King

“Holland! Holland, open your eyes. Please, baby, open your eyes.” I pat her cheek and try to get some kind of response. I should have fucking kept this shit about her mother to myself. I shouldn’t have forced her on that helicopter. I shouldn’t have her out, walking around on the beach in the middle of a hot afternoon. What the hell was I thinking?

I keep jostling her until her eyes flutter open and she looks around confused.

“Hey, sweet girl. Shit, you had me worried there for a minute.”

And it was probably actually no longer than a minute, but it felt like fucking forever. The waiter is standing next to us with a glass of water, and the hostess grabbed a tablecloth, wadded it up, and tucked it under her head.

“Did I faint?”

“Yes, you did. Are you hurt?” I saw her fall. She didn’t hit her head, so I’m ninety percent sure she’s fine, but I want to hear her say it.

“My hip hurts a little,” she says, straining to sit up. I straddle her, so she couldn’t move if she tried.

“Just stay down for a minute,” I press two fingers against her mouth when she tries to argue.

“Shush. Relax. I’m sorry. I should have left the thing with your mother alone. I knew you’d be upset, but I didn’t think . . . well, I didn’t think you’d pass out.”

“I’ve never fainted before,” she says, looking from the waiter to the hostess.

“The seagulls . . .”

“Seagulls?”

“Yeah, they were mad . . . and so loud.”

“Are you sure you didn’t bump your head?” I run my fingers through her hair, checking for bumps.

“Never mind, I’m fine. Can I get up now?”

“Yes, let me help you though.” I stand and pull her slowly to her feet. She wobbles, and I scoop her into my arms and carry her through the restaurant. I’ve had enough. Our waiter and the hostess are hot on my heels, asking if I want an ambulance. I ignore them and carry Holland through the lobby, outside, and straight into the limo waiting out front.

I open the door and help her in. She looks around the car wide eyed. It’s fun to see her experience the things that I’ve always taken for granted. I rode to a private school in a limo every day, dressed head to toe in designer clothes.

Holland is looking much better. Her coloring is back to its normal bronze tone, and the glimmer is back in her stormy grey eyes.

“Come here.” I pat the seat, and when she scoots closer, I pull her down and lay her head in my lap, facing the partition window. “We’re going to drive home; it will take longer, but I think it’s best. You’ve had enough stress for one day.”

“King, please tell me my mother didn’t say those things,” she says with so much desperation in her eyes that it stops my heart. I’m not used to feeling helpless, but Gloria is a piece of work, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about her blatant disregard for Holland’s wellbeing. She’s a pit bull when it comes to her daughter becoming a professional violinist. She’s had her eye on the prize for so long that she can’t imagine Holland having a different future, and I’m not so sure I disagree. Her talent is unreal. I’ve never heard anyone more gifted. It would be an epic waste if she didn’t follow her dreams all the way to the top.

“Your mother didn’t say those things.” I lie, because sometimes a lie is more comforting than the truth.

“Thank you,” she says, playing along. She pulls her knees up, snuggling in against me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“Rest your head on my shoulder and sleep for a while. You’ve had a big day.”

“We didn’t get to go swimming,” she says.

“I know, next time,” I say, rubbing my hand up and down her arm.

“And we can drive next time?” she asks.

“Yes, baby, we can drive.” I kiss the side of her head and turn the television on to some mindless comedy show while I check my email for the day on my phone. It isn’t long before her breathing slows and every muscle in her body relaxes. I take advantage of our time alone and smooth her hair away from her face, memorizing every one of her beautiful, delicate features.

We’ve yet to spend an entire night together, so I’ve never an opportunity to watch her sleep. She looks so young when she’s sleeping, and it tears me up that I may be ruining her life. Could Gloria be right? Am I destroying her career? Am I taking away what she’s spent her whole life preparing for? Am I a fucking cradle robber?

