“After a few sips, I began to feel strange. My limbs felt fuzzy, sluggish. My speech began slurring, and after a few more seconds, I started to panic. I clawed at his arm, trying to tell him that I thought I was dying or having a heart attack, or something. I was fully conscious when he slipped his hand beneath my shirt, when he touched my nipples and invaded my personal space. The drugs only rendered my limbs unusable, but my brain was fully aware when he—”
Breaking off in a sob that breaks the lump of emotion in my throat, I will myself to go on. I’ve never told anyone about this, never uttered the words. As long as I could keep moving, lock it away in an airtight box in the back of my brain, I would be okay. Or so I thought.
“He put his fingers inside me. It hurt so much I tried to cry out for help, but my vocal cords were paralyzed from both the drugs and the fear. I’m not sure what he was trying to do, and I could barely move my neck, but I know he was touching himself. It felt like years that he assaulted me, that he stole my innocence and ruined any normal relationship I’d have with my body, with sex, with men. Do you know what I thought after he was finished? At least he didn’t rape me. Fuck, how foolish I’d been. Of course, he raped me. Maybe not in the literal sense, but he’s stolen everything from me. And the worst part of it all? I went back out there and finished the shoot. Dragged myself from the room he’d left me in, blood tinging my underwear, and stood in front of the camera while he emotionally assaulted me from behind it.”
I can’t say anymore, my vocal cords so strung out and fried from the unshed tears. It takes a minute or two until he finally speaks.
“I’ll kill him.” Kingston’s voice is so deadly quiet, I’m afraid he’s going to hurl one of my couches out of the penthouse-story window.
“Kingston, no.” I’m desperate as I clutch his arm. “No one can ever know about this. I’ve never told another soul … I can’t bring myself to. It would only result in my name being spread everywhere, associated with this evil thing. My tragedy would be used as magazine fodder, and who knows if they’d even take action against him? He’s far more powerful than either of us know, of that I’m sure. I’d be labeled a victim, the public would pity me. I’ve never wanted that. And what happens if they don’t? What happens if they label me a fame whore or a phony? Women everywhere allow men to do things they’re not comfortable with because it’s easier than putting up a fight. It’s simpler than being labeled or ridiculed. And I was one of them. I let a grown man sexually assault me at the age of fifteen, and because he was behind the photo shoot that launched my career, I’d kept my mouth shut. I told no one that an adult put his hands on me, that he took something I’d never get back, just so I could make money and be catapulted into fame.”
In an instant, Kingston has my face in his hands, his eyes boring holes into mine. “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. You didn’t let anyone do anything to you. A grown man drugged and assaulted you, took away your consent. Don’t even let me hear you imply that you were complicit in it. Secondly, nothing that happened before or after was your fault in any way. You were fifteen, Poppy! You had no one guiding you, no one you trusted enough to confide in. You were a scared, shocked girl, no one can judge or ridicule the way you acted after. I … fuck, I’m so angry I want to hit something.”
My eyes widen because he has my jaw in his palms. He must sense my fear, because he softens his features, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“Poppy, no. Never. I will only ever protect you. I’m not angry with you, I’m angry at the universe that let this happen to a fifteen-year-old girl. I’m furious at the man who took advantage of you, who abused his power. There is nothing more I want than to give what he took back to you, but I know I can’t.”
My heart soars, even though I just admitted the ugliest part of me. I shared my truth, all the prickly, horrible parts of it, and Kingston only wants to console me. He wants to erase my pain, and …
There is nothing more I want than for him to take away those memories and replace them with ones of him.
“You can, Kingston. Touch me.”
28
Poppy
The uncertainty in his clover-green eyes makes me even more certain that we were always meant to find each other.
“Love, this was a lot for you to process. I don’t want to cloud this moment with something physical, that you might not want—”
I cut him off, feeling more empowered than I have in five years. I don’t ask him if he wants me, if his rebuff has to do with him not wanting to be with me. Because I know it’s not. Instead, I pick my strength up by its bootstraps and take what I want. The confidence that fled when I was fifteen is back in full force, seeming to have returned when I let my secret out of the terrifying box I’d been keeping it in.
“Kingston, I know how monumental this is. And I know that I shared a very dark part of myself. But make no mistake, I know exactly what I want. I want you to fill me up with light, to show me how things are supposed to feel in a sexy, steamy, intimate relationship. I want you to be a man, and me to be a woman, and for us to do the things our bodies naturally want to do to each other. I’m not scared anymore, I’m not cowering or unsure. This is what I want.”
He takes only a moment, to inhale and exhale, before taking me by both of my hands and walking to my bedroom. It’s early, the daylight coming in through the open window, and part of me wants to cower with how exposed I will be. But this is how it should be. I want Kingston to see all of me, and I want to see all of him.
Without talking, there has been too much of that today, Kingston begins to undress me. Slowly, with care, he pulls the simple sundress over my head, revealing the unlined bra and matching panties beneath. My skin pebbles with goose bumps, and his tongue darts out to make a sexy swipe of his lip. I arch my back when he runs a hand down my bare arm, my body pressing into his. The moment the skin of my torso touches his T-shirt, I want it off.
