Page 24 of Teasing a King

“In here!” I heard her muffled voice from somewhere deeper in the maze.

When I’d finally emerged from the box maze, Mya had been there to greet me, an apology in her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” she’d said. “The movers were supposed to take everything upstairs, but they just left everything here. I tried to get them to take it to my room, but they argued with me about stairs costing extra and needing approval from the home office. They really wanted to make a big thing of it. I finally just gave up and let them leave it here. I’m really sorry.”

She’d looked so upset that any annoyance I might have had evaporated in an instant. “It’s not a big deal,” I’d heard myself say. “I can move them upstairs for you.”

“I can help,” she’d said immediately.

“Absolutely not,” I’d argued. “You don’t need to carry a ton of heavy boxes up and down the stairs. Just tell me where you want everything, and I’ll take care of it.”

“I want to help,” she’d countered. “What if I carry the smaller, lighter boxes?”

I’d eventually given in when it became clear that she wasn’t going to give up. But I’d made her promise not to lift anything that feels heavier than a cantaloupe. Mya had rolled her eyes, but she’d agreed. A small smile had been playing at her lips, making my heart feel lighter even as I hefted the first of the heavy boxes.

Once I’d managed to wrangle most of the boxes upstairs, we began unpacking them. Mya had tried to insist on doing the work herself, but I’d vetoed that plan immediately. So now we’re making our way through box after box. We’re moving faster than I thought we would. By dinner time, Mya’s bedroom is organized enough for her to sleep there, and things downstairs are manageable enough. At least I’m not worried about crashing into boxes on my way to the kitchen for my morning coffee.

I finish shifting a small table into the corner of the room and straighten by back with a groan. Turning to Mya, I smile. “It’s getting late,” I say. “What do you say we call it a night and order takeout?”

She turns a weary smile my way. “That’s probably a good idea.” She straightens from where she’d been bent over a box, pulling books from its depths. Putting both hands on the small of her back, Mya arches backward, letting out a low moan as she stretches. I freeze, staring at her.

My eyes follow the curve of her throat down to her full breasts pressing against the fabric of her black tank top. The graceful arch of her back pulls up memories of my own hands tracing the line of her spine. The way they’d slid down, sliding across soft skin, curving over the round globes of her ass to pull her back toward me as she’d bent forward over my bed. The coy smile on her face when she’d turned back to look at me while I’d teased her from behind. My dick stirs to life, remembering all too well the feel of sinking into her wet heat.

Lost in my thoughts, it takes me a few seconds to realize that Mya’s talking to me. I stare at her for a moment, trying to piece together the last few minutes in my mind. I blink and shake my head.

I smile, trying not to look as if I’d just been fantasizing about her. “I missed that,” I say, hoping my voice sounds innocent enough. “What did you say?”

Mya looks a little confused but doesn’t question me. “I was asking what you were in the mood for,” she says. I stare at her, a dozen filthy thoughts crashing through my head. “For dinner,” she clarifies, bringing my fantasies to a screeching halt.

I clear my throat. “Oh. Um. I’m not picky,” I say, trying to get my mind out of the gutter.

Mya doesn’t look fully convinced, but thankfully she doesn’t comment on my behavior. Her stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough for me to hear it from across the room. Mya’s eyes grow wide, and she puts a hand to her stomach with a giggle.

“Sorry,” she says. “That’s embarrassing.”

I laugh. “It’s only embarrassing for me,” I say. “I’ve clearly kept you working too long without a break.” I nod toward the door. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to my stack of takeout menus so you can choose.”

Her eyes light up in excitement making me laugh again.

Mya doesn’t take long to make her choice. In fact, she doesn’t even finish looking at the stack of menus before waving one in the air over her head.

“This is it,” she declares. “This is the one.”

“You sure?” I ask, gesturing to the stack of untouched menus. “You still have a half dozen restaurants there.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need to see them. This one spoke to me.”

I try to remain serious, but a smile is tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Oh, really?”

She nods emphatically. “Yep.”

“What did it say, exactly?”

Mya holds the paper menu up to her ear and narrows her eyes in concentration. “It’s saying, ‘this is dinner’,” she whispers. “This food will be all you’ve ever dreamed of, and more.”

With a laugh, I hold out my hand for the menu. “Who am I to argue with a talking piece of paper?” I reach for my phone.

“I want the Ultimate Taco Feast with extra sour cream and guacamole on the side,” Mya says.

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