King (Vegas Kings Book 2)

by McKenna James

  There’s a reason he’s so popular. Everyone else in the world is finally seeing what the rest of us always have.

  More than once, he looks my way, a glint in his eyes that makes me want to run out onto stage and mount him right there.

  Somehow, I restrain myself.

  Then we get to Live Wave, and as much as I love this song, I know it’s my cue to head to his dressing room. I’m hoping everyone backstage will be too busy to wonder why I’d need to go into King’s private space. Security won’t even blink; I have access to every inch of this place. It’s the rumor mill I’m worried about.

  There’s no way I’m turning back now, though. I’ve been on edge all day, and after watching him on stage tonight, knowing the whole time that he’s mine if I want him, I can’t resist. I’m not sure anyone could.

  As nervous as I was outside of his dressing room, once I’m inside, all the sound muffled, it starts teetering toward panic. This is not smart. It is the complete opposite of smart. I should get out of here and tell him I’ll meet him later. After the heat’s died down and my brother isn’t close enough to catch us.

  Before I can find the conviction to leave, the lock in the door clicks open, and I dive behind one of the armchairs, just in case it’s not King.

  I know it’s him before his leg is even all the way in the door, and I try to look a little more casual about being crouched in the corner.

  He’s smiling when he spots me. “What’d I tell you about playing hard to get?” he growls, motioning for me to come to him.

  “You call waiting in your dressing room playing hard to get?” My feet carry me to him without hesitation. I have no defenses against him anymore, but I think I’m okay with that.

  “Well, you’re not naked and spread eagle, so…”

  “And if it wasn’t you who walked through the door?”

  I’m close enough now for him to grab my hand. He pulls me in, then spins us around to pin me against the door.

  “No one’s getting in now,” he says, sliding his hand up the outside of my thigh, lifting my leg to hook around his hip, then moving his hand up and over my ass. He squeezes, grinding against me.

  “See, if you were naked, I’d be deep inside you right now,” he says, lips against my neck. His breath sends goose bumps all over my body, and I moan, clinging to his shoulders.

  “You’re still wearing clothes too,” I protest, even though I’m breathless and desperate for that fantasy to be a reality.

  “But I would’ve stripped immediately if we’d skipped this whole conver—”

  “For fuck’s sake, King.” I grab his waistband and yank the button open with enough force to undo the zipper too. “Shut up and fuck me.”

  I’m stepping out of my panties when he shoves me against the door again—hard this time, less playful.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse after the strain of the concert. All at once, he’s inside me. One quick, deep thrust, and I’m filled, that desperate need turning to a shiver of anticipation.

  “More,” I pant, pulling him into a kiss. In my heels, there’s not too much of a height difference or this would never work. With six-inch heels, though? Perfect angles.

  He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t try to be gentle. He’s riding a post-show high, pent-up lust and adrenaline mixing together to make the perfect storm.

  And I love every second of it.

  “King… Oh God, King,” I gasp, trying to find something to hold onto, clawing at the door behind me that’s rattling with every thrust.

  “Come for me,” he says, a hint of a command in his tone. “God, I’ve been waiting for this all damn day. I need to see you come for me, Piper.”

  It’s the unbridled need in his voice that makes me come undone. I can’t stop myself from crying out, my fist coming down on the door as a huge surge of relief washes through me. It’s so good, a full-body high, and it’s not in any hurry to leave.

  Especially not with King’s thumb on my clit, dragging it out, pushing me toward another orgasm.

  I only have one foot on the ground, and my leg is shaking, my knee weak and wobbly. I don’t know how long I can hold this, but I don’t think King would ever let me fall.

  “King, I can’t—”

  “One more,” he says. “Give me one more, baby. I’m almost there.” He kisses me, thrusting in deep, grinding in deeper, and it’s too much. I’m hit with another wave, and I feel him coming too. I know his tells; though, he doesn’t normally maintain such intense eye contact.

  I take half a minute to catch my breath before I let reality back in.

  “You know it’s only a matter of time before Jack and Ellie come back to say hi. I need to get out of here.” I pull my skirt down, straighten my blouse, and try to fix my hair all at once.

  “Wanna meet up later?” he asks.

  I do, but something stops me.

  This is getting too regular. Soon it’ll be veering into not-casual territory, and even though I got butterflies telling my brother about my boyfriend, I don’t think King or I actually want that kind of label.

  “I have some stuff to finish, but I think I’m going to take it home with me. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “Let me make sure the coast is clear,” he says, stepping in front of me before I can leave. He looks out, then motions for me to follow. “Shit, I see Jack and Ellie over there. I’m going to run interference so they don’t see you leaving,” he whispers, pushing me in the opposite direction.

  I weave through all the people backstage, keeping an eye on Jack and Ellie, making sure they can’t see me.

  Why do people make sneaking around like this seem exciting? It’s been nothing but stress from the beginning.

  King intercepts my brother and his girlfriend, and then I’m out of the way, suspicions safely averted.

  “There you are!” Graham calls. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was watching King’s show,” I answer, innocent and casual.

