King Me

by Season Vining

  King lets out a grunt and his head rolls back. I exhale and move my mouth down his thickness until he hits the back of my throat. I swallow, my throat closing around him and he lets out another moan. Unable to fit all of him in my mouth, I wrap one hand around the base and move it up and down with my lips. I lick and suck and work him over until he is chanting out my name, his hands fisted in my hair. My tongue and lips work to bring him to the edge and then I back off, teasing him with little licks and kisses. King only lets me get away with this three times before he breaks. I feel the muscles of his thighs tighten and then his hands pull me up.

  “Come here,” he says. “I need to feel you everywhere.”

  I pull my shirt and bra off while he removes his shirt as well. King lifts up a bit and I’m able to pull the jeans from his legs. I straddle him again, but this time, I can feel every inch of warm skin and muscle against me. I guide King inside me as I settle onto his lap and we both sigh into the quiet room. I rest my forehead on his shoulder just reveling in the feel of being so full, so blissfully connected to him.

  My arms wrap around his shoulders as King’s hands go to my ass. He lifts me up and down effortlessly, varying the pace between frantic and teasingly slow. I lock my hands behind his neck and lean back, enjoying a completely different sensation at this new angle. King lowers his mouth to my nipple, sucking, licking, eventually biting down. This sends an electric shock of pleasure through my body and I cry out. I don’t even know if I’m begging him to stop or begging him for more. I’m a mess of moans and whimpers when he switches to the other breast.

  “Fuck, King,” I gasp as his teeth tug at my skin. “Give me more.”

  Suddenly, he stands, still holding me. He moves my laptop and slides me onto his kitchen table. I yelp when my warm skin hits the cool wood and my ass hangs off the edge.

  “I’d give you anything, girl,” he grunts as he pushes in hard. This sends a jolt through my body and my eyes roll closed.

  King’s pace picks up, moving faster and faster, until my breaths can’t even keep up. The slick slapping sound of our bodies coming together has me transfixed. The feeling as he pounds into me sends me to a plane of pleasure I’ve never known before. Without slowing, King grabs my ankles and spreads my legs wide. When he releases them, they stay there. I know it’s a wordless request.

  My fingers wrap around the edge of the table on each side of my ass and hold tight as King continues to thrust into me. He is unapologetic in giving me what I asked for, for giving me what we both need. My grip is just enough to hold me in place as he pushes and pushes. The table screeches in a matching rhythm as it scoots across the floor. King follows it, relentless, until we hit the wall.

  His eyes find mine now and we hold there, seeing and feeling, and clawing at each other in the most hungry way. His hands go to my breasts and when he pinches each of my nipples, I scream. My back arches up and I come so hard, white spots dance in my vision. King keeps pushing and pushing until he reaches his climax a minute later.

  He falls forward, resting on his elbows while hovering over me, both of us working to catch our breaths.

  “You’re the best damn distraction, Delaney Mills,” he says, placing a sucking kiss on my neck. His sweaty chest presses against my own and I love the way he fits there. “But you’re so much more than that,” he whispers against my skin. “You’re smart,” kiss, “brave,” kiss, “beautiful,” kiss, “and I want to keep you.”

  Our lips connect in a soft, pleading kind of kiss and with King still inside me, it is the most intimate, euphoric thing I’ve ever experienced.

  “I want to keep you too,” I say.

  My phone rings from somewhere else in the house and we both grin at the interruption. We’re in no hurry to go anywhere, so I ignore it for now. King removes himself from me. We take turns showering because any naked time together with that man will turn into more sex. Not that it’s a bad thing, but we’ve got real life problems that can’t be ignored any longer.

  After I’m dressed, I find my phone and see that I have a voicemail from Emma Green. I listen and all it says is to please call her back. I dial her number just as King steps into the bedroom drying off. I turn my back so that I’m not distracted.

  “Laney?” she answers on the second ring.

  “Hi, Emma. Any news on Olivia?” I ask, hopeful.

