her drive.”

  “You can’t balance the forward motion of your life on what-ifs. I would give anything in the world to dive into your heart and steal away the pain, but I can’t. We can’t control what happens to us, only how we move forward from it.”

  “They blame me,” he whispers hollowly.

  “Who does?” I ask defensively.

  “Michelle’s family.”

  Hearing her name is like a physical sting to my heart. There’s so much love and longing in the way he says it. My demeanor is rapidly replaced by the need to protect him.

  “They lost their child too young, Jayden. They needed someone to blame, and next to God himself, you’re probably all they had. It’s not fair, not at fucking all, but with the heavens as my witness, I promise you that her death wasn’t your fault.”

  Grabbing my face, he crashes his lips down on mine, and I can taste our tears inside the kiss.

  When I hear the sound of cars rumbling down the highway, I know we have to move. Breaking our kiss, I stand, pulling him up with me, and together, we collapse against the rocky shoulder. Sliding down, he lays his head in my lap, and I wipe the wetness from his cheeks.

  “Can we stay awhile?” he whispers, clutching my legs with his arms like I’m a lifeline.

  Slowly rubbing his back, I kiss the top of his head. “As long as you’d like.”

  I run my hand over his shirt, above the ink I was tracing this morning, and visually picture his tattoo. Across his side is the silhouette of a young woman. Behind her beams the headlights of what I now know to be a truck. Her hair whips in the wind, which gradually turns into tiny music notes, and floating onto his ribs, just under his heart, reads the lyrics of Pearl Jam’s Last Kiss. “Where oh where can my baby be?”

  We lie there, in the summer sun, along the shoulder of the highway where his first love died, for an hour, maybe two, before he stands, takes my hand in his, and wordlessly leads us back towards the truck.

  In the swirling mess of tragedy and pain surrounding him, I’m the one who feels weighed down by guilt.

  He shared his ugly.

  Is it due time I share mine?

  Degrees of honesty rattle in my head, and although I try vehemently not to, I wonder if there’s room for two women in my boyfriend’s heart. Half for the living, half for the dead.

  IT’S BEEN TWO weeks, fourteen fucking days in all of their brutal entirety, since we’ve become an “us.” I’m trying like hell not to push her, but I’ll be honest—the gentleman is beginning to give way to the beast in me, and he sorely lacks the patience Peyton’s inexperience requires.

  She confided in me that she’s only been with one man in her life and they never had sex. The alpha male in me fucking roared at the news that she would belong to me, only me, sexually, for the rest of her life. Because when the time comes for me to have her, I’ll be damned if she’ll want for anything—or anyone—else.

  The newly awakened organ in my chest silently prays alongside my libido that her heart would also belong to me, but that will reveal itself in due time, I suppose.

  I know there is more to the story, more to her lack of experience than that, but she has, so far, refused to open up to me. I’ve obliged, learning to explore her body with my hands but never going further than some high-school-style making out and a little under-the-skirt action. I haven’t pressed her on what is behind it all, but I’ll admit that it fucking sucked after I bled my heart out on the pavement for her.

  I crave her honesty nearly as much as I crave her body at this point.

  Sharing with her the ugly, hollow parts of me was a uniquely terrifying experience, but in a way, I felt the darkness in my heart flee in the comfort of her strength. I’ve never visited Michelle’s grave. Not once. Nor have I visited the crash site for any length of time, aside from driving the highway with friends. It freed me, liberated my heart, and released it from guilt. I loved Michelle; I always will. She was my first love and a person who was stolen from this Earth long before her time was due. However, while being there and reliving that with Peyton, I knew that it wasn’t the same. No love ever is. There can be all kinds of love in this world, but never can there be the same love twice.

  Michelle was my first love, but Peyton, if I get my way, will be my one true love, my last.

  Peyton is unlike any woman I’ve ever met before. She’s not outrightly bold or open. No, she’s a quiet thunder that rolls in amongst the clouds and shakes things to their core, the very essence of her rattling inside your chest. It’s beautiful the way all of that harnessed strength simmers under the surface of her soft skin, delicate features enrapturing confidence so effortlessly. And what makes me grin like an idiot is knowing that she comes out of her shell for me. Not because I ask, but because she wants to or sometimes can’t even stop herself from doing so.

  The door on the shop door rings, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Hey, guys.” Peyton’s sweet voice travels up from the front of the shop.

  The stupid grin I get on my face is the appropriate resemblance of a love-sick fool.

  I stand up from my desk, step out into the hallway, and see her leaning against Danika’s table, chatting. She’s been spending a lot of her afternoons here during her recovery. This way, she could be with me, which I fucking loved, but it also kept her from going stir-crazy until she goes back to work.

