“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” The voice rumbles against my ear, and I turn my head into the sound.
A disturbingly familiar weight increases around my back, and I groan as my situation becomes clear. “Son of a bitch.”
The chest under my face shakes with a chuckle. “Don’t get mad at me, I’m not the one that broke down your well-constructed partition.”
I grumble more curses, his chest hair tickling my lips, but I have a feeling he’s telling the truth. Because this is not the position I fell asleep in.
At least my leg isn’t thrown over his this morning. Instead, I’ve just burrowed into his side.
“I’d love to stay here, trust me.” His exhale ruffles my hair. “But I have the movers meeting us in just over an hour. So, we gotta get going.”
I roll my face enough so I’m not speaking directly into his body. “Movers for what?”
“For your house.”
That response has me opening my eyes, tilting my head back enough to look at him. “What do you mean, my house?”
“I’m warm and comfortable right now, so try to not freak, when I remind you that you live here now.”
I roll my eyes. “God, you’re annoying in the morning.”
He grins, “Just the morning?”
With the hand I have draped across his waist, I grip the blankets, then yank them back in one quick motion. The movement snaps them to my side of the bed, exposing all of King’s previously covered skin to the air-conditioned air.
I almost laugh at the yelp he lets out, but as I try to scoot away, he rolls on top of me.
“You’re a damn menace.”
“That’s rich, coming from my blackmailer.” I try to act unaffected at having his body over mine. Just like I try to pretend I don’t feel his morning wood against my belly, all while reminding myself that I hate this man.
His sleepy smile tells me my barb didn’t bother him. “I’ll get ready in the guest room, since I don’t think you’re quite ready to share a shower.” Heat shoots down my spine, picturing what it might be like to have him with me, in the steam filled shower, covered in suds. “But if you’re not ready in an hour, I’m coming in.”
His hips flex while he says the last three words, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. The innuendo received.
And then I continue to lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he rolls off me, and strides his fine ass out of the room.
It’s weird. Being here, with him.
This whole morning has felt surreal. Starting with waking up together, then seeing my minivan in King’s garage. I’d pressed my hand against his passenger side window when I saw it, hardly believing my eyes.
Seeing where I was looking, King told me that the cleaners found my keys on Lee’s––or as he said Leland’s––counter and drove it over.
King practically spit the man’s name out, so I didn’t ask questions.
Of course, I didn’t get my keys back. King had them, using them to open my front door moments ago, before pocketing them again.
Standing here, in the living room of my small house, I wonder how it’s only been two days since I’ve been here, when it feels like forever.
When I last left home, I was wearing this same exact outfit, on my way to have my third date with Lee. A date that I’d pretty much decided would be our last, without realizing just how true that last part would become.
“The moving crew will do all the packing, I just need you to decide what comes to the house, what goes.”
I slowly turn to look at King, but he’s already busied himself looking around the place.
His words shouldn’t come as a shock to me, but I hadn’t really thought it through when he said we were meeting the movers here. I mean, yeah, when I think about it, obviously Mr. Controlling wasn’t just going to let me keep my house. I knew that. But still…
“What?” King’s looking at me now.
I widen my eyes at him, “You do realize this is kind of a big deal?”
He arches a brow, “Honey, this house sucks.”
My jaw drops. “It does not!”
“Uh,” he gestures around, “yeah, it does. And you know it.”
I stomp my foot. The tantrum not lost on either of us.
“Savannah,” he sighs, “you didn’t live here.” Before I can argue that––yes, this is my house and I definitely lived here––he crosses the room and grips my elbow, dragging me out of the main living area down the tiny hall, past the one bathroom, into my bedroom. “Show me where you are?”
“What are you talking about? This is my house! I’ve lived here for…” it takes me a moment to remember.
“Nine years,” he finishes for me. “And there’s not a single one of your paintings on the walls.”
The statement stuns me. “Well, no. But…”
“You never even painted the walls.”
I look at the somewhat dingy white surfaces. “How would you…”
He walks over to my non-walk-in closet and yanks the door open. “Wow, shocker, you never even updated the storage.” The original single bar below the long shelf proves him right. “The only proof you’ve ever stepped foot in here are the smudges.”