So, I pull it over his head. This man has shown me nothing but kindness, an open dialogue, and caution. There is something heady about that combination that’s making me brazen. Kingston’s naked abdomen, something I’ve only seen in glimpses before now, is something out of a woman’s wildest fantasy. He has muscles on his muscles, each groove carved into his stomach begs to be traced and licked. The V of the corded muscles that dip beneath his boxers sends a tingle down my spine.
My bedroom is silent, and there is something unspoken between us. We’re going to revel in the quiet and find each other between the brushes of skin and sighs.
I run my fingers along the ridges of his muscles, over his abs and up to his collarbone, where I fan out and scrape my nails down his biceps. Kingston lets out a ragged groan, and his hands gently grip my wrists, moving them away from his body and walking me backward until my knees buckle. I fall onto the bed, and the man gives me a look as if to say, “Oh, you foolish woman.”
There is no way he’s letting me have full control. And I’m shocked to find, I don’t want it. I don’t need it. Actually, I’m buzzing with anticipation as he maneuvers me.
Kingston uses what looks like an ounce of his strength to move me up the bed, my head connecting with the pillows. He follows me, moving with the grace of a jungle cat, and his hands find the soft cotton of my bra. Pulling the cups down until I spring free, he doesn’t give me a moment to doubt. A wet mouth comes down on one nipple, and my hips shoot up, the electricity flowing from the sensitive bud Kingston is sucking at straight down to the live wire between my thighs.
Moving to the other, he uses his teeth and lips, teasing me until I’m panting and writhing. Who knew a man could bring you so much pleasure simply from touching your breasts?
I’m so close to that ever-elusive peak, the one I have only managed to reach a couple of times alone. But Kingston hadn’t even touched me when I’d come from our phone sex session, so it was no wonder he could get me dangerously close to climax in no time at all.
Reaching for him,
he bats my hand away and shakes his head. I knew he was going to focus on me but all the attention feels undeserved. I’m not used to a man being so respectful of me or my body.
Without letting up, Kingston kisses down my torso, licking at my navel and then going lower. When he gets to the band of my underwear, he uses his teeth to pull at the elastic, moving them down my hips. Dear God, this man is a sex master.
I can’t catch my breath as I watch him undress me, the hot and cold flushes through my system throwing me completely off balance.
My legs are shaking by the time Kingston positions his face between them and bites his bottom lip. His eyes are molten as he flicks them up to mine, and with his gaze on mine, he lowers his mouth and plunges his tongue into my center.
Everything in me explodes like one giant firework. White dots cloud my vision as Kingston uses his tongue to penetrate me. It feels so exquisite, I’m not even sure I’m fully in control of my own muscles.
It’s when his teeth clamp down on my sensitive nub that I go off like a rocket.
My mouth forms an O, but no sound comes out as I give into the orgasm … the most powerful one I’ve ever had.
Only one thought prevails as my entire system ripples with the effects of my climax:
Kingston Phillips is not who I thought he was, and I’m falling head over heels for the man I’ve found him to be.
29
Kingston
“Blimey, it’s hot.”
I check the weather app on my mobile and see that it’s going to still be eighty degrees at almost ten o’clock.
Poppy doesn’t stir from where she lies on my chest, the sounds of the telly in the background. She’s been watching some chick flick with Matthew McConaughey for about an hour while I scroll through Twitter, checking up on my favorite football analysts and trying to gauge how this weekend’s Nartanica championship is being weighted.
To say I’m nervous about the match would be an understatement. That’s probably a good sign since I’ve never cared much about a regular match or one that could bring trophies. I never cared much about anything, until I thought I lost it all. The fact that I’m anxious about playing well, about bringing glory to the squad that accepted me at my lowest … I just want to do right by them.
This weekend has been everything it was supposed to be and more. I’d decided to come to London for a few days to get things off my mind. Funny, I used to think of this city as the playground for my playboy antics, but now, it holds the one person who is an escape for me. Being with Poppy, having a person who understands you at a molecular level, that’s what all the fuss about relationships is about. I never realized it until I found her.
“Oh, yeah?” she says distractedly, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.
“Jesus, how do you eat those things?” I pretend to cringe.
They’re her favorite snack, which I don’t understand. My favorite snack is chips or popcorn or a big ice cream sundae. Cherry tomatoes, I’ll never understand it.
“I love them, so live with it, mate.”
“I’m not your mate. Do you let your mates stick their tongue between your thighs?” My large hand squeezes one of her curvy hips.
She giggles and squirms away. “Definitely not.”
“Righto. Now, I have an idea on how to combat this heat wave.”
Her sapphire eyes meet mine. “And what’s that?”
“Have you ever checked out the rooftop pool?” My grin is cheeky and suspicious.
It seemed daft to me, when I first bought my flat at Charlton House, that a London residence would have an outdoor pool. We don’t have that many warm days, and it seemed very Los Angeles or Santorini to me. But then I’d gone up for winter swims, realizing it was heated, and the novelty of it was not lost on me. It was quite beautiful up there with the freezing temperatures surrounding the heated pool.