  “Where were you the last half hour?” he asks, squinting.

  “Around…”

  “Girl, your lipstick is smudged. Are you going to tell me who you’re fucking, or do I need to start making guesses?”

  “Please don’t,” I groan. Jack is definitely the worst person who could find out, but Ace and Graham are probably tied for second place.

  Honestly, Graham might even edge out Jack, because he’s ruthless enough to call the ratzi in for a payday. Jack would never do that. I love Graham, but his whole life has been nonstop hustling, so I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.

  He gives me a lingering, suspicious look, then glances around, like he’s trying to figure out which tech or security guy I’m screwing.

  “I can’t believe you’re holding out on me. I thought we were friends,” he pouts.

  “We are,” I insist. “And I’m not. I just … can’t.”

  I’ve already said too much. I can see the gears in his head turning.

  “I need to go.”

  “Oh! I was looking for you because that cute director on Stage 3 wants to go over some stuff with you. I’m trying to earn some brownie points, and I told him I could probably get him a couple of minutes of your time.”

  “If you forget all of tonight,” I counter, grabbing my opening as soon as it appears. Graham would do the same.

  “Deal,” he says reluctantly.

  It’s a tentative peace that I know he’ll honor for now. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter 11

  Piper

  “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” I sigh, settling into one of the comfy seats in front of my outdoor fireplace. I have a mountain of work in one hand, and a margarita in the other.

  I’m working from home today, focusing on some admin and paperwork that’s fallen to the wayside.

  And being locked away in my house is a great excuse to not run into King and make more bad decisions. Last night wa
s hot, but also way too close. We can’t keep taking risks like that. We have to know when to stop, and I think that might be now.

  I don’t intend to ghost him again, but I do need a mental health day to figure out how I’m going to break it to him.

  Of course, me being me, I can’t actually take a day off of work. Not completely. This is as close as I can get, and honestly, sitting here under the palm trees, in my comfiest oversized t-shirt and shorts, it’s the closest I’ve gotten to a vacation in a long time. So what if I have to sign some shit while I’m here?

  I won’t let it impede on my relaxation.

  It’s a nice, bright sunny day, not too hot this early in the morning, but it won’t be long before I’ll have to retreat into the air conditioning. For now, it’s nice to watch the bees buzz around flowers I didn’t know I had. I pay people to maintain the landscaping around here, but I’m never actually home to enjoy it. Which is a shame, because it’s really nice landscaping. They’ve focused on using native and low-water plants.

  When I first bought this place, there was a big fountain and a waterfall into the pool—a huge waste of water in a place like Nevada. I had the fountain ripped out in favor of a nice sculpture from one of my favorite artists. The waterfall had to go too. The pool is covered unless it’s being cleaned or being used. I can’t do anything about how much water The Grandiose wastes—there are industry expectations for amenities we have to meet—but I can minimize the unnecessary waste at home. There was nearly a half-acre of lush, green lawn when I moved in, and now it’s fully xeriscaped. It’s so much more natural-looking to me. I grew up in Nevada; rocky scrubby landscape feels like home.

  While I’m sitting there admiring the landscape, a little bird lands on one of the bushes nearby. It’s gray, with a yellow face, and it looks at me, tilting its head from one side to the other before going back to its business.

  All at once, the calm and tranquility of the moment hits me. I can’t even remember the last time I was still enough for a bird to come close. It’s kind of sad, but it shouldn’t be making me this emotional. I’m on the verge of tears, and I don’t know why this stupid bird is the trigger.

  Maybe Ellie’s right. I do need to make more time for myself. I bury myself in work so I don’t have to think about personal shit—can’t think about it if you never give yourself time to get into any shit. But that’s all falling apart thanks to this little fling between me and King.

  My old methods don’t work anymore, so I’ll have to start trying new things.

  Like margaritas by the fireplace, for starters.

  I don’t even swallow my first sip of limey-tequila-laced goodness before I hear the doorbell ring from inside.

  I haven’t ordered any food yet. Who the hell is it?

  I pull out my phone and bring up my doorbell app, waiting for the camera feed to load.

  “King— What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Well, hello to you too, sweetheart.”

  “Who told you, you could come here?” I’ve never invited him to my place in all our hook-ups, and there’s a reason for that. I need to keep these parts of my life separate. I don’t want to make memories with King at my house so I can’t even escape him here.

  “I didn’t ask permission,” he answers.

  “Obviously.”

  “Are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to jump the fence?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t want to talk to your fucking robot, Piper.”

  “Too bad. I didn’t want you to show up to my house, but I guess neither of us gets what we want, huh?”

  No answer.

  “King?”

  I hear him grunting, but it’s not from the doorbell app; it’s from the fence.

  The grunts are punctuated with a thud, a soft oof, and then, “I made it!”

  “Oh my fucking…” I mutter, hurrying over to make sure he didn’t break his arm.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  He pulls himself up off the ground, brushing gravel off his hands. “For one, I thought there’d be grass to break my fall, but you could’ve just let me in.”

  “I would be happy to let you in. If I’d invited you.”

