I could feel it coming, like an ominous storm. Fierce and wild. Dangerous. I can see it in his eyes, the way King’s looking at me, holding onto me when we’re together. He’s reached his limit.
I knew he wouldn’t wait long.
“What are you doin’?” I ask him, but can see clear as day what he’s doing. He’s in my closet, throwing everything I own into boxes. He’s packing me up.
Trying to act shocked, I grab the cream shift dress he’s flinging toward the box and frown, holding it to my chest. “Seriously, King, you can’t just throw all my shit into boxes.” I smooth out the soft material and hang the dress back on the rack.
He cocks a brow, tattooed arms crossed. “Looks like I am. I’m done, Samantha. You’re almost nine months pregnant and I want you in my house. You’ve had your time. I’m still fuckin’ here and I’m done waitin’.”
King’s not wrong, but I’m also not sure I’m ready. “So?” I fire back, like a toddler with an attitude. I’m having a hard time not fighting back, even though I don’t have much to fight. King’s been here. Bought a house here. Stayed here. But still…
“So?” he chuckles, repeating my words. “That was fucking cute.”
“That’s it? We’re movin’ in together?”
He nods, resolute. “Goddam right. Don’t like you bein’ away from me, and I’m gonna like it even less once the baby’s here. You move in with me or I move in here. Your choice. But you’re not livin’ alone.”
“Okay.” It’s not worth the fight. In the last few months, King’s let me have my way, do things how I want to do them, and I know my time is running out. It’s his way or no way at all, and I knew it was coming.
“Okay? Just that easy?” He looks skeptical.
“You’re packin’ up my stuff. Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You always got a choice, baby, but this time, I’m makin’ it for you.”
“No choices,” I mutter, hiding my smile behind my sarcasm.
“None,” he tells me, wrapping a hand around my arm and pulling me into him. This is home. King is home.
“Where do I put this?” I ask him, unpacking a box. My move lasted two point two seconds. As soon as I agreed, he had prospects here, packing me up and moving me. King wasted no time.
“Wherever.”
“Wherever?” I ask him, opening the top drawer of his dresser—one of the only things he has in his room aside from a bed. “So, in here is fine?” I pull out a handful of boxer briefs and dump them onto the floor, laughing when he frowns at me.
“The fuck you doin’?”
“You told me to put it wherever,” I argue, trying to keep a straight face.
King snorts, head shaking as he walks toward me and moves me out of the way. Grabbing the drawer, he pulls it form the dresser and dumps it upside down, boxer briefs going everywhere. “There ya go, baby,” he grunts, handing me the drawer, smirking. “Made ya some room.”
Rolling my eyes, I take the drawer and start putting panties of every variety in it—lace, silk, cotton.
“Want me to empty the closet for ya?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me intently.
“Please. Your stuff can go in the garage.” I’m kidding, but love to push it. I can’t help it. King takes my shit and smiles. The bastard is nuts.
“You gonna be a pain in my ass the rest of my goddamn life, aren’t ya?” Getting up, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in.
“You love it.”
He growls. “Love you. Not so sure about the shit you pitch me.”
Shrugging, I smirk. “You love it all.”
Grabbing my wrist, King pulls on me, wrapping his arms around me. “You know goddamn well I do. Wouldn’t go through all this shit for just anyone.”
“What about Becky? Would you do all this shit for her?” I’m just making shit up now and it works. King looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Becky? Who the fuck’s Becky?” he asks me, frowning hard.
Throwing my head back, I laugh. Laugh so hard it hurts. Holding me upright, King lets me laugh, watching me with his ocean blue eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Samantha, you’re gonna kill me.”
“Just call me Becky.”
He chuckles, kissing me hard. “You know I love your crazy ass, Becky.”
“I kinda love you too, asshole.”