Page 67 of Deny Me
“What are you doing?”
“You need to relax,” he said, the stubble on his chin tugging at her hair as he spoke. “Nothing helps you sleep like heat.”
She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest as he carried her into the bathroom. The warmth of the shower was already sending steam into the air, and though she wanted to tell King no, wanted to keep arguing, suddenly she didn’t have the energy for either. She hurt, head to toe, inside and out. Physically, emotionally. Her heart had been shattered, and all she could think about was oblivion.
King set her feet on the ground and straightened. She didn’t protest as he raised her shirt over her head, slid the boxers she wore down her legs. No arguing when he placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her into the shower. Not even a whimper when the door opened a minute later and a naked King entered behind her. He wasn’t looking for sex—his cock was soft, his eyes worried; he just wanted to take care of her.
Maybe what she needed was more than for him to just take care of her.
King moved close, grabbing the handheld showerhead. When he reached up, she reached down and took him in her hands.
“Wha—”
Charlotte didn’t smile, didn’t answer his question. Didn’t meet his eyes. If he didn’t want this, she didn’t want to know. Not yet. Instead she stroked a fist along the rapidly firming length of his penis. Pushed back down. Pulled out.
Her mind quieted. Her every thought centered on the weapon in her hand, the one she now had control of.
King made a sound—of protest, of pleasure, she wasn’t sure and didn’t try to decipher. Meeting his eyes, she prayed her need shone bright enough for him to read. “Make me forget.”
King squeezed his eyelids shut, but his cock bucked in her grip. She smoothed down to cup his balls, rolling the firm globes in her palm as his breathing quickened. “Please, King.”
His eyes snapped open. A firm hand removed hers from his sac, and disappointment flared inside her, along with a deep, dirty shame. But before she could move around him to the door, he was pushing her back until she met the cold, wet wall of the shower.
King dropped to his knees.
Charlotte filled her struggling lungs as she looked down. His eyes had darkened to twilight, his brow furrowed as he stared up at her. A hint of the shame she felt, and the need, shone in his gaze. “I’ll give you anything you need, angel,” he rasped, “always.”
He gripped her inner thighs with hard fingers and forced them apart. As cool air rushed to invade her most private spaces, King leaned forward and placed his lips directly on her clit. His tongue pushed beneath the hood, and a hard suck drew the tiny, sensitive bud into his mouth. Charlotte hissed at the flare of sensation, the shot of adrenaline that drew her attention to the center of her body and held it there despite their circumstances. Wes was gone, but there was this—King. She could lose herself in this for a while.
The rhythmic sucking on her clit sent pulses of lust shafting through her body. Pressing her shoulders into the tile, she arched her back and spread her legs farther, giving King access. He cupped her butt cheeks in his big palms and kneaded, pulling them apart, squeezing with bruising strength. His tongue circled her clit, slipped back into her opening, thrusting deep before returning to her most sensitive spot. Over and over he repeated the pattern until she was riding his face with every invasion and squeezing and pulling her nipples in sync with him.
“King, please!”
He didn’t have to ask what she wanted. He knew; he always knew. Two long, thick fingers slid through the cream coating her body and invaded her opening, filling her beyond full as he bit down lightly on her clit and sucked hard. Oblivion was what she wanted, and it hit right at that moment, filling her mind with nothing but a blessed black void that wiped everything else away.
When reality returned, she was staring up at the shower ceiling. King still sat at her feet, his body surging in a way she knew well. Sliding down the tile, she reached for the hand surrounding his cock, replaced it with her own as her body settled on the floor. King dipped forward and tongued her softening nipple, teased it to fullness as she stroked him, then dug his teeth in to hold back a roar when pulses milked the cum from his body.
They sat for long minutes like that, shipwrecked on the shower floor. Finally King stood, reached for her hand, and pulled her up. This time the handheld nozzle made it into his hand. It was the work of a minute to rinse both of them off, and then he was drying her skin, toweling the damp ends of her hair.
When he urged her out of the bathroom, she followed without protest.
“Come to bed,” he told her. “Come sleep.”
And she did.
Chapter Thirty
Something woke Charlotte from a deep, dreamless sleep. Little ambient light filtered through the curtains across the room, telling her it was still the middle of the night. At first she couldn’t figure out what had pulled her awake, then realized her phone was dancing across the bedside table, buzzing away, Becky’s name flashing across the screen.
Awareness flicked on in her brain like a light switch. She snatched the cell up and pushed the Talk button.
“What’s up, hon?”
Becky panted for a moment through the phone, then let out a long sigh. “Uh, labor? Maybe? I don’t know.”
Oh boy. Sitting up, Charlotte glanced at the clock to see it was only two a.m. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be down there, okay? Want me to call Mom?”
“Please.” Though Becky sounded calmer than when Charlotte had answered the phone, a thread of fear whispered through the word.
