Empire of Lust: Chapter 21

I’m surprised I make it out of the club and into the parking lot without bombing the whole place terrorist-style just to broadcast the chaos that’s snapping its fingers against my throat.

My heels make a screeching sound on the asphalt and I turn around. You know what? I should go back in there and crush a whole bottle against Kingsley’s thick skull. A mere glass of alcohol is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Releasing a long breath, I half abandon the idea and storm to my car. It’s only a half abandon because fuck it. The urge to break something—preferably Kingsley’s head and dick—is too much of a temptation to completely let go.

But on the other gloomy end, I refuse to be perceived as emotional, messy.

Weak.

My fingers shake around the car key and I wipe the angry tears that have gathered in my eyes. I’m not going to cry because of that bastard.

Not in this lifetime, Satan.

Dumping my weight against the car, I inhale deep breaths, summoning every inch of the self-control I gained through surviving in the streets, studying my ass off, and working doubly as hard as my male counterparts in order to be recognized in their midst.

Images of Kingsley’s hands around that girl’s waist assault my head and I close my eyes.

Stop thinking about jerks. Stop making it personal. It’s nothing.

We’re nothing.

Moisture gathers in my lids and no amount of critical, methodical thinking is able to stop the tear that slides down my cheek and into my mouth.

Something shakes me and I startle when I realize it’s my phone.

Releasing a breath, I yank it out, slightly thankful for the distraction.

The text that lights up the screen puts my world on pause for a second.

Gwyneth: I just made these. Do you want some?

Attached is an Instagram-like picture of colorful cupcakes with beautiful rainbow toppings.

Gwyneth: Oh, Nate just said you don’t really like sweet things. That’s okay, I guess. I just made too many, so I thought I’d share. I’d take them to Dad, but he’s not really talking to me.

My fingers practically fly on the screen.

Me: I would love to have some. If you don’t mind.

Gwyneth: Of course I don’t mind! Should I come to your apartment? Will Caroline be there? She likes cake, so I’ll bring her some, too.

I smile, about to reply with a capital “YES” when a rustle sounds from behind me.

My mini happy mood disappears. The asshole has the audacity to come for me after what he made me watch. Although this is a good opportunity to bash his head in with my heels.

I suck in a sharp breath as I whirl around. “I’m going to kill you—”

My words end on a muffled gasp when someone jams a cloth against my mouth and nose.

The stench of antiseptic and gut-wrenching chloroform fills my nostrils and lodges in my head with the lethality of a bullet.

A dark figure hovers over me, grabbing me by the shoulders, nearly snapping them from their sockets. I dig my nails into their arm, scratching and clawing with all the survival energy in me.

It obviously isn’t much, because he continues crushing the cloth against my face, forcing me to breathe in the chloroform.

Shit…shit…

I can feel my hold weakening and my muscles going limp. The haunting screeching sound of my heels dragging against the ground slowly withers in the background and my eyes droop.

No…

A shock of colors and sounds explodes in front of me all at once.

The cloth is removed from my nose and I slump against my car, sliding to the ground due to the force of my coughs. My gasps for clean air make my eyes water and I shake my head a few times to bring back my focus.

At first, I have no clue what just happened, or if this is maybe a scare or a distasteful prank. But even deep down, I realize that this is much more serious than that.

The scene that materializes in front of me might as well be out of a horror movie.

Kingsley holds the dark figure who nearly blacked me out by the collar and drives his fist into his masked face.

The other man tackles him and they roll on the ground in a blur of punches, kicks, and guttural sounds.

Even in my dazed state, I can see that whoever my attacker is, he’s a professional. Despite Kingsley’s knack for violence, he won’t have the upper hand.

Crawling on all fours, I reach for my briefcase that’s fallen on the ground and rummage through it for my pepper spray.

Before I can pull it out, the attacker kicks Kingsley in the ribs and sprints into the night.

Kingsley springs to his feet, probably to go in pursuit, but I whisper, “Don’t…don’t…go…”

My words are desperate, pained, and raw. So raw that it hurts the shit out of me. Or maybe what really hurts is knowing that if Kingsley follows him, he’ll be kidnapped instead of me just to drive a message home.

Or worse, he’ll be shot dead.

“Fuck.” He reaches me in two long strides and gathers me in his arms. The act is so effortless that I want to disappear in it for a while. And it seems to come naturally, as if he’s been doing this—holding me, cocooning me—for decades.

He wraps a strong arm around my waist, letting my body crash into the nook of his. “Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital.”

I frantically shake my head, gasping for air and words. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

“You can’t even fucking stand, Aspen.”

“I can.” I try to push away from him and promptly fall back into his embrace.

“Stay still and quit the stubbornness.”

“No hospital…” I mumble, feeling my eyes drooping. “Please, King…no hospital…”

My fingers go lax against his chest and I hate how safe it feels with him.

How, instead of trying to find my own way and lick my wounds solo, I prefer the warmth of this place.

