King: Darker Than Romance

by Shantel Davis

  Past

  I met King when I was fifteen years old. At first, he didn’t matter. When I was told I’d have a new brother, it had gone in one ear and out the other. I had more important issues to deal with than a fake brother. I was trying to maintain my 4.5 GPA so I could get into Spellman, my dream college.

  I was stressing over how my life would turn out, and I was still resentful and angry at my momma for moving us from Brooklyn away from my friends and family to Florida with no consideration for my feelings.

  She hadn’t even given me notice. One morning she woke me up and told me to pack all my shit because we were moving. All because of a man she had known for three weeks. But that was Momma’s modus operandi. She needed men. She would do anything for them, and she always put them ahead of me even though they all eventually broke her heart.

  When I met James, I immediately knew he wasn’t any different than the men before him, except he was white and had nice things. A big eight-bedroom house, expensive cars and a nice size bank account. James was a plump, middle-aged, stereotypical looking Italian who sold luxury vehicles. Momma thought she’d hit the jackpot.

  She was loving the trips and new clothes, and I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy some of the benefits. We had been struggling back in New York. Momma only worked enough to feed and clothe us. There weren’t any extras. James came with extras – a car, an allowance, shopping sprees. He basically kept my credit card paid and let me be. I was grateful for that because Momma had dealt with some creeps before who thought they could talk and manipulate their way between my thighs like they had done Momma. James turned out to be exactly how I imagined, an abusive cheater, but at least he’d kept all his B.S. between him and Momma and his son.

  It was a month after we moved to Florida before I was actually introduced to King. Even though he lived with his father, he seemed to never be home. I found out why at the wedding.

  If either one of them breathed hard in the others direction, they’d turn into two snarling pit bulls. At the reception they made a spectacle of themselves. Their family partied around them as if they weren’t about to come to blows, which made me believe it was their usual behavior.

  That night Momma had jumped in between them. She said wasn’t about to let them ruin her day. We had family visiting, she was showing off all the new things her pussy had gotten her.

  After momma calmed them down and put them in their respective corners, I didn’t see King for the rest of the reception. But I heard a lot about him. His family said he was quick-tempered and could be mean and downright evil. Some said there were rumors that he and his father were criminals, and some said he was married with a secret family. I really didn’t put much stock in anything I heard though. If you asked my mother’s family about me, they’d say I was fast and had a bad attitude because that’s what Momma told them.

  Just before the night was over Momma walked King over to where I’d been sitting in the corner all night, being ignored. Our family barely acknowledged me, because Momma rarely took me around them, and there were none my own age.

  “This is King,” she said before telling me he would watch me while she and her husband were gone on their month-long honeymoon. Then she pivoted in her expensive heels and walked away leaving us to finish introducing ourselves. I just shook my head inwardly at the fact that she was leaving me with a perfect stranger.

  His eyes had been low and hooded as if he were high or had been fucked really good. He smelled like weed and sex, so I guessed both. I’d scrunched my nose up and scooted further away from him. His response was to wink at me from behind his superman glasses. I wondered if he was hiding a different persona behind his glasses like superman.

  “Welcome to the family, Eden. My father says you’re a good girl.” He half smirked-half smiled. His voice was deep and smokey. The way he said “good girl” as if he was daring my young ass to tell him or show him different. That made me scrutinize him.

  I watched as his eyes trailed from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. There was an appreciative gleam in them, and he wasn’t bashful about me knowing he liked what he saw, either. I was used to it, though. He looked at me the way most men who first met me did. I was a “thick” teenager with more ass and tits than I needed.

  My first impression of him was that he was obnoxious, violent, and loud. He looked weird, too. He was tall, like 6”3’ and slim, too slim, like really slim and wearing too tight, hipster black pinstripe dress pants. His tats peeked from under the collar of his dress shirt. He had this rocker-chic look going, with huge gages in his ears, and his tongue was pierced too. Not my type, but I couldn’t deny he was attractive with his messy, thick black hair and pale, tatted skin.

