King, Page 8

  she wouldn’t find any sort of civilization for over ten miles.

  I wrestled with the idea of going after her all day. Then, Preppy had filled me in on what she’d told him about not having a memory.

  So I did something. Something that made the decision to go after her an easy one. A decision that would forever change the lives of everyone around me.

  Some for the good.

  Some for the bad.

  Some for the dead.

  I found out who Doe really was.

  Chapter Twelve

  Doe

  Although my eyes are open, there is a darkness surrounding me that is about to open the flood gates of my panic. A pair of heavily-lidded chestnut brown eyes loom over me and remind me I’m not alone, and my fear is momentarily surpressed. The look of raw desire reflected in his gaze sends a flush of wetness between my legs. The heat of his naked chest radiates against mine, and I am lost in sensations of skin against skin.

  Slowly, he drags his fingers up my thigh, touching every part of my body except the one place burning for his touch, aching and pulsing with a need I’d never known. His touch is soft but nervous, like he doesn’t know where to place his hands next. I shift in an effort to send him where I crave his touch the most.

  “Ssshhhh,” a deep voice whispers into my neck, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end and my stomach to flip flop with anticipation. “Is this where you need me to touch you?”

  His hand comes to rest on my breast, rolling my already sensitive nipple between his fingers. I arch my back and groan from deep within my throat.

  “No,” I say. It comes out as barely a breath. I need him lower. Much lower.

  He releases my nipple and a soft hand cups my breast and squeezes lightly. “Is this where you need me?” the voice asks, teasing me with his words as well as his touch.

  “No,” I moan again, the agonizing torture of waiting for him to make contact is too much to bear.

  I kick out my legs impatiently.

  “Ssssshhhhh. Behave, and you’ll get what you want,” the voice whispers, trailing his tongue down the side of my neck at the same time working his hands between my legs. Slowly, two fingers brush over my clit, lingering there without any movement. An almost touch.

  His body stills.

  I writhe beneath him, seeking the release he is denying me. “Please,” I beg.

  No answer.

  “Please,” I say again.

  Still no answer.

  I look up into the eyes that held the promise of pleasure just a moment before, but they are slowly fading away. I reach for him, but I grasp only the night air. Even though I can still feel the places where he touched me as if he’d burned my skin, I can no longer feel him on me.

  Then, he is gone altogether, and I am left alone in the dark.

  Before I can panic, what I’d felt on top of me is now behind me, but the feeling isn’t quite the same. The person isn’t the same. This body is warmer, harder, and much, much larger. The hand rubbing my thigh isn’t soft and gentle; it’s rough and callused. The erection prodding against my lower back is thick and long, rubbing against the slit in my ass, into my wet folds and back again.

  “Please,” I beg. Release. There must be some sort of release at the end of all this. I craved it, needed it, and I knew he could give it to me.

  These new fingers don’t linger, and I almost fall apart when they find the wetness between my legs, spreading it over my clit until I am writhing against the thickness behind me, begging for it with my body, needing to be filled with it until the pure pleasure of it all splits me in two.

  Two fingers penetrated me.

  My eyes flew open. It was then that I realized I was no longer dreaming. I lay on my side, facing the wall. In a bed.

  In King’s bed.

  WITH KING.

  It was his fingers filling me, stretching me. He curled them inside me, and they brushed against a spot that caused me to buck up against him and arch my back. I gasped and tried to tear away when King tucked me under his forearm, wrapping it tightly across my chest, holding me against him.

  “I got you, pup,” he growled, his breath teasing a spot behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

  I knew I should argue, or at the very least push him away, but I couldn’t think. Right or wrong and good or bad escaped me because his fingers started pumping while the pad of his thumb circled my clit, faster and faster until I was panting into the pillow, throwing myself back against his hard body, chasing the release that I craved more than my next breath.

  “I’ve got you,” King said again. His voice was strained and thick. I lost myself in a fog of sensation.

  “What are you—” I started to ask, but I couldn’t form the words because my body clamped down on King’s fingers, causing me to gasp.

  “I’m going to make you come, pup. I’m going to make you come real hard,” he promised. When it felt like I was reaching the edge, King held me tighter and pressed down on my clit. I hung on, afraid to fall from the heights he’d brought me to.