Where his heart beats against mine.

When I open my eyes, the sight of white walls damn near sends me into hyperventilation mode.

Not the hospital.

No.

Before I can trip on my own feet, scream bloody murder, and throw myself out the nearest window, I spring up in bed and freeze.

The rest of the room slowly comes into focus and its familiar neutral tones instantly calm me down.

Weird.

I stare down at myself and find I’m only wearing a T-shirt. Kingsley’s.

It smells like fresh laundry, cedarwood, and him. I resist the urge to sniff it like a drug addict and, instead, choose to focus on my surroundings.

It’s the first time I’ve slept on Kingsley’s bed, though. Yes, we fuck a lot, but that’s usually on any surface aside from an actual bed. Besides, I always leave soon after, refusing to spend the night, despite his continuous invitations.

A fact that Caroline has been giving me shit about, calling me a heartless seductress.

But what Caroline doesn’t know is that giving more of myself to this man scares the hell out of me. I already lose so much control around him, the least I can do is try to protect whatever’s left of my heart.

The door opens and Kingsley comes inside, carrying a plate of food. He’s in gray sweatpants and a dark T-shirt, his hair tousled in a perfectly imperfect mess.

I swallow the saliva gathered in my throat, because no matter how much I attempt to be, I’m not desensitized to this man’s physical beauty or imposing presence.

Even if a part of my brain will always consider him a rival I want to eliminate and a jerk I need to bring down for humanity’s sake.

“You’re awake,” he says with a hardness that doesn’t appear on his face as he places the tray of shrimp, and what looks like chicken broth on the side table.

“How long have I been out?”

“About three hours. The doctor said the chloroform didn’t completely take effect.”

“You didn’t take me to the hospital.”

“You begged me not to. Why?”

“They’re a hostile environment and I don’t feel safe in them.”

“Because you thought you lost your daughter in one.”

It’s not a question, because, of course, he’d put the pieces together and figure it all out. I hang my head, staring at my hands. I have no control over the words that tumble out of my mouth. “Hospitals remind me of the helplessness I felt back then. Of my inability to protect my flesh and blood. I didn’t only think I’d lost my daughter. Something inside me died on that hospital bed, so I try my hardest to never relive those moments by avoiding hospitals as much as possible.”

“You won’t have to go to one. I have a family doctor.” He drops onto the mattress beside me. “Though I did change him to a woman.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean by why? Shouldn’t you be celebrating this as a feminist who has a favorite thing called defending women and career equality?”

“But you’re the furthest thing from a feminist, so why would you willingly change the gender of your family doctor?”

“Because you’re constantly getting hurt and no man will develop the habit of touching you. If it were up to me, no woman would get that privilege either, but necessity and all that.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Is that a way to thank me, witch?”

I stare at my brown nails, two of which are broken. Probably because of my struggle earlier. The shadow of what could’ve happened to me if Kingsley hadn’t shown up in that exact moment covers me in gloom.

My fingers curl around the sheet. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t hear that. Can you repeat it?”

“No.”

“Where are your manners, sweetheart? Do you find it hard to thank people?”

“Not all people. You. Your dickhead behavior makes it impossible to show gratitude. I’d rather gag on my own saliva.”

“That’s too many words for a simple thank you, but fine, I won’t come after your stone heart…yet.” He pauses, searching my face. “Did you recognize the man who tried to drug you?”

I slowly shake my head. “He was masked the entire time.”

“At this point, it’s safe to deduce that your father is pulling strings from behind bars.”

I dig my fingers into my palms until I almost break more nails. “He’s never done this to me before.”

“He wasn’t close to getting out before. We should have a code for when you’re in danger.”

“What type of code?”

“A word in a text with which you’ll alert me when you need help.”

“Why would I call you for help?”

“The fact that I saved your ass the last couple of times. What do you want the word to be?”

“I don’t know…Nietzsche.”

“Fuck that asshole.”

I smile. “It is what it is. Deal with it.”

He narrows his eyes. “You also need bodyguards or Nicolo’s men.”

“I’ll talk to Mateo. I like him better.”

A muscle clenches in his jaw as he regards me silently. “Isn’t he married to your friend?”

“One more reason I trust him more than that snake Nicolo.”

“You trust him enough to have double dates with him, apparently.”

“And what’s it to you?” My voice gains a cutting, venomous edge as memories from tonight rush back with the bitterness of a pill and the lethality of a gun. “I can choose to go on dates, dinners, or orgies, and you have no damn say in it.”

His expression closes down and his eyes darken with the malice of an ocean in the middle of winter. When his hand reaches out for me, I’m not sure if he’ll strangle me to death or use the pillow to do it.

I don’t wait for it, though, and instead, slap it away. “Don’t touch me with the same hand that was all over another woman.”

A dark smirk tilts his lips. “Your jealousy is cute.”

“It’s not jealousy. It’s self-respect.”

