Chapter Twenty-Three 

 

 

It’s the slight creaking of the floorboards that has me jerking awake.  My eyelashes flutter as I try to figure out what woke me.  It feels like I barely closed my eyes.  I had the worst time falling asleep, tossing one way before turning the other with an aggravated huff.  Even though I tried not to dwell on the way Kingsley tweaked my nipples outside the cafeteria or caressed my thigh during lunch, the images continued to circle through my mind. 

The only bit of good news is that I resisted the urge to touch myself.  Instead, I suffered and squeezed my thighs together to stifle the ache until my eyes drooped and my brain finally clicked off. 

When the same creaking noise as before breaks the silence of the room, I force my eyes open in time to spot a figure looming over me. 

Holy shit! 

I inhale a breath, ready to scream the house down.  Before the sound can be released, a heavy hand lands on top of my mouth while the other snakes around the back of my skull so I can’t slip free of the hold. 

You read about this kind of thing happening all the time.  Especially in Chicago.  That’s why we were religious about locking all the doors and windows. 

But here? 

In bumfuck nowhere? 

No way.  It’s the reason I felt comfortable enough to sleep with the porch door open, allowing more of a breeze to enter the room.  Other than Hawthorne, we’re pretty far from civilization. 

“Quiet,” the deep voice rumbles near my ear. 

Kingsley?

The breath rushes from my lungs as relief leaves my tense muscles feeling weak.  I’m seriously going to kill him!  The big jerk took at least ten years off my life!   

I growl from behind the hand, struggling against the steely hold he has on me. 

“What part of quiet don’t you understand?”  The mattress dips as he settles beside me.  “Calm down or I’ll keep my hand over your mouth.” 

I press my lips together before going limp.  As my eyes adjust to the darkness, his features coalesce under the stream of moonlight filtering in through the window. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re not very good at following directions?” 

He takes his sweet damn time relinquishing his hold.  I’m tempted to snap my teeth at his fingers when he finally pulls them away.  Maybe that would teach him a lesson regarding the wisdom of breaking into an unsuspecting girl’s room in the middle of the night. 

Ignoring the question, I fire off one of my own instead.  “Are you crazy?” 

“Lower your voice, Hawthorne.”  Humor simmers in his tone.  “We wouldn’t want your parents to wake up and find me in your bed, now would we?” 

Damnation, he’s right.  Griffin and Eloise would not be pleased. 

I ground my teeth together before forcing out another question.  “What do you want?”  What I’ve come to understand is that Kingsley doesn’t do anything without an end goal in mind. 

He smirks as if I’m finally catching on to the game we’ve been playing.  “Now that is a more interesting question.” 

My belly hollows out as a predatory gleam enters his eyes.  “And yet you still haven’t answered it.” 

His gaze drifts down my body as he reaches out to toy with a lock of hair that has fallen over my bare shoulder.  Only now am I slammed with the realization that I shed my tank top earlier this evening.  The night had turned stuffy, which is why I left the screen door open. 

It's not a mistake I’ll make again. 

Hastily I tug at the sheet that has pooled at my waist before hauling it up to my collarbone. 

“No reason to cover yourself on my account.”  He continues to stare at my chest as if he has X-ray vision and can see through the tan-colored sheet.  “After today, I’ve become a real fan of your titties.” 

Heat slams into my cheeks as the asshole’s words from lunch echo throughout my head. 

Itty-bitty titty committee. 

It’s not the first-time jokes have been cracked at the expense of my breast size and it won’t be the last.  Normally something idiotic like that would roll right off my back, but for some unknown reason it stuck with me today.  Probably because I was forced to wear that stupid shirt, and it made me feel self-conscious. 

“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.