  He’d put his hand out for me to shake, and reluctantly I’d shook it.

  A spark of electricity passed between. He snatched his hand away and frowned, his eyes never leaving me. His thick, black brows drew together creating a V. His tongue darted out and trailed his lips as he searched my face for something. He either found it or didn’t, I’m not sure, but he eventually looked away. Then he sat next to me in silence until his daddy called a car to pick us up. I could feel him watching me the entire time we sat there, but every time I turned to look at him, he’d be facing forward. Weird indeed. Then out of the blue he asked me how old I was. I answered, “I’m fifeteen.” He shook his head, then he didn’t say a word to me after. Not even in the limo as we sat facing each other. His behavior amused me.

  The month he “watched” me while our parents toured Europe comprised of my being in my brand-new home alone until our parents came back.

  For the next two and a half years, he avoided me like the plague. It was obvious he was doing it. I’d walk in a room, he’d walk out. I don’t think we had exchanged over ten words, and he was always short with me. But when we were forced to be in a room together, he was always watching me. I was okay with the distance, though. He was five years older and weird. He was a non-factor as far as I was concerned.

  I made new friends. I met Ellis. I got accepted to Spellman. I got a reprieve from my Momma’s bullshit because she was solely focused on James.

  King and my relationship was non-existent until I caught him fucking one of the many girls he would bring over. I went to the shed out back to grab paint for a class project. I had heard the moaning before I even put my hand on the knob. I knew my mother and James were inside where I’d left them, so it couldn’t be them. I should have minded my business, but curiosity got the best of me.

  My heart pounded as I eased the door open. I walked in just beyond the threshold and peaked from behind the shelves that lined the walls. There was King and a girl, but she was calling him Ashford. Not just calling his name but screaming it. Ashford, Ashford, Ashford, repeatedly while, throwing her hips back into him.

  King had her positioned so that she was kneeling on his daddy’s work bench. One of her legs was thrown over the top, and he was pistoning in and out of her with his thick, long dick.

  The ecstasy on her face had me imagining switching places with her. My hand went to my throat. I gripped it. I felt envious and aroused. I was more turned on than ever before. Involuntarily, I moved closer so I could get a better look. They were in the shadows and I couldn’t see King clearly. For some unexplained reason I desperately needed to.

  Seeing his body nude for the first time made me realize that he wasn’t as thin as I’d thought. His clothes hid tight lean muscle. He had one of those swimsuits model’s bodies and his tats were mesmerizing. He was fucking gorgeous, and I hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had just matured. The gages and tongue ring were gone, so were the glasses that used to hide his dark eyes.

  I don’t know if he heard me or saw me, but he chose the moment I finally came to my senses and was backing out of the room to look up. The weight of his stare froze me in place. I couldn’t have moved even if someone had had a gun to my head.

  His face was blank, but his eyes were alive. He continued fucking her
and holding me captive without missing a beat. I held my breath praying that the girl didn’t turn and see me too. As if he’d read my mind, he pushed her head further down, and her long red hair further obscured her vision.

  The next thing that happened blew my mind and put me on the road of destruction. He pulled out of her, used his fingers to continue to fuck her while he removed the condom he’d been wearing, He spit in his hand and watched me while he pumped his fat hard cock. He stroked his long shaft from top to bottom. Pre-cum oozed from the tip.

  I was breathless. My breasts throbbed for attention. It took everything in me not to pull my tits out and play with them for him like I did for Ellis. I wanted to be the reason he came. I wanted him to make me cum. My pussy ached like it had never done before. I fisted my hand into the small silk camisole I was wearing to restrain myself. His eyes fell to my exposed cleavage. They lingered a while before coming back to my face.

