Page 86 of Played
I glide my hands down his back, kneading his taut muscles. “Love you too.”
He pushes deeper, and a growl rumbles in his chest. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Holy fuck. My legs are shaking. “I’m yours, King.”
“Only ever mine, baby.”
“And you’re only ever mine.” I pant out the words, my cock aching between us with the need to come. I drag his mouth to mine, and he continues fucking me to the same deliciously slow rhythm. Our bodies operate on muscle memory, limbs moving in unison, skin gliding against skin. It’s effortless and exquisite. My existence narrows, and I’m made of nothing but need. I dig my fingers into his muscles and wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him as deep as I can.
King rests a hand on the base of my throat. “I’ve only ever been yours.” He kisses me again, his tongue lazily fucking my mouth as he takes us both to a long, brain chemistry–altering climax. The kind that shreds our souls.
I’ll only ever be his. He is so much a part of me, he’s in my DNA, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter
Forty-Two
KING
Irub at my eyelids and reach for my coffee, hoping it will help me focus. But the glare of the screen is making my eyes burn, and I slam my laptop closed. I’ve followed every lead I dug up on the Cassidy Jones case and have come up with nothing. If she simply up and left like the cops concluded, then she’s gone to a level of ass-covering that would make Jack Reacher proud.
And nobody in the real world is that good. I take another swig of my lukewarm coffee. Well, maybe a handful of people, but there’s nothing to suggest Cassidy Jones had anywhere close to that level of knowledge or expertise.
Every instinct I have tells me she’s dead. And that my father knows something about it. As cruel as he is, I can’t bring myself to accept that he actually did it, but he definitely knows something. I call Curtis and give him a brief, uninspiring update and assure him I’ll get him some answers eventually.
“I know I haven’t paid you yet, but I’m waiting on a loan to come through,” he says after thanking me for continuing to look into his daughter’s disappearance. “Just give me a few more days.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Consider this pro bono.” He took out two bank loans using his car business as collateral to fund his previous PIs, and truth be told, this case has so many dead ends I can’t help feeling I’m not giving it the time and attention it deserves. Not to mention the guilt I feel thanks to my father’s involvement. Besides, I don’t need the money. Even if my parents successfully contest my grandma’s will, Grampa left me a few hundred grand. That’s more than enough to put my retirement plan firmly back on track, and then some.
“I didn’t know PIs did pro bono cases,” he says.
“I do. I’ll update you when I have something more.”
He thanks me profusely, and it takes me a full minute to get him off the phone.
Sighing, I reopen my laptop. Mason’s working late and won’t be home for another hour, and I can’t sit around and do nothing. There must be an angle I’m missing. A twenty-two-year-old woman doesn’t vanish without a trace.
Except… There are people like my father—people with enough money and power who can make anything happen. And they often do.
Sitting on this couch that cost more than the average family income in a penthouse apartment that’s worth more than most people make in a lifetime, it’s hard not to draw parallels between Mason’s family and mine. But the wealth is where it ends. Mason’s family could buy mine fifty times over, but they don’t act superior to other people.
A smile tugs at my lips when I recall the first time I met him. It was at some pizza place where kids from both of our schools hung out. This asshole rich kid pushed a waitress who knocked into Mason and spilled soda all over his shirt. Where a lot of the privileged little brats from schools like ours would have cussed her out, he only cared about whether she was okay. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember her smile. Her reliefwhen he didn’t make a fuss about the shirt that probably cost more than her week’s wage. He made her feel special. Despite his success and having more money than god, he still makes people feel like that now. And that’s why I fell in love with him.
My cell phone vibrates, signaling a text, and I groan when I see my father’s name on the screen.
Kyngston, we still need to discuss the outcome of your grandfather’s will.
I type a quick reply back.
Like my lawyer said, there’s nothing to contest.
My phone rings in my hand, and I contemplate not answering it, but part of me wants to hear him squirm. Maybe Nathan was right about there being more to his and Mother’s desperation to get their hands on Grampa’s money.
I answer the call with all the civility I can muster.
“Kyngston, please. Can we at least discuss this like adults?”
“What’s to discuss? The will is airtight.”
