Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  She blushes.

  She blushes as if I’d never kissed her or touched her before. She blushes as if we hadn’t been through hell to get here, our souls tainted by enemies looking to hurt us. She blushes and damn near drops me to my knees to pray at her altar. The sweet pink colors her cheeks, and she whispers, “I thought you were going to show me.” When she waggles her eyebrows, I swoop in, lifting her and setting her down on the bed.

  “It’s gonna be fast and won’t be pretty—”

  “But it will feel oh so good.” Her arms stretch languidly above her head as she tempts me with sinful thoughts of taking this angel and turning her into my personal succubus. She pulls the skirt of her dress up to reveal the garter around her thigh and the red silk between her legs.

  “Red? My what a vixen you are, Mrs. Kingwood.”

  Grabbing me by the lapels, she pulls me until I’m straddling her body. “I prefer queen these days.”

  Four years of misguided searching. I thought I was on a hunt for a murderer. I attempted to find answers to gain peace. Justice. But even though I wasted so much time, experienced betrayal, grief, and almost lost my girl twice, nothing would have given me this—this feeling. This excitement. This happiness. God, this is what I’ve longed for. This is what I searched for, needed to feel whole.

  Sara Jane’s light shines bright. Our love full of laughter.

  Our future is filled with a joy that is only found in each other.

  But as I look at her, I have a flash of pain pass through my mind. Even though I came home after being kidnapped, for some time it was in body only. My mind was back in that basement. I kept seeing Cruise’s bloody and pummeled face, and didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

  Sara Jane told me to fight my way back to health of mind and body. Told me I was too stubborn to lie in bed too long. She sat beside me while I not just regained my strength and energy, but my clarity of mind. And I did.

  Sometimes I would look at her, stare at my beautiful wife. So fucking lucky.

  I take her left hand and kiss the ring wrapped around it, the diamond sparkling in the afternoon light filtering inside, while kneeling before her. “I’m forever indebted to you. Your wish is my command. How may I please you, your majesty?”

  Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as her eyes take me in. Lifting her high-as-fuck heels onto the bed, her knees are bent and then flutter open for me. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are when you take exactly what you want, Alexander?”

  Shrugging off my jacket, I stand and undo my belt, not bothering to remove the shirt or tie. I want to fuck her. Hard. My suit pants fall to my ankles, and I yank my boxer briefs down, freeing the hard-on that has less patience than I do. “You know what I want?”

  “No. Show me.”

  I grab her ankles and pull her ass to the edge of the bed. Sliding my hands under her, I grab the top of her panties and yank them down. Caught around the top of her shoes, I slip one side and then the other off, careful to leave the heels on. Leaning in, I tease, tempt, and entice her with the tip that’s ready for her. Taking my cock in hand, I rub it against her slick pussy.

  She begins to squirm, holding tight to her sounds and groans. I want her begging. I want her pleading for my dick before I give it to her. “How does that feel?”

  “So good. I’m ready. So ready.”

  “Tell me how much, baby.”

  “God, so much.”

  I could bury myself in the heat emanating from her, lost for hours in the sensation, but I can also be a total cad and asshole if it increases her pleasure, and mine. And I intend to increase her pleasure until she’s thoroughly fucked and her body’s jelly. “How much, Sara Jane?”

  “So much.”

  Slipping the tip inside her, I reward her for her confession, and steady myself and still my body. Her eyes were closed but fly back open. “Why did you stop?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  She lifts up on her elbows, her eyebrows pinching together. “Waiting for what?”

  “You know what I want.”

  A sly smile slides into place and she wiggles her hips, teasing, tempting, enticing me to push into her safe haven. The tips of her fingers graze lightly over the fabric clinging to her chest, and she dutifully requests, “Please fuck me, King.”

  Fuck.

  Digging my fingers into her hips, I slam into her, unkind, impatient, and every other sin a husband can commit against his wife. I fill her deep and solid, to the hilt until her head goes back and her mouth falls open. Her back arches and moans escape.

