King of Hearts
Page 90

When King came downstairs a minute later, he went inside the living room to Oliver. I listened to them talk as I dished up the food, smiling at my son’s never-ending questions and King’s bemusement at the random small talk. I could tell he was completely besotted, though, and it made my heart soar.
After a couple of minutes, King came in and silently began setting the table. I cast him a look of thanks, and we worked together quietly for a couple of minutes. Once everything was ready, I called Oliver in, stuffing a napkin into his collar because he was a messy eater. All the while I was aware of King watching my every move, like how I cut Oliver’s meat into small pieces, or how I reached over and dabbed some apple sauce from his mouth at one point.
Every once in a while I’d look up from my food and catch his eyes on me. His attention made me flush, because it was obvious that he was thinking about what had just happened between us in my room. When we were finished eating, King insisted on doing the dishes, so I brought Oliver upstairs for his bath. By the time I had him in his pyjamas and ready for bed, the kitchen was spic and span.
I’d just walked in when King was drying his hands with a tea towel. Stepping forward, I went up on my tiptoes and placed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thanks,” I whispered. It was nice to have someone else do the dishes for a change.
“No problem.”
“I was going to read Oliver a bedtime story. Do you want to come sit?”
A thoughtful look crossed his face before he cleared his throat and asked, “Would you mind if I did it? Read him the story, that is?”
I studied him, surprised by the request. “Of course not. I’ll tell you what — I wanted to take a bath myself, so how about I do that and you read to him?”
King’s answering smile took my breath away. “That sounds like a plan.”
I tried not to be disgruntled when Oliver acted pleased as punch to discover King was going to read him his story. If it didn’t make me so happy, I might have been jealous by how quickly they’d taken to each other. But then again, they were father and son. It was only natural for them to have a connection. The thought suddenly made me get a little weepy (happy tears, of course), so I quickly went to run my bath. Didn’t want King seeing me acting like a hormonal mess.
His voice trickled in from down the hall as I settled into the warm water. It made me ache for his touch and to have him whisper naughty things in my ear. I had a sudden urge to touch myself, but I resisted. His voice just did strange things to me. I’d gotten out and dried myself off when I heard him close Oliver’s bedroom door and quietly step out into the hall. Quickly slipping into a robe, I opened the door and found him standing there, staring at the floor in consternation. When he looked up, he took in my appearance slowly, and my tummy did a little flip-flop.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Is he asleep?”
King seemed to be trying to muddle through a maze of his own feelings as he nodded and answered, “Yeah, he’s sleeping.”
He looked like he needed a hug, so I went to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close. His arms went to my middle, his fingers innocently brushing against the curve of my bottom. We hugged for a long time, soaking up each other’s warmth and breathing one another in. Then suddenly he was backing me into my bedroom, and I didn’t stop him. We were already inside when he asked, “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
“I don’t want to leave yet,” he said, nose in my wet hair.
“I don’t want you to leave yet, either.” And it was true, not only because I savoured his presence, but also because my little urges in the bath hadn’t yet dissipated. I swear, just hearing him speak could probably get me off. He looked down at me then, and he must have read something in my face, because his eyes turned heated. His arms fell away from me as he seemed to consider something. Then, with a gravelly voice, he gestured to the bed and ordered me, “Lie down.”
Whoa. That was unexpected. The authoritative tone he used got my blood up. Swallowing thickly, I took three steps backward until my legs hit the bed. I lowered myself onto the mattress until I was flat on my back, chest rising and falling heavily, and waited for what came next. King’s eyes darkened as he sat on a chair and rubbed at his chin. I loved how his gaze traced me, eating up every detail.
“Undo your robe.” Unlike his first order, this time I heard a slight tremor in his voice. Was he nervous?
I never took my eyes off him as my hands fell to the tie and followed his command. Slowly, I brushed either side apart until my nudity was bared to him. He hissed in a breath and sat forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes were levelled on my breasts and my nipples, which were hardened into tight peaks. Then they moved lower.
His voice was thick when he spoke. “Lift your knees up and open your legs.” On the surface his words were crude, but it was the way he said them that held tenderness. Inside my chest, my heart was pounding with excitement. I loved this, loved how he was telling me what to do. Once I’d done as he’d asked, King let out an audible groan before muttering, “Jesus, you’re wet.”
He was right, I was. I was also aching, pulsing with a deep need for him to come and give me some relief. His next words, so tender and warm, made me moan.
“Touch yourself for me, love.”
Instinctively, I allowed my hand to run down my chest, caressing my breasts and pinching my nipples. I could hear King’s breathing fill the room, and when I looked at him, his hands were balled into fists. He must have been using all his willpower to keep from touching me, and I felt exhilarated. Slowly, I ran my hand down my stomach and between my thighs. My body shuddered when I brought my fingers to my sex and rubbed, my clit a tight bundle of need.