“Once or twice. Why?” Poppy is focusing on her movie again.
I shift, managing to slide out from under her cuddle and stand. She shifts, landing in an awkward position on the couch.
“Hey! I was very comfortable.” She pouts.
“And you’re about to be way more comfortable. With me. Upstairs.” I make a move to grab her keys and slide on my shoes.
“Kingston, it’s late. I’m tired. Why do we have to go upstairs?” she whines.
“Just trust me. You’ll really enjoy this.” I hold my hand out to help her off the sofa, and after a brief pause, she laces her fingers in mine and allows me to lead her.
We enter the elevator and I push the button for the roof, turning to her and winking. “What we’re about to do is really going to fluff Mrs. Clemens feathers.”
And then I proceed to pull the shirt I’m wearing up and over my head.
“Kingston! What are you—”
Poppy can’t finish her sentence, because I push my gym shorts past my hips, letting them fall to the floor of the lift.
“Oh, no … absolutely not …” She holds her hands up as I back her into the corner.
“Come on, love. Come skinny dipping with me.” My voice is pure devilish amusement.
She shakes that gorgeous head of hers furiously. “No! What if someone comes up to the roof? Or sees us from one of the other buildings. Imagine the papers getting a hold of that!”
I run my hands up and down her arm. “Only the top two floors have access, and no one is coming up here this late. Charlton House is the highest building in Belgravia, so that point is moot. Any other concerns? Live a little, Miss Raymond.”
Poppy does not stop trying to push me away and shaking her head. “You’re mental. Put your clothes on!”
The lift doors ding, letting us know we’ve arrived on the roof, and I wink. “Too late!”
And with that, I sprint from the lift, stumbling to shuck my boxers off before running to the pool and jumping in.
“Kingston!” I hear Poppy screech and then giggle right before I hit the water.
The contrast of the humid night and the cool, refreshing water slicking over my skin makes me feel alive. I let myself sink all the way to the bottom of the pool and then kick up when my toes hit the cement.
I’m treading water, shaking the drops out of my hair, when Poppy reaches the side and crosses her arms, looking down at me.
“Come on in, the water feels fine.” I grin up at her.
“You’re mad.” She laughs.
“And you love it. Now get your beautiful arse in this pool.” I splash her, dotting her shirt with water.
“Hey! Not fair. And what if someone comes up?”
I shrug, still treading. “Then they get to see two of the most gorgeous humans on earth swimming in the nude.”
Something flashes in her eyes, I think it’s recklessness, and before I can ask her again, Poppy is stepping out of her lounge clothes.
It’s quite the show, all of those long limbs and perfectly sculpted curves. I have to swim into the shallow end just to stay afloat with the way her undressing is affecting me.
With a brazen smile, Poppy marches to the diving board, walks down it, quickly pulls off her bra and underwear, and then dives flawlessly into the water. Her entrance barely makes a splash, and I watch as she swims all the way under the water until she reaches me.
When she comes up, the wetness sluices down her body and face, creating some kind of epic fantasy that every man should bear witness to. Except that this is mine, and I’m not sharing.
I grab her by the waist, floating us until my back is pressed against the cement wall and every part of her is nestled against every part of me.
“See? Didn’t I tell you this was a great idea?” I bite playfully at the tip of her nose.
Poppy reaches down and wraps her hand around my cock, which has been hard since she dove in. “Yes, this was a really good idea.”
I’m so shocked, and turned on, that I have to keep my head straight to be a gentleman. “Poppy, you don’t have to …”
She tugs at my shaft, te
sting out a few strokes. I have to grip the edge of the pool to keep myself from bloody drowning.
“I never returned the favor yesterday. And I have a lot of things I want to try when it comes to this part of you.”
The way Poppy says it, so naively yet so confidently at the same time, nearly gives me a heart attack.
And then she reaches down to put her other hand on my balls, and I can’t think anymore.
30
Kingston
We won. We bloody won.
Donnie raises the trophy over his head, the one that marks Nartanica as fourth-tier champions of the year.
And to my shock, I’m more proud of this accomplishment than I’ve ever been of anything. When I was first demoted and sent here, I thought it was a death sentence. This was the place where my career came to die, of that I was sure. I’d mourned what could have been until the guys who have become my good mates in the short months I’ve been playing here put me in my place.
I’m not sure I would have come as far if Donnie, Finnegan, and the blokes hadn’t treated me just like any other player. Their lack of enthusiasm about my arrival helped me to realize just how much I love this game. Being forced to struggle through the work, to re-dedicate myself, to fight for my position on the pitch, it opened my eyes to just how much I did want this to be my life, and my legacy.
Today, when I stepped out onto to the grass, smelling the same scent I’ve relished since the day I started walking, it all clicked into place. I am ready to accept my role in this game, in its history, in the victory of the squad I played for.
“Not bad, Phillips. Not bad!” Donnie envelops me in a bear hug.
“Wahoo!” Finnegan whoops as he hits us full force, his body joining in on the celebratory gesture. He ruffles my hair. “You’re going straight to the top after this. Good job, boyo.”
The Lion Heart (Rogue Academy Book 2) Page 15