Kingsley smiles back. He fucking smiles at me. Genuinely.
The music’s thumping through me, but at least it’s not too loud in my ears anymore. Not sure if it’s the booze, but everything feels way easier now—my limbs, my brain, the gap between me and Kingsley.
He licks his lips and stares at me like he’s fighting off bad decisions. I am too. It’s hard to think straight when he’s so close.
I want to taste his lips, like I wanted to in the cellar, but more than that. I want to bite and suck at his skin, find every sensitive spot that might pull a reaction out of him, see if he can stay as quiet as he pretends to be.
Will the big bad heir give in to me?
Fidgeting, I try to hide the growing in my pants. If I don’t stop having filthy thoughts about the man so close to me, there will be no more masking it. Why does my body react so eagerly to him?
Women come to me, I show them a good time like any good man would, and then it’s over. If anything, I’m trying to get her to pull herself off of me at the end of the night. I never fantasize about my time with her because it’s more like a pastime.
But with Kingsley, it’s like war trying to get my dick to calm itself, and I haven’t even touched him.
Looks like I’m not the only one affected. King’s hand is draped over his crotch, but it’s not doing much to hide the bulge in his pants.
This is Kingsley Beaumont I’m talking about, heir to the vastly feared criminal empire the Crowncrest. I’m Rip Redgrave, the nephew of the head of the Requiem, one of the most feared crime organizations in England. I am here solely to gather and report intel on him and his family. No way should I pay attention to these feelings, let alone follow through.
“I thought you like women,” Kingsley says.
I look up. “I do.”
He raises a brow. “Only women?”
“Yes, Kingsley,” I state, my chest tightening. “I already told you that.”
“Oh, my fault.” My eyes drift down to his crotch again, and he’s gently palming himself through his clothes, but he can’t take his eyes off me. “It’s hard to tell when you’re staring at my crotch like that.”
My eyes widen. Since when is Kingsley so blunt?
I take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s hard not to. You’re so hard your dick is staring atme.”
His eyes fall, and my cock twitches. “You’re hard, too.”
Yes, and it’s only growing worse. I’ll blame it on the alcohol.
I lay my hand atop his, palming him through his trousers, guiding his movements slowly, like I’m testing the waters. I’m figuring out exactly how far this can go—how far he’ll let me take it. How far I’ll letmyselftake it.
My pace quickens against him, and he lets me guide us, his breath hot and heavy in my ear as I feel the weight of him in my hands. His fast, sweet breaths send tingles through my body in all the right ways, and I don’t want it to stop.
It’s like my pants have grown ten sizes smaller, and my free hand is fumbling with the buckle of my trousers when Kingsley stops me.
“Someone might come,” he rasps.
Shit, this section feels so secluded; I wasn’t even thinking about that. I’m not sure how I’d lie my way out of this situation if someone found us.
I run my tongue along my lower lip. “Do you want to stop?”
Instead of responding, he stands. Is that a yes?
With his hands clasped in front of his junk, he nods for me to follow him.
He takes me beyond the VIP section to a room with a sign that reads “Employees Only.” The door’s unlocked, and when he opens it, we walk into a room filled with tons of shelves stacked high with food. This must be the pantry where they keep extra inventory.
Kingsley locks the door behind us. “You aren’t going to freak out on me, right?”
As soon as he turns, I’m pinning him to the door, my hands framing his head. My gaze dances between his pink lips and gray eyes, unable to decide which one to look at. “Don’t worry about me.”