  “Since when do you work from home?” he asks, skipping right over that.

  “Mental health day.”

  He looks skeptical, then sees the margarita in my hand and raises both eyebrows.

  “Nine A.M. margaritas are an essential component of my mental health days.”

  “You’re not too drunk to go out, are you?”

  “Go out? Why would I go out? I’m working. From home.” I don’t think he’s forgotten, but he doesn’t seem to grasp the concept.

  “I wanted to take you somewhere,” he says, as if that takes care of everything.

  "Take me where?" Away from the cover of my sheltered patio? There’s nothing to stop the sun from beating down on us, already high in the sky and blistering hot this early in the morning.

  My drink starts sweating, condensation dripping on the flagstones.

  King gives me an impatient look. "Seriously, we're going to do this again?"

  "Let me guess, another surprise."

  "Is that so terrible?"

  "You know how I feel about surprises."

  "I know that you think you don't like surprises. But you had a lot of fun with me last time, so maybe you should just keep an open mind and not be such a sourpuss for once."

  Sourpuss? I glare. "You're such a pain in my ass. You know that?"

  "So I've been told." He laughs. "So are you coming or not?"

  "I'm supposed to be doing work," I say, turning away.

  "It looks to me like you're supposed to be finishing that margarita," he teases, following right behind me.

  "Go on, chug it. Get ready. Come with me," he says, the little devil on my shoulder.

  I sigh and look at my margarita.

  Sigh again.

  Why can’t I say no to him?

  "I'm going to kill whoever gave you my address."

  He laughs.

  "Yeah, I'm sure you will. That's not my problem, though." He’s so excited for whatever he has to show me. It’s that bright little twinkle of sincerity under the layers of smartassery that does me in.

  "Hurry up," he says, impatient.

  I roll my eyes. So much for that.

  "You know you have a lot of nerve coming in here, uninvited, making demands of me, making me cancel my plans."

  "You might want to save the attitude until you see how much fun you're gonna have."

  "I think you might be overselling this. Now you have a lot to live up to."

  "Oh baby, I always live up to expectations; you know that."

  “No comment,” I deadpan, raising my eyebrows over my drink. He matches my expression and gestures for me to drink up.

  “You really want me to sit here and drink this whole thing?” I’m stalling now, seeing how long he’ll stick it out.

  “It’s for your mental health, right?”

  That gets a laugh; damn him. “With you around? For sure.”

  With King watching my every move, I finish the margarita, head inside, and close my bedroom door to get dressed. I know he's just on the other side of the door. Waiting. Far too close as I strip down. I know he'd like to get a peek.

  In other circumstances, I might even give it to him. Just to tease him. After our close call last night, I don’t think we can keep fooling around, but then I really shouldn’t be going out with him.

  I’ve lost all my willpower to be smart or minimize my risks. When King shows up, I forget all that. I’m going to have to figure that out. I can’t let him have that kind of power over me.

  Right now, I just want to see what his surprise is.

  All of a sudden, it hits me.

  I open the door a crack, scowling at him in nothing but my bra and skirt. He's standing an inch away, failing to look innocent after obviously checking me out. />
  I narrow my eyes at him.

  "You're not taking me to the sex shop, are you?"

  He chuckles. "I don't know, Piper, it kind of sounds like you really want to go to the sex shop with me. That wasn’t my plan, but…” He leans against the doorjamb, almost pushing his way in. “Should we go?"

  I slam the door—his soft laughter tells me he got out of the way in time—and finish getting dressed before heading to my vanity for hair and make-up.

  King knocks. “You were already half-dressed ten minutes ago. How long does it take to put on a shirt?”

  “Don’t rush me, or you can go alone.”

  The doorknob turns, and he’s opened it before I can make a move.

  “It’s not the red carpet, Piper. You don’t need to do all this.”

  “Okay, no. You don’t get to make any more comments. You’re not telling me where we’re going, and as long as I’m with you, there’s a very real possibility of paparazzi showing up, so—”

  “My grandma,” he says.

  “What?”

  “We’re going to see my grandma. If you still want to, that is.”

  Just when I think he can’t surprise me anymore, he leaves me speechless.

  King was raised by his grandma; meeting her is a big deal. Maybe the biggest deal there is with him.

  That’s probably why my hands are suddenly sweaty.

  “Oh, okay… Yeah, but…” I look down at my matching separates from Veronica Beard, frowning. This is high-powered Vegas bitch attire, not meeting someone’s grandma attire.

  Especially not King’s grandma.

  “I need to change.”

  He gives me a dubious look.

  “It’ll just be a minute; I promise.”

  “You’re not going to let me watch this time?” he asks, grinning.

  “Out.”

  He laughs at me the whole way out. Bastard.

  A few minutes later, I emerge, fully dressed, the frozen margarita sloshing in my tummy, the warmth of tequila flowing through my veins and dulling my annoyance. It’s hard to stay annoyed when I’m busy being flattered he’s taking this leap. We haven’t really talked about his past girls, but I’d bet a lot of money that none of them met Grandma.