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Chapter Six
'It's every woman's secret dream to be pinned down by a beast, ravaged and devoured until their screams of terror turn into shameless cries of ecstasy.
~ The Thirty-Something Heroine: A Blog
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ICAN'T BELIEVE THEKing did what he just did, and a part of me is already wondering whether I should head back to the room and see if there's a way to still fix things.
Should I? Should I not?
The King stalks off, and self-preservation wins over altruism.
Worry about your own ass, Cat!
Several Oak & Pine club members frown at the sight of me running in their hallway like some loose, awkward-looking cannon, but I'm too busy trying to catch up with my boss to apologize for offending their delicate sensibilities.
"Mr. Chatzigeorgiou?"
I'm hoping hearing me call out will have him slow down, but nope. Why is he here, anyway? Is he still suspicious in me? Am I in trouble—-
"It depends."
I didn't even realize I asked my question out loud until I hear the King answer me without breaking his stride, and I'm the one who ends up tripping over my own feet.
Screw me, screw me, screw me.
I pick myself up and run after him again.
"Sir? Sir?"
Can't he slow down?
"May I askwhatmight get me in trouble?"
"You may not."
What? Why? Is itthatbad?
Club attendants rush to open the doors for the King, and I'm so focused on figuring out what I've done to piss him off that I lose my footing as soon as I follow him down the steps.
It would have been the best thing to ever happen in my life if my little accident has me falling into the King's arms like I'm the queen he's destined to carry over the threshold, but because I'm That Girl, and my chances at romance always sucks—-
The King turns as I flail in the air, and I end up holding on to his hips for dear life as my head bumps into something hard.
Screw me, screw me, screw me.
I wish I could convince myself I've only bumped into his belt buckle or something, but as it always is with the human mind, it works overtime when all you want to do is sleep, but it refuses to go away when it's more beneficial to be stupid than smart.
"Are you alright, Ms. Bonde?" The King's voice is terrifyingly tight, but he's surprisingly careful as he pries my hands away from his pants and helps me back to my feet.
I can't believe I hit my head on the King's cock.
Screw me, screw me, screw me.
It's enough to have my horny-slash-scared mode activated, which I feel would only ever happen when he's around.
You could've bumped your head with the pavement, Cat! But you just had to choose the King's COCK.
