Page 77 of Brutal King

“A doorstop?” I glance at the suspicious object.

“I got an interesting alert yesterday.” He produces his cell phone and brings up video footage. “It appears you did more than rearrange the pantry and fridge last night.”

I peer at the screen and watch myself chasing after the man in the kitchen. Then, there I am, slamming my palms against the steel door.

“You scared the shit out of poor Henry,” Gideon says. “He was so startled, he thought he was having a heart attack. Had to go to the hospital.”

“So that’s his name? Henry.”

“You’re not going to ask if he’s all right?”

“Is he?”

He laughs. “Yes. Henry is my majordomo. He runs the house, but has been giving us privacy so we can get to know each other better. Now that you’ve seen him, I’ll let him make daytime appearances. If he’s willing after the fright you gave him.”

“I thought it was you. Sorry.”

“I didn’t bring you here for apologies,” he says, dismissing my regret. “Do you remember our game?”

“Which one? You have so many going on at the same time, I’ve lost track.”

“That’s all part of it. I want you to lose sight of where the finish line is so that I can win. But, being the gentleman sort,” he places a humble hand against his chest, “I’ll enlighten you. Per your own rules, your number of attempts on the garage keypad directly correlates with the holes I get to?—”

I raise my hand to stop him. “I remember. So?”

“You tried seven times.”

“I did not!” I say in outrage.

“You did. Watch.” He pushes the phone in front of me and replays the sad video from last night. Me, scaring poor Henry, running after him. Then I’m there, at the door, banging against it, shouting. And… pushing buttons.

Again and again, I press random numbers, and when the keypad flashes red, I try again.

“I don’t…” I shake my head. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you remember or not. What matters is the proof.” He comes closer, so near his pant legs rub against mine, and shows me the chrome object once more. “Now can you guess what this is?”

My eyes widen as I stare at the thing and I swallow hard. Yes, I now know exactly what that is and where he intends to put it.

Heart in my throat, I say, “It shouldn’t count. I don’t remember doing it.”

“That won’t work here, sweetheart. You made a deal.” He runs the back of his hand down my cheek and I shiver. “Take off your clothes and get on my bed.”

There’s a protest ready, it’s on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t come out. Because when I lift my eyes to his and see thehunger in his gaze, all I can do is shiver. I tremble with a mix of fear and wild anticipation of what he’s planning to do to me.

Wetness forms in my core even as I take off my clothes and throw them aside, then lay among the pile of sex photos all featuring yours truly.

He grins, his blue irises darkening to almost black as his pupils dilate. “If only I had a camera now.” With the flourish of a magician, he produces one, seemingly out of thin air. A beautiful Nikon I would have taken had I been aware of it. “Smile,” he instructs, aiming toward my pussy.

I instinctively know what he wants, because at least in the bed, I can read him the way he does me. My legs part, exposing my “smile” to him.

Almost as if he were a professional, he takes picture after picture, some of my cunt, others of my breasts and of the entire bed with the filthy photos and me in the center. I’ve never felt sexier, heart pounding, panting, excitement.

When he sets the camera to the side and comes near, I have a moment of panic. I know what’s coming.

“Will this hurt?” I ask when he too gets completely naked, and suddenly his cock seems so much bigger than usual. Enormous.

“If it does, I’ll kiss it and make it better.” He places a knee on the mattress and crawls up between my thighs and kisses my pussy as if to prove he means it.

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