  “It’s okay, baby. I want to make you feel good. Don’t be afraid to come for me.”

  With one final stroke of his fingers, I saw stars. Then, I plummeted, crashing down in the most amazing free-fall I never knew existed, off of a place that I never wanted to leave. Screaming into the pillow, fisting it into my hands, my orgasm tore through me from my chest to my toes and back again. My core continued to pulse around King’s fingers as I fluttered back down to earth.

  “You’re gonna fucking kill me, pup,” King groaned. He removed his fingers and then sucked them into his mouth. “Ahhhh fuck.”

  What the hell had just happened?

  King sat up against the headboard. As much as I wanted to move, I was frozen to the mattress. “Something you need to know right now. Next time you’re having dreams that make you moan and touch yourself in my bed, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens. That’s on you. Because next time, I’m not going to be a nice guy and use my fingers to solve your little problem.”

  “Who said I needed you to solve anything? I don’t remember asking for your help,” I snapped. Blood rushed to my cheeks, burning me with embarrassment.

  “Shit, anyone within ten miles knew what you wanted, but next time, you’re going to wake up with something much larger than my fingers inside that pussy of yours. And when that happens, you’re going to come so fucking hard you’ll think what you had tonight was nothing more than a fucking hiccup. And I’ll remind you that this is my bed. This is where I sleep, and now it’s where you sleep. So, tread carefully.”

  “I…”

  “And I don’t need you dreaming about some guy while you’re sleeping next to me in MY FUCKING BED.” The sudden anger lacing his voice confused me.

  And pissed me off.

  “One, I don’t see why what or who I dream about is ANY of your fucking business, and secondly—” I held up two fingers. “I don’t want to sleep in bed with you. It’s you who carried me here. And three, how do you know it WASN’T you I was dreaming about?” I’d hoped to take some of the embarrassment off of me, but with every word I spoke, it built and built until I felt everything from my eyelids to my ear lobes burning red hot.

  “You weren’t dreaming about me,” he said confidently, crossing his arms. Suddenly, I was aware of something.

  “Did I call out someone’s name? Whose name?”

  “No, pup. You didn’t call out anyone’s name. Although I can’t wait until I’m making you call out mine.”

  “You weren’t in my head so there is NO WAY you could know who or what I was dreaming about,” I argued, my voice getting louder with each sentence. Dissapointed that I’d gotten my hopes up over a name. Angry with myself for enjoying the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given me.

  “Pup, do you want to know how it is I knew you weren’t dreaming about me when you were about to come in your sleep?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  T
he anger faded from his eyes for a brief moment. He fixed a cocky smile on his perfect lips and rolled over on top of me, forcing me to lie back against the pillows as he caged me in. He lowered his face to mine, his breath cool against my heated skin.

  “Cause, baby, if it were me you were dreaming about, you’d been screaming a fuck of a lot louder than that,” King growled.

  “You cocky son of a fucking bitch!” I shouted, but he’d already leapt off the bed and left the room. My shouts reaching no one but the already closed door.

  As much as my body responded to him, as great as I knew he could make me feel—and I had no doubt he could fulfill every promise he made about making me come—I had to stay away from him and keep my renewed promise to her.

  Which was going to be very hard, since I was going to be sleeping in his bed.

  The dream I was having before King interrupted me was too real, too vivid. I had an underlying sense that it was more than just a dream. Maybe, if I was lucky, it was a glimpse into my past.

  The chestnut brown eyes just might be the key to unlocking the truth about who I really was and what had happened to me.

  I went back to sleep that night dreaming that the boy with the chestnut colored eyes came and rescued me, taking me back to a life filled with family and friends, and everything that had happened in the past few days was nothing more than a quickly forgotten nightmare. I dreamed there were really people out there who were sick with worry, who wouldn’t rest until they found me.

  I ran this scenario through my mind over and over again until I almost believed it.

  Almost.

  King was smart, calculating, and cunning. Worst of all, he had the power to make my knees both tremble in fear and weak with desire. He was someone I had to stay away from, but according to him, that wasn’t about to happen.