  “No,” Emma answers. “I… they still don’t know where she is.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Look, I called because ever since Olivia was taken, I’ve been having these nightmares from when I was taken. At first I thought they were just dreams, but I think they’re real memories.”

  “Are you remembering new information?”

  “Kind of,” she says. “I remember the ritual clearer now, more details in what used to be like blurry pictures. But what stood out are these signs.”

  I sit on King’s bed and focus on her words. “What kind of signs?”

  “The kind that are put on trees so people don’t hunt on your land, you know?”

  “Uh, no. Let me put you on speakerphone so King can hear you too. Okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  I press the button and turn to face King now, who is fully dressed and putting on his shoes. “Okay, Emma. Repeat what you said.”

  “I remember seeing these signs around the ritual area. It was a bunch of those plastic signs put on trees that say ‘POSTED,’ you know?”

  “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” King says. “Did they have a name on them?”

  “I… I don’t know. I was five. I’m not even sure I could read yet. I just remember them being red.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Emma.”

  “I know it’s not much,” she says, her voice beginning to shake.

  “Anything is helpful,” King says. “By chance, does the name Camille mean anything to you?”

  “No,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll keep you updated,” King says.

  “Okay. Bye.”

  I end the call and lay back on the bed. “Posted signs? What are those?”

  “People here, when they own land, will put up these pretty generic looking signs that just say POSTED so that hunters or other people know that the land is privately owned. It’s basically, a ‘get off my property’ warning.”

  “Ohhh,” I say. “So what does this mean for us?”

  King takes a seat next to me. “It means that someone owned the land where they held the ritual. Probably one of the members or…”

  “Bondye, Inc.,” I say, jolting up.

  _______________

  When we arrive at Bon Amis Books, the closed sign is displayed and the store is dark.

  “It’s only three o’clock,” I say, cupping my hands against the glass to look inside. King bangs on the door a few times. “Cas!” I shout. I join King in banging on the glass. “Cas!”

  Finally, we see her emerge from the back of the shop, a shotgun in her hands. She rolls her eyes when she sees us and lowers the gun. Cas unlocks the door and ushers us inside before sliding the locks back in place. She presses her nose to the glass and looks back and forth down the block.

  Cas doesn’t say a word, just motions for us to follow her. We step from the store into her apartment and she shuts that door and locks it as well.

  “I heard about the murders,” she says. “I just can’t believe it.” Cas shakes her head and sets the gun on her kitchen counter. “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Does the name Camille mean anything to you?” King asks.

  Cas’s eyes go to the ceiling as if the answer may be floating up there. Suddenly, her face changes—eyes wide and lips pressed together. “Nothin’ but Hurricane Camille comes to mind. Why you askin’?”

  King and I exchange a glance, unsure of how much to tell her.

  “Papa had mentioned it the last time we saw him alive. We’re just trying to find out if it’s someone in the community or, maybe his killer?” I crin
ge, knowing that wasn’t the smoothest way to explain the name. But we don’t have time for smooth. We need answers now.

  Cas plops down into a chair opposite of King. She folds her hands together on the table and looks between the two of us.

  “No, I sure don’t know anyone named Camille, but I can tell you this. That book and its rituals are serious magic. I didn’t even like having it in my possession. There was a rumor—just hearsay, now—that if the ritual the Bondye Saints were performing was done wrong or was not completed, they’d be punished.”

  “Punished how?” King asks, leaning forward.

  “Bondye is the Great Master,” she says. “He is the wholeness of humans and is the origin of all life, which ultimately belongs to him. To have the audacity to call upon him directly, to try to invoke him, well, you’d better get it right. If not, this ritual would anger the Loa—particularly Agau, his companion Sogbo, and Bade.”

  I recognize the name of the spirit mentioned, but can only remember that Agau is considered a very violent god. King sits back in his chair, his eyes studying Cas. He tilts his head to the side slightly and I can almost see him connecting the dots.