Holland misrepresented herself that night in the club, but there were alarms going off in my head even then. The world may see her as an innocent young woman being taken advantage of by a bad boy player, but Holland knows what she wants. She is more mellow and responsible than any other woman I’ve ever ‘dated’. She’s the complete package—brains, epic talent, and beauty . . . God, she’s beautiful. She slays me with her high cheekbones, full lips, and her curves that go on for days

And to make things even more perfect, we enjoy the same kind of music and the same books, we’re both Roman Catholics, she has old-fashioned morals, and we’re both driven and successful in our own rights. The age difference won’t matter when we’re older. It’s not like there are twenty years separating us, just six, soon to be five as her birthday is next month. I was planning a spectacular party, but after today, I think it’s best to keep things low key until she’s past this nausea.

I reach over to place my hand on her tummy, where a tiny life is growing. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off of her all day. The way she smiles up at me through her long lashes is crippling. She turns me back into the caveman that I was the night I met her at the club. I want to toss her over my shoulder drag her to my bedroom, strip her down, and lick her from head to toe.

I’m hard as fuck sitting here with her warm body plastered against my side, but I know she’s having a difficult time with morning sickness, so I’ve been keeping my distance.

Why the fuck do they call it morning sickness? Holland is a barfing machine from sunup to sunset. She’s losing weight, and she’s tired and stressed. Being pregnant is hard for the average woman, let alone doing it when you’re nineteen and on the verge of professional musical greatness. She keeps a brave face on, but she can only take so much, and today I gave her too much.

Her mother’s going to have a meltdown when she finds out we’re keeping this baby. She thinks I’m talking to Holland today about terminating, but in reality, I’m going to ask her to stay with me for the rest of the pregnancy—or permanently, if she will. She needs some space, and I’m selfish when it comes to Holland. I want her all to myself. I’m not worried about her mother, but I want Holland to feel like she has her support. Her father is a different story. He wants whatever Holland wants, but he seems nervous about disagreeing with his wife. It’s obvious who wears the pants in that family, but Gloria’s no match for me. Not even close.

An hour before we’re home, she starts to stir in my arms. My back is stiff from sitting still for hours, and my cock is even stiffer from rubbing against the heat between her legs. She ended up crawling in my lap and straddling me half asleep two hours ago, and every bump in the road is another reminder of how much I need to be inside of her.

“King?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

“What time is it?” she says, straightening up on my lap and rubbing her eyes like a little girl waking from a nap.

“Seven. We’ve only got an hour until we’re home.”

The car hits a rather large bump in the road, and she grabs my shoulders while I grab her waist at the same time for support. I groan when she nudges the straining bulge in my pants.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to . . .”

“You’re fine.”

“You’re not, though.” A slow, sly smile spreads across her lips as her hand slides between my legs to stroke my aching cock.

“Holland, no.” I’m not one for restraint or discipline when it comes to sex, and especially when it comes to sex with Holland, but her condition fluctuates by the hour, and I’m on foreign ground here.

“Sorry.” she says.

Fuck, she thinks I’m rejecting her, but I’d love nothing more than to strip her down right here, right now, and bury my face between her legs until she screams my name. But I can’t, I won’t.

I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I just don’t think you’re up to it. Believe me, I want to. I really want to.”

Her big, stormy grey pools gaze up at me and she blinks slowly once . . . twice . . . I have no idea what she’s thinking—none at all—until she begins to loosen the drawstring of her linen pants. I can’t speak. I can’t even move. She is just that exquisite, the perfect balance of sensuality and innocence. Her eyes are full of wonder and curiosity, but her body speaks the language that mine understands. Wanton and shameless, she slips out of her thin pants and the tiny scrap of lace she calls panties. Who bought her those, anyway? Surely not her mother. Note to self: find out where she got those later.

Her eyes never leave mine as she returns to straddling my hips and unbuckles my belt. My hands are planted at my sides on the warm leather seats. She’s running the show, and I can’t make myself interrupt, even though I know I should.

She never kisses my mouth. her hands are still working my zipper down, but her eyes are already fucking me. She still doesn’t touch my aching cock, and I’m about to ask her to—or do it myself—when she shakes her head back and forth.