I press my lips together, and I give up on my protest. I know what smudges he’s talking about. The small smears of paint near door handles. On door frames. Places I might have touched or leaned on when I came home from the small space I rented as a studio. The place I’ve really lived at for the past nine years. More really, since I found that place while I was still in college.
And I hate to admit it, but he’s right.
King is right about all of it.
This house has been mine for nearly a decade, but the sadness I feel over losing it is entirely for me, for my lack of connection to it.
These walls deserve better than what I gave them.
“What will you do with it?” I ask, not allowing this sadness to convert into tears.
King lifts a shoulder. “Sell it. The bones are fine. It’ll be a fun flip for someone, but I’m not interested in that small of a return on investment a place like this would net.”
“Spoken like a true finance bro.”
King chuckles, “I could tear it down, build a three-story home, sell it for six figures and fuck with the neighborhood housing costs, if that’s more to your liking.”
I block out his hollow threat, taking in the room with new eyes and feeling embarrassed. It’s just a white box, no personality, no intention, no love.
I take a deep breath. “I want all my clothes. And the stuff in the bathroom.”
There’s no point in fighting this. Even if I wanted to keep this place, King wouldn’t let me stay here.
“Anything else? We can put things in storage if you want,” he offers.
I appreciate his attempt at civility, but I shake my head. “The furniture was all cheap, and since you have a live-in chef, I’m guessing you don’t need my Target-bought kitchenware.”
“Fair.” He slides his hands into his pants pockets. “Where would you like me to start?”
I eye him in his grayish blue suit. The white shirt beneath making his tanned skin glow. “You want to help pack?”
“I’m good at folding underwear,” he grins.
I shake my head and point out the door. “You can do the bathroom.”
Thankfully, King complies, and I get to work.
I have two suitcases wedged onto the one shelf in the closet, so I drag them down and open them on the bed.
I’ve been meaning to donate some of my old clothes, the ones that no longer fit, so I sort those out into a pile on top of the dresser, folding the ones I want to keep before placing them in the suitcases.
Only a handful of minutes have gone by when I hear King’s heavy steps enter the bedroom.
“No way you’re done already,” I say, reaching for a hanger.
King doesn’t reply, and I’m just turning to look over my shoulder when his arms encircle me, yanking me back roughly against his chest, knocking the breath out of mine.
“You get one answer. And I’ll know if you’re lying.” His low voice lifts the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “Did you use this with him?”
I open my mouth to ask what he’s talking about, when he raises a hand in front of me. And the color drains from my face.
“Answer me,” he growls.
I stare at the neon green, vibrating, silicone cock ring, pinched between his fingers.
“K-King…” The mortification is unending. How could I forget that I had that in the bathroom.
“So help me god, if you––”
“No!” I blurt out. “I’ve never used that with anyone!”
“Don’t lie to me.”
I jab my elbow back into his side, not that he reacts. “Thought you could tell if someone was lying,” I snap. “Because I’m telling you the truth, you jerk.”
“If you haven’t used it Sweet Savannah,” his mouth presses against my ear. “Then where’s the packaging?”
“I…I never said I didn’t use it.” I can’t stop staring. “I just…I used it alone, okay?”
His breath heaves. “How does a woman use this alone?”
His change in tone is like a match to my libido.
My body starts to ache, and my nipples pebble. Dying for attention.
“How, Savannah?”
I squeeze my thighs together, not believing what I’m about to admit. “I’d put it on a, um, dildo and pretend.”
“Fuuuck.” King groans deep in his chest, his open mouth dropping to the bare part of my shoulder.
My entire body is lit up, practically vibrating.
The hand holding the ring lowers, flattening over my stomach, and I can’t even be bothered to worry about how my much softer body feels to him, because right now, all I want is to have him closer.
My back arches.
“Baby, you––” his words are cut off by a loud knocking on the door. “Goddammit.” He pulls me tighter against his body, letting me feel that he’s just as affected as I am. “Fuck. We’ll talk about this later.” Then he’s letting me go.
And for the second time today, I don’t stare at his ass as he walks out of the room.
“And leave clothes out for dinner.” He calls over his shoulder. “We’re going out after this.”