  Pain and pleasure.

  Physically and emotionally.

  Our bodies finally reunite.

  Our souls blurred together in the reunion.

  I find solace in the warm and welcoming walls of her temple, losing who I am and discovering her all over again.

  We fuck.

  We love.

  We lose ourselves in moans and feelings, overwhelming sensations. When her body tremors around me, her little earthquakes luring mine, I give in and trust the fall because we’re falling together.

  I didn’t realize I had dropped my body on top of her until the tips of dancing nails under my shirt enliven my skin. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’ll never leave you.” I somehow lost myself to darkness, but like she has done so often, she drags me to the light. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I reply, pushing myself off and falling beside her. My breathing is ragged and I keep my eyes closed for just a minute more. Our fingers find each other in the space that remains and tangle like we entwined our lives together forever. I turn to see my bride and find the angel I’ve always loved beside me. “Sorry about your hair, but you look even more beautiful to me.”

  “You are all that matters,” she replies with a satisfied smile. “It was the orgasm, right? That’s what you owed me?” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that makes me smile.

  “I think I’ve owed you a good and solid memorable one for a long time now.”

  Rolling to her side, she faces me, and caresses my cheek. “They’re all memorable.” She leans forward and kisses the end of my nose, and then lower, letting her lips linger longer on mine. “I love you, Alexander Roman Kingwood the fourth. Forever.”

  “I love you, my wife.” Her smile stays until I add, “Guess we should attend our own reception.”

  With a heavy sigh, she rolls to her back again. “Do we have to? Can’t we just stay in here the rest of the day?” One of her eyebrows rises along with that side of her mouth—naughtily. “And night?”

  “I’ve corrupted you, you rebel.”

  “I always had it in me. That’s what drew you to me.”

  “It was the Payday, actually.”

  “The Payday?”

  “The candy bar you were eating.”

  Pushing up and resting her body on the weight of an arm propped up on the mattress, her shock is clear in the playful wide eyes and huge smile. “You remember what candy bar I was eating?”

  “I remember everything about you, especially on that day. They aren’t just details from memories. They’re the history that makes our love story.”

  She lowers her chest to mine and kisses me again. Then she gets up. The skirt of her dress falls to the floor, hiding her sexy legs from me again as she stands between my open legs, smiling. Picking up her red panties, she twirls them on a finger and says, “It was your bike and the leather jacket. It’s hard to resist a bad boy.”

  Before she can saunter away, I grab her wrist and pull her onto my lap. With my arms wrapped around her, I steal a kiss, and with my lips pressed to hers, I say, “You’ve changed me, Mrs. Kingwood. That bad boy is gone and I’m going to be the best damn husband you ever dreamed of.”

  “I never dreamed of a perfect husband with a nine-to-five. I don’t need boring routines. You are exactly what I want.” She shrugs, her body wrapped in mine. “I always preferred a black stallion over a white pony anyway.”

  “How about whit
e picket fences?”

  She blows on her nails pretending she’s bored. The sexy minx. “Only haunted manors for me.”

  Laughter bursts from my chest, even though in my heart I know she hates the manor. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  Rubbing her hand over my heart, she replies in complete sincerity, “You’re going to be the life of me, so we’ll call it even.”

  39

  Alexander

  We could pretend, but why? We’ve lived in lies for too long. It’s time for us to live in truths. I escort my wife to the terrace for our reception. I left my jacket in the room and loosened my tie, unbuttoned the collar and rolled up the sleeves. I did tuck the shirt back in after fucking though. I’m not a complete classless prick.

  But my wife. Damnnnn. Luckiest bastard ever.

  It seems she is indeed trying to kill me, and all it takes is a dress change to do it. Dressed in a short muted gold dress that plunges into a deep and very noticeable V in the front, she smiles at me as we walk down the stairs. She changed her heels insisting it was too much sparkle for one outfit, trading them for even higher light brown shoes. She called them nude, but they’re shoes so nude doesn’t work for me. She promised to wear them and show me how good the red soles look draped over my shoulders if I ended the ridiculous conversation.

