Page 103 of Pawn

“What?” He looks at me, moving the chair from the door.

“Nothing.” Shaking my head, Damien leads me out of the cottage and down another path.

“Mister King!” Someone yells. “Miss Rowland! Stop right there!”

Looking behind me, there are a few men behind us, Branson and Hansen included but we’re too far ahead. The wind starts to pick up as Damien helps me over a fence into a wide-open field. When I look up, there’s a black helicopter coming down, my clothes and hair flying.

Damien holds me close as it hovers to the ground and when it’s low enough, the pilot calls us over. Damien throws the bags inside, hoisting me up. I’m way too scared of getting caught to digest the fact that I’m climbing inside a leather outfitted helicopter. Too fuelled by adrenaline to realize this is my getaway ride from the cops.

We’re really fitting this Bonnie and Clyde thing.

Damien plops in next to me. “Go!”

The helicopter churns, Damien pulling headphones over my head as we whizz into the air, the King mansion below. My eyes zero in on the rooftop, the place that could’ve been our demise. But here I am. On cloud nine. Fleeing hell with the devil.

“You okay, Rowland?” Leaning over, Damien looks over my body, the knot tightening inside again as I catch my breath.

I nod, Eden Gardens appearing below us. “Where to, King? It’s just me and you.”

Biting his lip, a smile forms on his face, those blue-greys dazzling in the sun. “Canada.”

Epilogue

Jo

Three Months Later

My gaze settles on the movement of the water, easel in front of me.

The smokey room smells like pot, peppermint and pine, making it easy to zone out on the image I’m about to bring to life. Ferris wheel to one side, a string of boats on the other. Hendrix’s vocals and guitar fill the room and being freshly baked, the muse is perfect.

When my brush touches the canvas, my feet leave the ground. A shriek escapes my lips, muffled by the concrete ceiling.

A growl leaves him, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re gonna forget your name, Rowland.”

I’m laughing when my back hits the leather of his brown tufted chair, my heartbeat racing in his hold before he releases me. “What did you do?”

He hovers over me as he pulls off his white v-neck, tossing it on the blue metal chest we’ve been using as a coffee table. That reveals that rock-hard body, chiselled abs and pecs. The shape of his long, stiff shaft pokes through his chinos and I’m already clenching my thighs in anticipation. The look in his eyes when he trails my body tells me he already knows I’m soaking for him. Ready and waiting as always.

“Do I need another reason other than you being mine?” His chest rises and falls as his eyes trail from my tits to my bare legs. I only have a t-shirt on, boyshorts underneath but the way he’s eyeing me makes me feel like he’s undressing me right here. “Take that off, Rowland.”

I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”

“Take. It. Off.” He strokes himself through his pants and I swear I see it throb, the excitement twisting my core. “Now. Don’t make this worse for you.” Biting my lip, giving him a cheeky smile, he growls and I squeal when he picks me up again.

“Why don’t you ever listen?” His teeth sink into my neck as I hang on, his hard cock pressing into me, throbbing against my clit before he sits me on the edge of something hard. He tugs the shirt of my head, a brush of air and the sound of his husky voice makes my nipples pucker to attention. Pushing my chest back, it hits the felt of the pool table, pushed to the far end of our loft. It’s his, along with the abstract chandeliers hanging from our ceiling, pipes between. The furry black rug is also his, but the band posters? My idea. All framed in black.

“You’re gonna fuck up the tab—fuuuck!” My fingers reach for his hair when his tongue parts my folds, swirling over my clit before he plunges his tongue inside me.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he groans, his words vibrating against my leg. “I want you. You’re so fucking smart. You’re so fucking perfect.”

His hands come under my ass, gripping my legs so he can latch me on his face while he laps and licks every inch, his tongue plunging in and out. There’s no talking to him when he’s this riled up, not that I want him to stop. My legs shake against his head, his tongue like an energizer bunny the way he’s devouring me alive. When he’s had enough, he picks me up again.

“Damien, what’re you—”

Pressing his lips to mine, everything disappears. The taste of my pussy transfers to my tongue from his and this fuzzy warm feeling takes over me again.

“Keep talking Rowland,” he groans against my lips, his hard, smooth cock sliding between my folds. “I’ll have to punish you harder.”

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