  My eyes travel up her body, taking in her toned legs, which are encased in cut-off jean shorts, and I count my blessings that they cover that perfect ass of hers—or I’d be tempted to wrap a towel around her waist until we got home. She’s wearing a loose, white tank top—lace of some kind, I think. It could be called something else for all I know about women’s clothing. Wrapped around her shoulders is a see-through, black kimono with flowers all over it. It’s fucking sexy as hell and reminds me of something she should be wearing in our bedroom.

  That’s right—our bedroom. She’s not
spent a single night in the room I made for her in two weeks, and it’ll be over my dead body if she ever sleeps away from me again.

  Her long hair sways over her back when she laughs, and the sound makes my heart swell. Literally, the sight of her just fills me right the fuck up. I’m a whole man again because of her.

  Stepping forward, I try to figure out what’s different. I saw her this morning before I left for work, but there’s something not quite the same about her. Stopping a few feet away from where she’s talking, I mentally inventory her body again, well aware that it’s making my jeans now seem uncomfortably tight. My gaze hovers at her midsection until, finally, it dawns on me.

  Her cast is gone.

  Prowling again, I’m over to her in less than two strides. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I drag her small body back against mine.

  “Did you forget to tell me something this morning?” I growl, nipping at the soft spot on her neck.

  When she places her hands over mine, I can tell she’s rolling her eyes without even having to see her face.

  “I didn’t think it was pertinent information for you to know I had a doctor’s appointment,” she sasses.

  Danika snorts while pretending to clean up her station.

  “Anything that pertains to you is my business.” I tickle her sides with my hands until she squeals and starts slapping my hands away. “Understood?”

  Huffing from the exertion, she turns herself around in my arms. “Yes, warden. My sincerest apologies, sir.”

  I slide one hand up her back, fist it in her hair, and tug slightly so I can see the full pout of her lips. “If I’d known you were getting the cast off today, I would have”—I lean down, hovering my mouth just above hers—“thought of a way to celebrate.”

  “Hmm,” she hums, snaking her arms around my neck. Standing up on her tiptoes, she whispers into my ear, “Take me to your office, Jayden.”

  My mind seems a little slow on the draw, and I stammer back, “W-hy?”

  Pressing her lips against the shell of my ear this time, she giggles. “Because your cock is the first thing I want to wrap my hand around.”

  The words are barely out of her mouth before I toss her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and start walking towards the back.

  “You guys make me sick,” Danika smarts off behind us.

  I vaguely see Foster throw something at her before he says, “Don’t be sad, baby girl. You can have me all to yourself now.”

  I hear something else hit the wall after that, but I couldn’t care fucking less at this point.

  After kicking the office door shut behind us, I set her down on the couch. She stares up at me, lust pooling in her violet eyes.

  “Are you sure about this, sugar? Because if you aren’t, I need to leave this room right fucking now.”

  I know I’m seriously fucked if she says that she isn’t sure, because I’m rock hard and I don’t think a cold shower and a wank is going to cut it this time. Not that it would matter, I’d wait a decade if that’s how long she needed.

  “I’m sure,” she purrs, sliding off the couch and onto her knees. “Let me take care of you,” she begs.

  Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking handle it when she begs. So fucking perfect.

  I nod, my breath coming out in ragged pants as she tugs on my hand.

  “Sit,” she tells me.

  Once I’m sitting down on the leather couch, I toe off my boots before spreading my legs and watching intently as she crawls to kneel between them.

  “Pey, there’s something I need to . . .” My voice trails off when I feel her pull my belt through the loops of my jeans. “You should know . . .” I try again but fail miserably when her fingers graze my skin as she undoes the top button of my pants.

  “Lift,” she demands huskily.

  I oblige, helping her tug my jeans off.

  My last chance to warn her flies out the fucking window as her small hand reaches under the waistband of my boxer briefs. “Fuck,” I hiss at the same time that I hear her gasp.

  “It’s . . .” she mumbles in awe, now sliding my boxers down to join my jeans on the floor.

  Before I can answer, she bends over, her tongue darting out to trace the steel.

  “Pierced,” she finally finishes, looking up at me from under her lashes.

  Fuck, that’s hot.

  I slide my hand across my lap to grip the base of my cock and pump it slowly. “I was going to tell you before, but well”—I run my other hand over my head—“I got distracted.”

  Her eyes light up, a battling display of curiosity and lust, before she giggles, quickly covering her mouth afterwards.

  “You did not just laugh at seeing my cock for the first time,” I groan, closing my eyes in dread.

