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Where my steamed hate is so engraved that I’ll never allow my heart to give another a chance of redemption…
“AH! I’m tired, smelly, and dirty. Ugh!”
I snap out of my thoughts to see Kian huffing in dismay.
“I hate feeling dirty, but I need to go to another client soon. Shit.”
“Why don’t you use my washroom?” I offer. “You can freshen up, shower, and change your clothes.”
“Not sure your Kings will like it,” he grumbles, but I shrug.
“You came and did their request without a hint of obligation. I think you’re allowed to wash up and feel good for the long day ahead,” I offer in defense. “If they cause trouble, I’ll just tell Zander.”
Kian laughs. “See? You love that psychopath!”
I’m blushing in a heartbeat before I grumble, “Shut up!”
“You didn’t deny it,” he sings but rushes to the bathroom before I can throw my knife at him. “Ah! Jesus, woman! You can’t be throwing knives at anyone!”
“Try me,” I vow and narrow my eyes at him.
“Diabolical Maiden,” he whines but looks to the door. “Oh, yeah.”
Quickly, he rushes back to the switch that I’m surprised I haven’t noticed until this point. Switching it back on, he’s heading to the bathroom.
“I take long-as-fuck showers, so my bad for wasting water. You can rest or whatever. I’ll quietly sneak out afterward.”
“Alright,” I approve and can’t help but yawn.I am a bit tired.“Go ahead.”
“Thank you. Let your Kings know to find me later, so I can confirm their apps are up to date in tracking you.”
“I’ll pretend to forget that,” I say with a wink.
“Better for me. I can take the night off and drink with Arlo,” he declares as he enters the washroom. “Call me if you need me.”
I know he means those last words.
Kian is definitely an ally.
With a sigh, I try to relax against the piles of pillows behind me, but my exhaustion isn’t enough to pull me back to sleep.
“Hmmm, what can I do to tire myself out enough to take a nap?” I wonder while I close my eyes for a moment.
“You could masturbate for your Masked King?”
My eyes snap open just as a glowing mask is inches from my face. I can’t even scream in surprise because the sound is muffled by the hand that presses on my lips.
My heart goes wild for a few galloping heartbeats before my mind registers whose hanging from the fucking ceiling. The recognition must show in my eyes because the hand moves away, allowing me to hiss my realization.
“Zander!”
“Masked Lover for you,” he says with that robotic voice. “Hi, Dolcezza.”
“Jesus,” I sigh in relief.
“I’m not Jesus.”
I roll my eyes.