  “Are you saying that when this ritual fails, the loa of storms brings punishment?” King says.

  Cas nods and wipes at her sweating forehead with a paper napkin from a metal holder on her table. “Hurricane Camille came 48 days after the failed ritual in 1969. Some swear it was punishment for the Bondye Saints, others say coincidence. I mean it was hurricane season, you know? I don’t know if that is why Papa mentioned the name or not. Sorry, I ain’t much help.”

  I notice three large suitcases stacked next to the door and point them out to King.

  “You going somewhere, Cas?” I ask.

  “Yeah, boo. I ain’t gonna stay around and let them get me next. Figure I’ll head out of town for a bit until whatever this is blows over, or these assholes get caught. They got me so nervous I’m too chicken to go and pay proper respects to Papa and Eve.”

  King raises an eyebrow and I shrug. I think we’re both wondering if she’s running because she’s genuinely scared or if there’s something she’s hiding.

  “Oh!” Cas exclaims. She pats the top of her head, then her pockets, before remembering her glasses are hanging from a chain around her neck. She slides them on and retrieves a large brown envelope from the freezer section of her refrigerator. Cas hands the envelope to King.

  “I found this when going through my closet,” she says, motioning to the suitcases. “It was my husband’s and I think there’s information on the Bondye business in there.” Cas shakes her head and removes her glasses. “Still breaks my heart that he got involved with them.” She does the sign of the cross and mumbles something in French.

  King opens the envelope and sifts through the papers inside. “Looks like the corporation filing, tax ID, owners and managers listed are just Miles and Cas Duvernay.” Cas grumbles again while she makes a pot of coffee.

  “Cas, do you know how we could find out if Bondye, Inc. owns any property?” I ask, looking over the yellowed papers now.

  “The parish assessor’s office would be able to tell you,” she says, pulling the half-full coffee pot from the burner and filling a cup. “Y’all want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks,” I say. King shakes his head. A loud thump catches my attention as Cas throws a weathered telephone book onto the table. She opens it to the small section of blue pages and slips her glasses on again.

  “How old is this thing?” I ask, taking in the curled edges and stained pages.

  “Don’t matter,” she says. “Still works just fine. Here,” she says, pointing to the Orleans Parish Assessor’s Office. I grab a pen from a cup full of them in the center of the table and scribble the address onto the brown folder.

  I look to King and raise my eyebrows. “We’ll have to go to the assessor’s office when they open tomorrow.” He nods.

  We both stand. I throw my arms around Cas. “Thanks for everything, Cas. Keep yourself and Couyon safe,” I say.

  “You too, boo,” she says. Her fingers slide under my chin and she lifts my face to look her in the eye. “I don’t know how you ended up here, Miss Mills. This is certainly not your battle to fight. If y’all are going after that girl, remember they will start one hour after sunset. That’s all I have to offer. May the Loa be with you. And all of Heaven’s angels, for that fact.”

  I give her a smile. “Bye, Cas.”

  She follows us to the front of the store, lets us out and locks the door behind us. King holds the envelope of Bondye, Inc. papers.

  “Was there anything useful in there?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” King says. “Maybe we’ll have luck at the assessor’s office.”

  “Do you really think Papa would use the last moments of his life to write out the name of a hurricane?”

  King crosses his arms, the smooth skin of his biceps momentarily distracting me. “I don’t know what to think right now.”

  I groan and lean against the front window of the book store. I slide both hands into my hair and tug on the roots in frustration. Hopelessness starts to push in on me, but this time, I push back. This time, I don’t want to drown in those feelings. I want to fight them.

  “Don’t give up on me now,” King says.

  “I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not on Olivia. And not on bringing these murderous bastards down.”

  “Good,” King says. He kisses me quickly, pushing my body against the hard glass. “That’s the Laney I know and love.”

  The word love seems to hang in the air between us, holding us hostage, stealing our breaths. I can’t tell if King regrets saying it, because he remains the same cool guy he always is. His eyes hold mine as a tiny smirk appears on his lips. I debate letting it go, knowing that he didn’t mean it like that. My brain has other ideas.

