Page 39 of The Kings
“Fuck! Tarquin!” Her voice cracks as another orgasm rips through her body, and this time, I can’t hold back either. I explode inside her, each pulse of my cock intense as her inner walls clench around me in pure ecstasy.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweat-drenched limbs and heavy breaths. The room smells like sex and power—a scent unique to our twisted world.
20
ELIZA
I’m late.
If I don’t break the speed limit to reach my dad on time, I’m as good as finished. The fucking with Raphael and Tarquin went on way past dawn, and it’s now nearing mid-morning. We’ve had hardly any sleep, and I have to sit across from my dad, looking like I’ve been fucking the Carver twins all night.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Throwing the locked steel briefcase onto the back seat as Tarq slides into the back, with Raph riding shotgun, the engine of the sleek black car roars to life.
They insisted on joining me for this meeting, and I wasn’t going to argue. The contents of this briefcase are worth killing over. But both men are more than bodyguards; they’re part of the intricate web I’m weaving for our future. Oliver and James are in the car behind, watching for tails, acting as backup in case things go sideways.
Which I’m really hoping they don’t. I’m tired, and while I can fight with my eyes closed, I’d rather not have to. James and Oliver will wait outside while Raphael and Tarquin escort me inside to meet Dad.
The journey is a blur of anticipation, landscapes merging into one as we cover the miles back to the heart of my empire—two hours slip by with the radio on low and no words between us.
But it gives me time to think. Last night did not go according to plan. It was meant to be a Queen checking her King, in this case, Kings, but they ended up knocking me off the board.
Assholes.
Where do they get off ganging up on me with feelings and shit? It has left me with a bit of headfuck this morning.
Before I reach a solution to my dilemma of wanting the twins desperately between my thighs but not wanting strings, we reach the mansion in the city.
I park up next to my dad’s Aston Martin, and Tarq hands me the case. We step out, and my spine straightens, my chin lifts—the castle of my upbringing looms before me, every stone saturated with the blood and ambition of the Hughes legacy.
“Ready?” Tarq asks, his voice a soft rumble as he steps up next to me, while Raph makes sure the other two guys are on point.
“Uh-huh,” I reply, the word slipping out like a blade. Together, we stride toward the heavy oak doors, the familiar scent of danger enveloping us like a cloak.
Inside, the air is thick with the weight of unspoken words and unyielding expectations. I lead the way across the Entrance Hall, the portraits of my ancestors staring down at us, their silent judgment seeping into my bones.
I stand at the threshold of my father’s study and push the door open, stepping into the lion’s den. My dad is behind his mahogany desk—a king in his court.
He doesn’t need to look up to sense my arrival. But he does, his cold blue eyes locking onto mine, cutting through the space between us. No hellos, no pleasantries—this is business. He doesn’t even acknowledge the twins at my back, but that willcome. I know it, they know it, and I hope to fuck they’re ready for it.
“Sit,” Dad commands. His voice isn’t loud, yet it echoes off the walls, demanding obedience.
Without a word, I cross the room and take my place in the leather chair, its plushness offering no real comfort.
Raphael and Tarquin position themselves behind me, silent guardians ready to act at a moment’s notice.
“You have it?” His gaze never wavers, assessing, calculating.
I place the case on the desk like it’s a grenade, ready to blow this whole thing wide open. It’s thick with intel, but one question burns my mind. My fingers linger on the case; this is my proof, my trophy.
“Of course. But why did you want us to bring the lot? Why not make copies?”
He gives me a sinister smile that somehow chills the air around us. “I want that fucker to know he’s been compromised, robbed and screwed in every sense of the word.”
“Okay,” I murmur, nodding my approval. Dad doesn’t do things by half. He is gunning for a war; that much is clear.
Dad doesn’t waste time. He flips the case open, and with practised ease, his eyes dart over the folders I, okay,we, nicked for him. His poker face gives nothing away, but I know the flicker in his gaze that absolutely no one else will have caught. Interest. Maybe even a hint of respect.