“Bullshit. You made your emotional performance of the century in there and even had the tears to go with it. So how about you admit this open arrangement isn’t for you.”

“Fuck you, Kingsley.”

“I’m going to pass on the offer. Instead, you might see me fucking that girl next time in full HD.”

I can feel the hotness rising from my chest to my neck and ears, and I refuse to give in to the volcano.

I refuse to let him win.

“Then you’ll be invited to the front-row seat of my next hookup.”

One second I’m sitting, the next I’m on my back. Kingsley’s fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing the sides until all I can focus on is his weight on top of me. He could crush me in a minute—no, a second would be enough. And the worst part is that my core is throbbing with want.

What the hell is wrong with me? He’s choking me and I’m throbbing?

“The only way another man will touch you is if he has a fucking death wish. So unless you want some bastard’s death on your conscience out of pure spite, then go ahead and provoke that lawless side of me, sweetheart. I fucking dare you.”

“You did it first.” I can feel the raw words coming out from the depths of my soul and bruised heart. “You touched someone else first, asshole. And I believe in karma. It’s my favorite type of bitch.”

“You’re the one who went on a date and refused to be mine. Touching another woman was your lesson, because both of us know open anything isn’t how this works. Next time I say you’re mine, you scream it back, am I clear?”

I angle my knee to kick him in the crotch, but he lifts himself at the last second, escaping my assault.

“Try fucking again.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Not the right word.” He has the audacity to tsk. “Say you’re mine.”

I purse my lips.

Still grabbing me by the throat, he reaches for my shirt and bunches it up to my waist, lifts my leg, then slaps my ass cheek.

I gasp, still sore and bearing a map of his handprints from the last time he did this.

Two days ago. It’s been only two days, but it feels as if he hasn’t touched me for a decade. It’s terrifying how my body and other parts of me I don’t want to put a name to have gotten used to him.

Kingsley releases his hard cock that’s purple and dripping with precum. Seems like I’m not the only one depraved enough to be turned on by this hate-fest.

We’re both insatiable animals with a thirst for more.

He digs his fingers into my folds. “Look how soaked you are for me, sweetheart. Your cunt is begging to be fucked.”

I shudder when he does that thing with his fingers thrusting inside me and his palm slapping my clit.

“So inviting, tight and ready,” he muses in dark words that arouse me more than should be allowed.

Then he pulls out and I bite my lip to keep from protesting. His fingers move through my wetness to my back hole, smearing the arousal all over it before driving inside.

I gather my fists into the sheets and squeeze.

It’s a depravity that he’s been engaging in lately, taking pleasure in fingering my ass while he’s fucking my pussy.

It’s always felt arousing in a strange type of way, but one thing is missing—his cock isn’t inside me. It’s sliding against my folds, up and down in a torturous rhythm.

“Ah, fuck…” I raise my hips, needing to alleviate the pressure building in my core.

“Fuck, indeed, sweetheart.” He thrusts another finger in my ass, stretching me to the point of pain.

But what hurts the most is how charged up I am for something.

Anything.

This is why I hate relinquishing control. The unknown and relying on someone else are some of my worst nightmares.

“God-damn-it.” I bite my lip. “Do something.”

He slowly shakes his head. “Say you’re mine first.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll stay like this all night.”

“You’ll have blue balls.”

“And you’ll have a blue pussy, but no fucking orgasm.”

“Goddamn you, Kingsley.”

“God-fucking-damn you, Aspen. Just say the words.”

“I’m not your plaything, asshole.”

“No, you’re not. You’re the whole fucking game.”

My lips part, and a queasy sensation drops to my stomach. Just…why does he have to say things that throw me completely off?

“Would you rather imagine me with other playthings or give us what we both want?”

I wiggle, feeling my heart being chipped away hard and fast. “I don’t want you.”

“Sure, let’s say I don’t want you either, while my dick is hard and your pussy is soaked.”

“Ugh…”

“Say it, Aspen.”

“Fuck me,” I whisper, my heart lunging to my throat.

“And?”

“I’m…yours.” I glare at him. “Temporarily.”

I can tell he doesn’t like that last addition, considering the squeezing of his fingers on my throat, but he finally drives into me.

The thrust is so powerful and violent that I slide off the bed and gasp from the intensity of it.

My core is stimulated and wet and I come immediately with his hand on my neck and his fingers in my ass.

“Tell me you’re mine, too,” I moan in my lusty haze, my eyes half-opened and my heart nearly reaching the sky.

When he says nothing, I reach for his face. “Say it or I’ll really kill you the next time you touch another woman.”

“I’m yours.” He grins. “Temporarily.”

The jab of that word creates a hole inside me, but I forget all about it when he fucks me to within an inch of my life and then paints my pussy, ass, and breasts with his cum.

Something has changed between us, and I have no idea what it is.

All I know is that I don’t think about leaving when he gathers me in his arms and sleeps wrapped all around me.