  Sara Jane’s hair hangs down. It’s lighter these days like her burdens. She says she feels more herself with golden hair. I feel like I’m sleeping with a new woman. In many ways, I guess I am. We’ve both changed on the inside. I’m glad her inner glow shines on the outside. Her happiness is contagious to all around her, including me.

  Her arm wraps around mine as we walk outside to cheers and catcalls. We circulate in opposite directions, and I keep my eyes on her. It’s hard to take them off her actually. The short skirt and higher heels make her legs look long and lean, and I have a million positions running through my head every time I look below her waist. Dirty thoughts I’m sure are written all over my face.

  Red lips move through congratulatory smiles and thank yous. I don’t have to be a part of their conversations to read her body language. Often, her hand will run over the fabric above her scar. I wonder what she thinks about when she does that.

  I think I know. She doesn’t want to talk about how I killed a man, but she knows. I killed the man who tried to kill her. I killed the man who killed Chad.

  Chad’s absence is almost tangible. Standing with Cruise, we were shortchanged. Chad had a lot more to give, but we were fortunate to know him. It’s a reminder of a time I was racing toward a certain death, wanting to end the pain I felt when my mother died. I thought finding the killer and making him suffer would heal me. I thought revenge would be sweet.

  I was wrong.

  It was never about the search for answers. It was about the journey and the hard lessons learned. It was about holding the woman who held my soul in my arms and watching the life drift from her. It was then I prayed to something greater than myself to save her or give her peace.

  But the answer was: I could give her that peace. I just had to remember who I was when I was with her. “Excuse me,” I say, leaving one group and walking straight across the party and slipping my hand into Sara Jane’s. Her gaze lifts to mine, and she smiles. Pulling her to me, I move us away from the others. “I forgot to give you something.”

  “What is it?” Playfulness coats her question.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, handing it to her. She types in the password and the screen lights up. “I bought you something special.”

  Her smile extends before she looks at the phone. “You didn’t have to, you know? I’m happy spending the day with you, our friends, and family.”

  “I know. I wanted to.”

  She looks at a photo and the curve of her lips go straight before her mouth opens. “What is this, Alexander?”

  I run my finger across the screen to show her the next photo. “It’s a house. I know you hate the manor, so I thought you might like a house. I mean, it’s more like a cottage really. Small. So small. Like my quarters might be bigger, but I thought maybe you’d like it. It’s called a starter home. Normal couples buy them as they start their lives together.”

  “What? No, this is crazy. You bought a house?”

  “For you. For us. For our family. If you want it.”

  “I want it.” Her arms fly around my middle and she brings me to her. With just a whisper between us, she says, “I love the house, but you’ve forgotten, babe. We’re not just any ordinary couple. No matter how hard we try.”

  Ordinary will never be possible when you own an empire, even a crumbling one. “It’s got a high-end security system in place, so we may not be ordinary people, but when we’re home, we can pretend.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.” She kisses me, and adds, “Your present’s out front.” Reaching into the deep V of her dress, a key comes out, and she dangles it before me. “I hope I bought the right one.”

  “I like the looks of this.” I’m about to sprint to the front of the manor, but she says, “Also, I spent $118,000. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Chuckling, I remind her, “What’s mine is yours, baby.” We didn’t sign a pre-nup. What’s the point? Everything of value, everything that means anything to me, is wrapped in that little mini-dress and naughty smile. Having money to share with her is just bonus.

  Cruise follows me to the front where a brand-new custom built Harley-Davidson is parked. Silver. Not black.

  Light.

  Not dark.

  Knight in shining armor.

  Not a dark prince at midnight.

  From behind me, she says, “Sometimes even the bad boys have a good side.” I turn around and kiss her. Strong. Firm. With all my love for her.

