Page 50 of The Heir

His lips press against my neck, and I close my eyes. Eternally grateful, because I am beat. "Thank you so much," I whisper weakly, feeling myself becoming heavy with exhaustion.

He picks me up and bands an arm against my bottom, covering me with his shirt. As he carries me through the garage I rest my head on his shoulder and look through slitted eyes at my surroundings, seeing we're in a area big enough for at least thirty cars. He's got sports cars, jeeps, a Rolls Royce, and another car covered with cloth.

My car is parked way in the back by a slew of motorbikes.

I jolt a couple times as King walks up two steps then enters a door before speaking in a hushed tone, as if he doesn't want to disturb me. "Xavier, tell our chef we want a snack tray delivered please."

Our chef?

I'm too tired to ask.

"Yes, sir," he answers.

King's head presses harder into my temple. "Marianne, is her bath ready?"

"Yes, sir."

My ears prick, picking up on a new, feminine voice. Staying silent I roll my head weakly, only inspired to do so by a twinge ofjealousy, seeing the back of a brunette woman walking away in a sharp black and white maid's uniform. I blink, then blink again until I physically can't hold my eyes open anymore.

The rhythmic swaying of King carrying me through the house does me in. "Go to sleep, baby. I got you," King says into my ear.

I'm out. Lured into the sweet abyss of nothingness.

Chapter eleven

Morning Tempers

God, she's so beautiful.

Every succulent, creamy soft inch. The feel of her in my arms is perfect, just as perfect as her hot cunt wrapped around my dick feels. Walking down the long hallway to our bedroom I observe Xavier is currently switching shifts with his night time replacement, and my head maid Marianne is standing on the other side of the door waiting patiently as I instructed, in case I need anything. Which I do.

I walk up to the heavy wooden double doors to our master bedroom, pinning Marianne with a stare. "Follow me please."

She pivots on her heel to pad behind me, being quiet as not to disturb Isobel.

I wasn't sure if she was the type to sleep while there was noise or not, but from the feel of how deeply she's passed out in my arms, I'm prettysure Marianne could be vacuuming right next to her while there's an orchestra playing and she wouldn't twitch a muscle.

We walk through the double doors, and as I pass the bedroom, I see a gold, sheer nightgown laid out for Isobel.

It's pretty, but unnecessary.

"When you leave, put this up please. She doesn't need it," I say quietly, putting my nose to Isobel's hair and breathing deeply.

She smells like shae. Want to know how I know? I made it my business to watch YouTube videos on mixed ethnic hair. I even watched a Ted talk on how black women feel about their hair, which is how I know I'm not just going to be able to get away with sinking her in the tub without care.

No, I'm trying to live long enough to enjoy my marriage.

We make our way silently into the bathroom where I walk to Isobel's side where I had an extensive vanity put in. Her hair shit cost a grip, between straighteners, air wrap, rollers, creams, gels, curling irons, clips and clamps of all kinds. I spent a mini fortune on her comfort and convenience.

"Here, grab this," I eye the clip. "And put her hair up for me please."

I watch silently as Marianne puts her hair into an elaborate twist before clamping it up.

"You're dismissed. Please leave the snack tray on the table outside of the bedroom. I will come out and get it. Instruct all staff to remain outside until I say otherwise."

"Yes sir." Marianne gives me a nod before turning and leaving.

Now that we're alone I shuffle out of my clothes, which is difficult to manage but I wasn't even about to ask Marianne to help me because it would be just my luck that Isobel would wake upjust then. And fuck if I ever want to make her feel insecure like I'd let another woman touch me, fuck me, when I'm all hers. No. That's never going to happen.

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