Page 78 of The Heir

I wonder how many pebbles he turned over in his precious hands, hands he doesn't like fucked with, before he decided I was the coveted stone.

"You will always be taken care of," he starts, but I sit back on a little moan, putting my fingers to my eyes and press as I try to beat back a panic attack that's looming. "You will never have to worry about money. You will still be able to have your hobbies-"

"My job is not a hobby!" I cry out, slapping the table with my hands, feeling my lips tremble as I fight with all my might not to cry. "King, I can't be a prisoner," I say tearfully."I won't."

I'm met with silence.

I clench trembling fingers in my lap and squeeze. I can't even muster up the energy to go full on crazy on him like I'd love to because he fucked me so good that I physically can't. So, I slap my hand on the table once more and pin him with a dirty look."What do I have to do? What will it take?"

"You will need to love me."

Recoiling my head, Istare at him in shock, my brows raising.

He tilts his head, and I feel all the blood drain out of my face and my heart stop at his words. Thunder rumbles, shaking the massive window panes behind me, and he doesn't move to speak or to attempt to distract me from his admission. As the thunder fades away and the quiet settles around us once more, we continue to stare at each other silently.Nothingbreaks me from this spell he's cast me under, not even Sweetie digging her nails into my thighs.

I'm so shocked that I look away and scoot my salad to me and begin to eat it dry, buying myself time to think. It's not like I can taste it anyways. King begins to eat as well, except he pours dressing on his. Watching him eat out of the corner of my eye, I mull over his words.Love.

Fuck that.

I swallow my wine and sit back, biting my lip and giving him a slow once over. "What if I told you that I could never love you because of how you tricked me?"

King takes his napkin and wipes his face slowly before putting it next to his plate. He sits back in his chair and gets comfortable, crossing his legs and swallowing his scotch on an appreciative gasp. For some reason, the slight sound causes my thighs to press tightly together, and I think about how he quite literally just fucked me so hard I screamed my safe word. Jesus, it's a silly one that I might need to look into changing.

"Then, I would say we've found ourselves quite in a pickle. Because I'll be in my own personal hell tending to the every need of a woman who I love, who could never love me back. So, I'll be just as much every bit a prisoner as you feel you are."

My eyes go wide as my heart flutters uncomfortably in my chest.

He what?

My palms go sweatyand clammy and I lick my lips, truly speechless from the warm, stifling feeling that just filled my chest, enveloping my heart and stealing my breath. My mouth opens and closes, struggling to find what to say. But there's nothing to say. I physically can't speak.

What is King doing to me? What kind of power does he have over me that leaves me incapacitated and helpless only when I'm around him?

Startled out of my musing, I jump in my seat as the door suddenly opens again when Marianne and the other maid comes back out and presents us our plates with covered domes. Thankful for the distraction, I'm nodding my thanks as they reach to uncover them, fighting against the tears filling my eyes when King's stern voice brings me back firmly into the now.

"What the fuck is this?"he snaps.

I arch an eyebrow, seeing my zucchini alfredo that looks a lot like Fabian's, however this one has bits of andouille sausage and shrimp, is red tinged, and looks spicy. It's the cajun alfredo I'd told him I wanted. I smile then look over at his plate, seeing actual fettuccini. My hands fly to my stomach as I suddenly feel sick. My mouth waters, and bile rises in my throat at the sight of the mass of white noodles just heaped on his plate.

Stifling a groan in my throat, I swallow hard. Then swallow again.

Then again.

I refuse to vomit in front of King.

"G-Get it out of here. Look at her; she'sgreen!"King's warm, broad hand envelopes mine as he hands off his plate to Marianne."Didn't I tell the chef that I didn't want a single, fucking piece of pasta in our kitchen? What is this shit? Two staff incidents in one day, Marianne?" he says in an exasperated tone. "Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on?"

I work to pat his hand, still caught up in a vicious mix of irritation, tiredness, sadness, and now desperation for him to just let it go andnot be stern for once. "King, it's okay.It's okay,"I say quietly, trying not to look at his plate.

Marianne hastily steps backwards away from me. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'm not sure where the mix up was. I will go correct it right away."

"Thank you. I'll have what Mrs. King is having. Never serve me anything different. TeIl Chef Gerard that if it's good enough for the woman of the house, then it's good enough for me." His eyes are tight on Marianne as she backs away, and I tighten my hand on his, fluttering my thumb across his knuckles.

"Hey it's okay, you can eat. Please don't be angry with her, it's not her fault." At his irritated look I recoil my head slightly, pulling my hand away and reaching for my wineglass to down the contents faster than what I'm used to. I have no desire to make his mood worse. I relish the refreshing crisp taste. It does a lot to make me feel better.

"You are correct. It'sCarlotta'sfault," he emphasizes.

I frown and lean towards him. "Who?"

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