  She knows my moods. I have my mother back, but I’m dealing with aftereffects of shit I don’t like to talk about. The trauma of almost losing Sara Jane. The horror of killing a man in cold blood. The terror of not knowing if I’d leave that dungeon alive. The gnawing fear that perhaps we aren’t completely safe . . . I haven’t gone back to that place. I sold the penthouse and will never return to that building. I struggle with the dark feeling that I’m suffocating in the gloomy shadows. Thankfully, Firefly doesn’t mind the moonlight keeping us company at night. I find comfort in the soft glow through the night. I don’t talk about any of this, even with Cruise, who seems to need the same escape.

  She says, “You’ve been driving the car lately, but I know how much you loved the freedom on the bike.”

  “I love it.” The black Harley wasn’t feeling like me since my return. I still rode it, but not as often. “It’s perfect.”

  I like to ride. I miss riding. Riding allows me to work through what happened, what I’ve done to others, and what I’ve seen. Riding allows me to take a breath and remember that my Firefly is alive and waiting for me at home. And she always is—with open arms every day and closed arms around me at night. A few moments I don’t want to remember. Like when she told me she wouldn’t leave me earlier because even in heaven sometimes we can’t escape our own hell. That takes time. Maybe it takes little cottages with white picket fences and silver, not black, motorcycles. Or maybe it only takes her.

  I always knew she’d save me. One way or another, she was determined. I don’t care what sins I’ve committed. I seek forgiveness from only one—Firefly.

  “I should go back to the party. Don’t be long, okay?”

  As our hands slip away from each other’s, I reply, “Okay.”

  Cruise walks around the bike and says, “I’d do it again to get another day like this.”

  “Don’t go soft on me, Cruise Control.” I taunt him, but I get it. “It’s good to have a day without fears or remorse. It feels good to feel happy.”

  “I’m happy for you.” He holds his hand out and when I shake it, he smiles. “I’m happy for me too.” He laughs but then confesses, “I had a gun in my mouth when your mother showed
up.” He never talks about the torture he suffered, whether that’s for him or me, I’m not sure. I watch as some foreign emotion flickers through his eyes. “One minute. One minute that changed my life. One minute that saved it.”

  I’m almost hesitant to ask, but I’ve always wanted to. Since he’s opening up, I do. “What happened?”

  “The guy was shot in the head as soon as she walked in.”

  Out of curiosity, I ask, “Did she do it?”

  “No. I’m not sure who did. He had a mask on.”

  “Jason?”

  “No,” he replies. We’ve tried to figure Jason Koster out, but to no avail. The man is a mystery. From my understanding, he took a bullet to his side for my Firefly, so I back off when Mom and Sara Jane speak highly of him.

  “I only saw his eyes. Brown, nothing distinguishable, but I did see a scar just below his eyebrow, running parallel. Small. About a half inch or so.” He takes a few steps and admires the bike. “Maybe one day more of this story will make sense. For now, I’m going to appreciate being alive. Congratulations on the marriage. She’s a good girl.” His quick subject change doesn’t confuse me. He needs these tiny moments to process what he went through.

  “My girl.” The words echo like I said them for the first time yesterday.

  He pats me on the back as he passes. “So what happens next?”

  “Classes start soon. Got your books?”

  “Picked them up yesterday. This school thing? I think it’s a wise choice. It’s always good to have a fallback plan.”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  A smile pops into place. “Sweet ride.” It’s a rare sight, but I’ll take his goofy grin over none at all any time. He shakes my hand and brings me into a hug again. “See you out back, brother.”

  “Brother.” I prefer brother over King when it comes to him. We’ve settled on Alex lately. It’s good to get back to my roots.

  I swing my leg over the bike and push in the key. I don’t start it. I know it will purr like a tiger and I can’t take it for a ride anyway, not when I’m supposed to be at my own reception. A party I’m enjoying actually.