  “Love?” I ask. King looks away, that smirk transforming into a wide grin. “It’s okay, King. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. We can both pretend like you never said that.”

  King turns back to me, his gaze presses me harder into the warm bookstore window glass.

  “Yes, love,” he says. “Fuck skirting around it, Laney. I don’t care about proper timelines or anything else. The only thing that matters is how I feel and how you feel. And I know that what’s in here,” he says, placing his hand over his heart, “is deep and real and nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

  My hand fists in his shirt and I pull his lips to mine. I don’t return his declaration, but this kiss says everything I need to. It is desperate and passionate and heals one more fracture in the broken pieces of me.

  18

  THE TAX ASSESSOR’S OFFICE is a dead end. Bondye, Inc. doesn’t own any property here. I push out of the doors and take a seat on the government building’s steps. A few seconds later, King sits down beside me, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “What now?” I ask. “Olivia is out there, with these terrible people. She’s probably scared. And in a few days, those people plan to kill her for a fucking ritual.” I slap my hand to my forehead and stare at the heated concrete steps below. “We can’t let that happen, King.”

  The sun is low in the sky, painting us in a golden glow. King looks as perfect as ever—flawless skin and leather necklace, a braided bracelet on his wrist. He is the face of calm and I am in a complete panic.

  “Is it too early for a drink?” I ask. King whips his head toward me. “Not the sad Delaney, drunk trying to escape real life. Just a drink.”

  King looks out at the street, runs his charm back and forth on the leather cord, and nods. “That sounds good. We’ll have a drink, refocus, come up with some kind of plan.”

  “I always think better with rum,” I say. King chuckles.

  Thirty minutes later we are parked on barstools at my favorite bar and I am grateful that Gable isn’t working. A blonde delivers our drinks as King and I swirl the straws around, ice clinking against the
glass.

  “So, what now?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “What now?” I take a big swallow of my drink, enjoying the burn of the rum in my empty stomach. My fingers tap out a rhythm on the bar while we both silently stare out at the street. My brain works furiously to connect the dots, to think up a logical next step, but nothing comes.

  Rain comes out of nowhere, the bright sky hidden behind angry black clouds. The downpour is so heavy, I can barely see beyond the sidewalk. The streets fill quickly, rivers of rainwater washing away the muck of the French Quarter. The smell of rain wafts in through the open door and somehow the air feels even heavier than normal.

  “Long time no see, Laney.” I turn to find Gable standing there, smug smile in place. Valentine remains silent, but I see the twitch in his jaw. “Need another?” Gable says, motioning to my nearly empty glass.

  “No, thanks,” I say, shaking my head. “Just one today.”

  Gable dries out the inside of a tumbler, his eyes stay fixed on me until I am squirming in my seat.

  “You guys hear about Papa and Eve?” Gable asks. “Marie just told me.”

  “Yeah,” we answer in unison.

  “That’s a shame, man. Crazy world we live in, huh?” Still, his gaze never leaves my face. There is a tiny upturn to the corner of his mouth. In any other situation, I may not even notice it. But here, in this place, that smirk is deliberate and infuriating.

  “Indeed,” King answers, his eyes cutting Gable to the core.

  “Hey, Gable,” I say, my voice more shaky than I intend. “I remember you telling me that you do land surveying for the parish. Maybe you can help us.”

  The smirk grows into a full blown smile. “Anything for you, Laney.”

  King’s knuckles turn white as he shifts his grip on his glass and drains the last of his drink. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected is steaming inside and I’m ashamed to admit it kind of turns me on. I refocus on Gable and think about how to frame my question.

  “Mamie told us that King’s family owns some property along Lake Pontchartrain, but she doesn’t have any record of where it is. We’ve been to the Orleans Parish Assessor’s Office and found nothing. Any ideas how we can find this land?”