  I didn’t dream about him; he was right about that. Because King wasn’t a dream.

  He was a nighmare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doe

  King never came back to bed, and I was relieved. As much as I didn’t want to be the property of someone who ran hot and cold faster than a faucet, I decided to focus on what was in front of me. Or rather, what was under me.

  And over me.

  And around me.

  And inside me.

  A bed. A roof. Walls. Food.

  The sun beamed through the windows. I stretched out my arms and legs and took a deep breath. My situation may not be as good as I’d hoped it would be, but it certainly had some perks.

  At least, my hands weren’t cuffed.

  “Rise and Shine!” Preppy shouted, flinging open the door and tossing some clothes on top of my head. “We’s got shit to do, and I hate fucking waiting, especially for chicks.”

  I pulled the clothes away from my face and onto my lap. “Why are you so chipper? Don’t you hate me for what I did to you?” I asked, referring to the not so pleasant kick to the nuts that sent him down a flight of steps.

  “Nah, I was kind of impressed, actually. Don’t get me wrong. It was fucking stupid. You should have seen the look on boss-man’s face. He looked like he was about to bust an artery or something. And if Little Preppy and the boys weren’t working properly, you would be singing a different tune, but thankfully the boys know how to take a hit. Sometimes, they like it. But they’re good, so no foul. Now, let’s fucking go!”

  “Where are we going?” I pulled the shirt on over my head. Preppy jumped on top of the bed and bounced up and down like a little kid. I couldn’t help but react to his infectious enthusiasm.

  “Holy shit, she smiles!” Preppy beamed, jumping harder until I had no choice but to get off the bed or end up on my ass on the floor. “It’s a nice smile. Doesn’t make you look like such a crack-head.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Crack. Head,” Preppy said, enunciating each word like I hadn’t heard him.

  “I know what you said. Is that really what I look like?” Suddenly self-conscious of my waif-thin frame, crazy bed head and raspberry colored sunburnt skin.

  “No?” Preppy asked, smiling awkwardly. I eyed him skeptically and crossed my arms protectively over my chest. He jumped down from the bed and clasped my elbows in his hands. “We can fix that. Don’t you worry. We can fatten you up and put some tits and ass on that boney body of yours in no time.”

  I suddenly remembered what King had said about Preppy, the things he liked to do with women. I tore my elbows from his grip and took a step back. If King wasn’t around, would Preppy hurt me? I swallowed hard, and the look on my face must have given away my thoughts.

  “Ah, I see. Boss-man threatened you with me, didn’t he?”

  I nodded reluctantly. “Is it true?”

  Preppy took a step toward me and again grabbed me. This time, he yanked me forward until I had to tilt my head up to look him in the eyes.

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Surprisingly, his touch didn’t make me shudder. The man standing in front of me was capable of the same brutality as King and did things that made my skin crawl, but Preppy himself didn’t. I felt oddly comfortable in his presence.

  “I’m not sorry for it, either. I’ve had some shit happen to me you don’t want to ever fucking know about. I’m not making excuses. Shit is the way it is. I am the way I am. That’s all there is to it. That’s all there is to me. However, I’m concerned why King felt he had to threaten little ole you, with crazy ole me.”

  “Maybe, he’s losing his touch,” I whispered.

  “Ah, she makes jokes, too.” He smiled. “What is it about you?” Cupping my face in his hands, he searched my eyes as if he was looking for an answer my words couldn’t provide. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

  “I keep asking myself the very same thing.”

  Preppy suddenly took a step back and shook his head as if he was clearing his thoughts. He smiled again, this time a full toothed, ear-to-ear smile. I was fast becoming familiar with this being his patented look. He clapped his hands together and rested his chin on the backs of his interlocked fingers.

  For some reason, Preppy started talking in a fake Spanish accent. “Boss-man has informed me that you are now our slave, and since he’s got important shit to do today, I am to take you with me on my run. So, get fucking dressed, slave, and let’s get this fucking show on de road!”

  Preppy pointed a finger into the air and snapped his heels together.

  “Those should fit,” Preppy said, pointing to the clothes on the bed. “Put them on, and let’s roll. Time’s a motherfucking wasting.”

