Page 52 of King of Sinners

I’m still going to do it because I’m tired of denying myself, and now that I’ve had her here, I can’t get off on reports that Jackson gives me. They used to be my little hit of dopamine. She’s taking this class. Turned another boy down. But that won’t be enough anymore.

I can’t let her go even if it means I’m burning us both to the ground. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” I whisper before I hook her waist and pull her close. “But also, there was a reason I’ve gone to great lengths to protect you, sweetheart.”

“And what is that?”

Her chest pushes against mine, her soft belly pressing to my hips. My fingers are in her hair again, my lips on her temple. “I want you in my bed.”

I feel the slight wince, the downturn of her mouth. Did my answer not satisfy? It’s the most I can admit to her and to myself. But she slides out of my arms and into the bed.

It’s enough.

I climb in behind her and pull her tight to my chest.

That’s when I realize the water is still running in the shower. I am fucking up all the details. The question is, in this war where I am supposed to be king and Charlotte a pawn, I wonder how much I’m willing to sacrifice to protect her, keep her on the board.

Because I can feel how much ground I am losing. A few hours ago, I was swearing to myself I’d let her go when this business was done. And now, I’m laying here thinking of every way I can keep her.

She’s asleep before I even say a word, so I just slip out of the bed, turn off the water, and climb back into the sheets, pulling her close again.

I’ve got to find a way to do this better. Keep Charlotte and keep my head. Both our lives depend on it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Charlotte

I wake the next morning, Mason still asleep in the bed next to me. My heart gives a painful throb as I try to remember why my chest is hurting…

And then I remember.

Mason had me followed for actual years. It’s the invasion of privacy, I think at first. Then again, if I could have had him followed, I probably would have.

But then the second deeper reason his actions upset me… I was barely surviving. He saw all of it and did…nothing.

What had changed? Why had he suddenly intervened?

I mean, besides me almost getting killed. Maybe that’s what forced him to come to my defense. But I’d been living in a slum and I was being harassed by my professor and he’d remained out of sight.

I slide back the covers and creep from the bed, getting my camera. I don’t know why, but I need it now to understand what is bothering me. Sitting back on my side, I point the lens, getting a picture of his knee and powerful thigh bent into a relaxed position as it sticks out of the sheet.

Then, his elbow above his head.

Peeling back the covers, I take a picture of his bare hip, the way it juts out, surrounded by muscle.

“What are you doing?”

I’m now kneeling over him, camera to my eye, completely naked. I drop the camera down a few inches, wincing in guilt. “Sorry.”

He smiles at me, that sexy grin and I lift the camera, taking a picture of his mouth before I point the camera lower, capturing the space just below his belly button and then I go higher to his biceps.

I’m not methodical with art. The light catches my eye or a movement or a shape. I feel my pictures, I don’t think about them.

When I’m done snapping, I hand Mason the camera. I know he wants to see. I climb off the bed, and head to the shower in my room.

“Where are you going?”

“To the shower,” I call over my shoulder.

“I want you in my shower.”

---