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“Damn right,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t you forget it.” He slaps my ass again as he increases the pace, and the sting feels good along with the hard strokes of his cock. I shiver, but I’m nowhere near cold.
He grabs one of my breasts and pinches the nipple as he leans over and kisses my back. He’s never been this passionate with me.
“Harper, you’re going to make me come so hard,” he says. “Your sweet little body, your pussy, your tits… all mine.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck me,” I say. He starts fucking me harder and as the pleasure hits, I can hear the sound of him slapping his hips against my ass. I tip my hips for him and he groans in response, his thumb rubbing my hole as he owns me.
“Jayson,” I cry out as I come again and again, his relentless thrusting making me shudder with pleasure.
“I love you,” he says in a strained voice. “S’agapo.” And then the heat and wetness jets into me as I convulse around him, the warmth and heat the perfect start of our real lives. Together.
Excerpt - KING by Jess Bentley
Jordan
My head is reeling. I fish around in my purse for the keys to my parents’ place, but I don’t make contact with anything. Maybe it’s unlocked. Just as I reach for the door handle, the door pops open and I’m face to face with a man in a open-necked button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and suit pants. He’s stunning. The look on his face is surprised and receptive, his bright blue eyes bright, their crinkled edges softening his expression. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. He definitely looks gorgeous.
“Oh, hi,” he says. His voice rumbles softly.
I fumble a bit, rub my hand on the side of my black dress, and hold out my hand to shake his. I’m flustered. His touch feels like electricity. I try not to stare at the way his collar falls around his upper chest and collarbone, or how the fabric stretches across broad shoulders.
“You’re Jordan,” he says.
“Yes,” I manage to say. He opens the door wide and moves out the way.
“Jordan, honey, is that you?” I hear in my mother’s voice. It’s her “company” voice, modulated and mellifluous. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
Yeah, I couldn’t stand being at my best friend’s funeral and wake for a second more, but I don’t want to talk about that in front of the gentleman that’s here.
“Things ended early,” I say simply.
“Oh honey,” my mom says, swooping in and kissing me on the cheek. “I’m so sorry. How did it go?”
“It was fine,” I answer quickly, dismissively. My mind is churning with thoughts and emotions. I don’t know how they did it, but it was an open casket. Kelsey died in a car crash, and her forehead hit the windshield. I guess the airbag didn’t deploy. But whoever did her makeup restored her to the way she looked when we were fifteen, except peaceful. Clear. She looked different later—kind of cagey, somehow. After a certain point there was a shadow across her face when we hung out that neve
r quite left. I don’t know why it was like that. I figured we just were growing apart.
For me, I tried to hold on too hard, to cling too much to her. But she was my rock for so long that it was difficult to try to get along without my best friend at my side all the time.
It’s hard for me to trust anyone now that she’s gone, and if I’m honest, some part of me didn’t even trust her, though I did follow her.
“Jordan, this is Mr. King,” my mother says too brightly. “He and your father were best friends in college, and now they’re going into business together.” Best friends. Like Kelsey and I were.
“Hello, Mr. King,” I say dutifully. It feels strange that a man my father’s age could be so attractive, and that even on the day of my best friend’s funeral I could feel heat rising in my chest, and tingling in my core.
“We met before, Jordan,” Mr. King says. “But you’ve grown up a lot since then.” There’s an appreciation in his voice that goes just to the edge of what might be flirting, or might just be politeness.
“That’s right!” my mother says, clapping her hands to the sides of her mouth. “You met Jordan when she was a little baby!”
“She was adorable,” he smiles, and his full lips stretch over perfect teeth. “And later too, when she was eleven or twelve? Now she’s a real lady.” His eyes flicker almost imperceptibly over my body. “You must be very proud.”
My mother smiles. “We couldn’t be prouder of Jordan,” she trumpets.
I slip off my heels. I’m not usually so done up, but I had to show my respects and wear heels. “Thanks,” I say. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to change into something more relaxing.”
“I think you still have some clothes in your old room,” my mother says. “Jordan was at her best friend’s funeral today,” she stage-whispers to Mr. King. He looks stricken.
“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. I glance up at him, and there’s genuine compassion in his eyes, but something else as well. What is it?