  “We’re going somewhere? Whose clothes are those? Where are we going?” I asked without stopping to take a breath between questions.

  “I know you said you lost your memory, kid, but is your short-term still intact? Because I’d hate to have to repeat myself like this all the fucking time.” He spoke mockingly slow. “Yes. We are going somewhere. Clothes are on the bed. Get dressed. Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes.” He resumed normal conversational speed. “And stop asking so many fucking questions, or it’s going to be a long, looooong day.”

  “You’re leaving me alone?” I picked up the clothes and held them to my chest. “The other day you had to watch me pee, and today you are just leaving me?”

  “You would rather I watch?” Preppy said with a wink. “Cause we can make that happen, although I’m under strict orders—and I quote—’not to fucking touch you’.” He punctuated each of his words while making air quotes with his fingers.

  “No, I’m just confused is all. About Nikki. About King. About you. About everything.” I bit my lip.

  “Me, too, kid. Me, too, but I’m just following boss-man’s orders,” Preppy said. “But let’s just fucking roll with it, and maybe, we can have some fun in the meantime—the boring PG kind—that is, when King isn’t around to be the fun police. Now, hurry the fuck up!”

  Preppy left the room without closing the door, whistlin
g as he walked down the hall. The whistle faded, along with his footsteps, as he got further and further away, disappearing altogether when he turned and bounced down the stairs.

  The clothes Preppy had given me were simple. A pair of jeans, a black tank top, and flat black sandals. The sandals fit like they were made for me. The clothes were all two sizes too big, but soft and comfortable. He’d also left me a new toothbrush and a pair of bright red lace panties with the tag still on it. I spent four out of the five minutes it took me to get dressed on just brushing my teeth.

  I’d gone to bed with my hair wet from the bath, so it was a bit crinkly, I did the best I could taming it with a brush I’d found in the bathroom.

  I was wearing real clothes and real shoes.

  It was heavenly.

  The bath had done wonders for my wounds. I found what I needed in the bathroom and changed the bandages on my ear and foot. Then I applied aloe onto my sun burnt skin, which looked a lot less red than it had the day before.

  When I found my way downstairs and to the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. In the middle of a small yellow kitchen with avocado green appliances was an old, faded table completely covered from top to legs with carvings and little drawings. People’s names, pictures of penises, quotes, and a lot of INSERT NAME was here’s. But that wasn’t what caught my attention. It was what was in the center of the table that had me drooling.

  Pancakes.

  Stacks upon stacks of mouthwatering, buttery, perfectly round pancakes.

  Preppy stood at the stove with a spatula in hand, flipping pancakes on a griddle pan. He wore a lacy red apron over his red short-sleeved dress shirt and faded jeans. His yellow checkered bow tie peeked over the top. His white sneakers were scuff-free and matched his white suspenders.

  But pancakes.

  Before he was done telling me to help myself, I’d already shoved two so far in my throat I might choke, but I didn’t care. They could be fucking poison, I didn’t care. If I died with a mouthful of pancakes while the poison ate out my insides, it would be a fate I’d surrender to willingly.

  Because pancakes.

  Preppy turned the burner off and flopped another stack down on the plate in the center of the table.

  “Slow. Remember?” he reminded me. He poured me some orange juice into a red plastic cup, and I managed to swallow down the pancake that was threatening my life. After that, I made a half-assed attempt to take smaller bites and chew slower.

  “So, what exactly are we doing today?” I asked.

  “Errands,” Preppy answered vaguely. “Business.”

  “Why can’t I just stay here?”

  “Oh you can, but I would have to cuff you to the bed again. I’ll be a while. So eating, peeing, or anything other than laying there is kind of off the table.”

  I rolled my shoulder, which was still sore from being tethered to the bed. “Business it is then. What kind of business?”

  As with most of my words lately, as soon as they were out, I wished I could suck them back in.

  Something you probably shouldn’t be asking about, you idiot.

  Preppy didn’t seem to mind my stupid question, but he didn’t answer. “Shut up and finish your food, so we can get out the door this fucking century.”

  Preppy had a way of talking that was different than anyone else. His demeanor was light, but his words and language were crude.

  But then I shut up, and I did what I was told.