  You should have fucking warned her, you stupid asshole.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” She fights against the giggles again, and I want to bash my head into the wall. Well, there’s a first for everything, I guess. “Does this mean Foster’s seen your dick?”

  Opening my eyes, I pull the hand down off my head and then cup her innocent face. “No.”

  “Danika?!” Her eyes widen, and a fire rolls behind them.

  Tilting her chin up, I shake my head. “No. I did it.”

  “Oh,” she says softly, looking down to admire my cock again. “Did it hurt?”

  “Yes,” I admit. It hurt like a fucking bitch. “It will feel good, Peyton.” I lift her head to look at me again. “When I’m balls-deep inside your pussy and this”—I flick the steel loop with the small bead attached to it on the end of my cock, my Prince Albert piercing—“hits you in that sweet spot every time, you’ll be begging me to allow you to come.”

  Her body quivers and her mouth makes this adorable fucking “O” shape.

  “But, Peyton.” I narrow my eyes at her. “If you ever mention Foster with that pretty mouth of yours right before you’re about to suck my cock, I will spank you.”

  She gasps.

  “Hard.”

  “Yes, Jayden.”

  “Good girl,” I praise her, running my thumb along her bottom lip. “Just be careful the first time, sugar. I don’t want it to hit your teeth, okay?”

  Not answering me, she leans down again, twirling her tongue around the tip of my swollen head before sucking it into her mouth. She wraps one of her small hands around the base where my hand was and starts pumping slowly in time with her sucking.

  I moan, her hot mouth driving me fucking crazy. Her eyes look up at me again from under those long, black lashes at the same time that I fist my hands in her hair, pulling it away so I can see her face.

  Feeling braver, she sucks more of me into her mouth, and my cock slides down the back of her throat.

  Fuck, she’s perfect.

  I watch her eyes water a little, probably from the choking sensation, and I fucking feel my balls tightening up at the sight of her. My girl. Then her mouth comes off the top with a pop.

  “Do you like sucking my cock, Peyton?”

  “Yes.” She nods breathlessly, licking her lips. “Am I doing it okay?”

  Her hand starts moving again, slowly milking the pre-cum from my dick, as she waits for my answer.

  “You’re perfect,” I moan. “Your mouth is so fucking sweet. Just like the rest of you.”

  “More,” she whimpers, and I release my grip on her long hair.

  She responds, eagerly sucking me back into her mouth, taking me deeper each time her mouth slides down my shaft.

  “I’m going to come,” I growl in warning a few minutes later.

  She looks up at me again, making no moves to unwrap her lips from my cock. As I grab her hair again, our eyes lock before I come with her mouth still wrapped tightly around me, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks down every last drop.

  “You’re perfect,” I whisper, pulling her up into my lap.

  She runs her hands up my chest, lacing her fingers behind my neck. “I want to feel it inside m
e,” she says shyly.

  “Jesus,” I hiss, my hips bucking. “Are you trying to make me hard again?”

  She smiles, dipping down to kiss me.

  I slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting myself, and suck on her bottom lip, nibbling it a little. When I feel the pace of her breathing pick up, I slide my hand up her body, cupping her breast through her shirt.

  “Ah,” she whimpers into my mouth.

  Taking the opportunity, I pull her shirt and the cup of her bra down, exposing her perfect tits. Pinching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I try to hold her still when she starts to squirm on my lap. I break our kiss, leaning down to suck the nipple I was just teasing into my mouth. At the same time, I expose her other breast. Then I take turns lavishing both sides of her chest with bites and sucks before she starts begging again.

  “Please, Jayden.”

  The begging is going to be the death of me.

  Not wanting to withhold her pleasure, I stand with her in my arms, carrying her over to my desk. After I set her down, I unbuckle her shorts and slide them down her legs. She watches me, her eyes hooded and darkened with lust, as I hook my fingers in the sides of her lace thong. Then I intentionally drag it slowly down her legs.

  Wrapping my arms under her thighs, I grab her ass and drag her towards my mouth.

  “Jayden,” she protests weakly.

  We haven’t done this before, but I can’t wait any longer to have my mouth on her.

  I blow cool air onto her bare pussy, and that shuts her up, her hips bucking off the desk in response.

  “I bet you’ll be the sweetest thing I ever eat,” is the last thing I say before my tongue licks from her clit to her dripping center and back.

  My hands grip her thighs to hold her down. Her body alternates between trying to pull away from my mouth and not being able to get close enough.

  As I dip my tongue inside her, my dick thickens. So fucking sweet.

  I tease her folds, licking and sucking, moving my tongue in ways that have her biting onto her forearm to stop from screaming.

  “Come for me,” I demand. “Now, Peyton.”