Her hands slide along the waistband of my pants and dip inside to my hips on both sides to help me push them down. I hold my breath as I watch her lean forward to grip the back of the seat on either side of my head. Her long tresses fall around us like a curtain blocking out the world. My cock is standing at full mast when she lifts up onto her knees and brushes her wet slit against the tip of my cock until she’s in the perfect position to slowly, torturously and deliciously sink down around me. My lungs burn when I release the breath I’ve been holding, and the thin tendrils of her hair flutter around her heart-shaped face. She stills when she’s entirely consumed me, and I drop my head back, moaning, and grip the seat. I have the almost uncontrollable urge to pump my hips up into her fiercely and work her over hard. But she’s the one setting the pace, so I watch as she glides up until I’m barely touching her wet folds with the tip of my cock. She pauses, looking deep into my eyes, before slowly impaling herself again. The sigh that escapes her lips has me holding on by a thread. God, I want to flip her over and lay her down on the seat and fuck her hard all the way home, but she deserves so much more than being mindlessly pounded. She deserves to be adored and glorified. She deserves so much more than me.

If it’s her plan to torture me slowly, she’s succeeding. She slowly rotates her hips in tiny, sexy little fucking circles, clenching around me as she rises and sighing when she sinks down, impaling herself over and over. How did she learn to do that? Oh my God, her sigh is driving me to the edge of my sanity. I’ve fucked in a limo many times—so many times that it’s practically passé—but not with Holland. Every damn thing with her is so much more erotic and sultry and . . . fucking hot. I want to come right now as badly as I don’t. This is so, so good. I plan on making it last as long as I can possibly hold out.

At last, she dips her face to kiss my parted lips, and I moan into her mouth. I haven’t touched her yet. I’ve been trying to let her have control, but the moment her mouth meets mine, my hands are on her ass, spreading her wider, lifting and pushing into the hot wetness that begs for more of me with every thrust.

My brain is scrambled at the sight of her parted lips, the sound of her panting against my mouth and my ear, her breath heating my cheek, her fingers digging into my shoulders when I give her what she wants and take what I need . . . she’s fucking exquisite. I love the way her breath huffs out softly when I push deep into her, and the way it catches in her throat when I hit that spot that brings her teetering to the edge. The sounds this woman makes could make a celibate monk come.

Suddenly, I’m not thinking about her nausea or the baby or the driver—who can’t hear or see us, but can probably feel the limo rocking. I’m not worried about our future, or her mother, or her music, or my drug business. The only thing I care about is making the woman in my arms feel good. I want to help her escape, if only for a little while, from all the pressures closing in on us.

I’m trying to hold off, but my body isn’t listening to my mind when I hook my hands behind her knees. I pull them up to my sides and enter her at an impossibly deep angle and pause . . . it’s the calm before the storm. Her hands are in my hair, her face is buried in my neck, and her heart is beating wildly against my chest—or is that mine? I can’t even tell us apart. I slide my hands up and curl them behind her shoulders, bracing myself for the orgasm of all fucking orgasms when she says,

“Wait.”

Wait? I’m plateauing . . . panting and frantic, on the edge of ecstasy, when I feel her smiling against my cheek and realize I’m being played. Played by the violinist. How fitting.

“What’s your plan here, baby?” I murmur in her hair, trying like hell not to blow my wad while she teases me.

“No . . . plan . . . just wanted to see if you could . . . wait,” she says between pants. Little vixen.

“I can wait, but the longer you sit there, the harder I’ll fuck you when you’ve decided to stop teasing.”

Her smile broadens. “Then I should hold still?”

“No,” I growl, changing positions to lay her down on the seat where I wanted her fifteen minutes ago to show her who the boss really is. Her hands ball into tiny fists against my chest, and laughter bubbles from her lips until I can’t take the beauty of her anymore, and I thrust into her hard and fast. I watch her transform from a playful kitten into a slinky, sensual puma. She has mind blowing natural instincts when it comes to sex. She follows every cue I give her until her eyes roll back in her head and she loses control.

This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting to see again for weeks. Her lips part and she arches against me, and we go there, to that place where heaven and hell mix for just a few seconds, combining purity and sin that explodes into the abyss.

She is absolutely the other half of me. If there were ever any doubt in my mind, there is none now. She’s fucking amazing, and she’s mine. Unspoiled, unpolluted and authentic, never touched or pleasured by another man’s hands, and never will be. As long as my heart beats and there is breath in my body, she is mine and mine alone.