  I bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood when he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cursed and groaned. He came shooting cum all over the girl’s ass. The sounds he made while cumming made my entire body ache. My mouth watered. I imagined tracing the thick, prominent vein on his cock with my tongue. I wondered what he would taste like. I exhaled slowly, setting free a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  We watched each other for what felt like hours. The predatory look in his eyes both scared and excited me. He mouthed “go.” I turned and ran.

  Watching him fuck that girl had fed something in me. I had always been sexual. I’d watch porn and played with my pussy. I’d been finger fucked and had my titties sucked to orgasm, gave blow jobs, but nothing had ever felt as exhilarating as watching King though. I wanted that rush again, or maybe I wanted King. I didn’t exacty know. But couldn't find out right away. King ignored me for the next two weeks. No matter how much I tried to get his attention he ignored me. I was used to being ignored, but him doing it bothered me. My desire for him turned into this weird obsession.

  I started watching him, waiting for my chance to catch him vulnerable again.

  One night when he came home, I waited until I heard the bathroom door in the hall close, then I snuck to his room.

  My body was wired, filled with nervousness and excitement as I stripped naked while he was in the shower. I crawled into his bed. It smelled like him, like sandalwood and Newport’s. The scent of him and the adrenaline coursing through my veins made me so wet.

  I laid back, pinched and rubbed my nipples until they were tight and aching. I cupped them, massaged them and imagined it was King until I could no longer help myself. I needed to touch my clit. I spread my thighs, slid my fingers between my already wet folds. “Ooh,” I moaned softly, grazing my hard bud. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift back to that night. I could vividly see King lazily and languidly stroking his stiff cock. I slipped two slick fingers into my tight opening, undulating my hips.

  A sharp inhalation of breath caused my eyes to pop open. King was at his bedroom door watching me. His eyes were ablaze and centered directly on my pussy.

  “Show me,” I said softly. “Do what you did before.” I wanted him to touch himself again, this time just for me. He startled, as if he had been in a trance and my words brought him out of it. His eyes moved from between my thighs to my face. He gave me a steady glare, his nostrils flared.

  “Get the fuck out of my room.” I was unnerved and turned on by his ominous tone. I was also determined.

  I brazenly dragged my free hand over my breast. The flesh tightened. His eyes became fixated on them again. “Not until you do what you did that night, just for me.” I pinched my nipple, tugging at it and whimpered, “please don’t make me beg.”

  He shook his head. “We can’t do this!” The stark hunger in his eyes told me differently. I knew he wanted to. He just needed a little coaxing.

  I spread my legs wider, giving him a better view of my pussy. I began fucking myself with my fingers.

  I pouted and arched my back, pushing my breast forward. “Please, Ashford.” I had never called him by that name, and I could tell he liked it. His whole body flushed.

  He groaned deep in his throat, cursed, looked away for just a second. When he looked back, I could see the defeat in his eyes. He dropped his towel, spat in his hand and fisted his cock.

  He should have never given in to me. The feminine power I felt from breaking his will fed dark, needy parts of me. He was older. He was more experienced. He was supposed to be able to resist me but couldn’t. I had made him do what I knew he didn’t want to do. I was addicted.

  He seemed traumatized after and avoided me at all cost. The next time I was able to get him alone was nearly a week later. Our parents had thrown a party. I had been watching him all night. He’d come with a red head. Not the one I caught him fucking, but a different one. I guess that was his preferred aesthetic.

  He never let me catch his eyes nor had he looked my way until I was talking to one of the many males in the room, then I’d feel the heavy weight of his stare.

  I became a social butterfly that night, basking in his covert attention more than the men who were openly interested in me. I even danced. I tied my floor-length dress around my thick thighs and let myself get lost in the beat. My momma encouraged me.

  She was happy because I’d let her use me like a doll. She’d straightened my kinky hair until it hung down my back. She made me squeeze my size twelve body into a size eight red mermaid dress that fit me like a second skin. People kept telling us we looked like sisters or that she looked too young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter. She joined me on the dance floor that night, showing me attention I had always wanted from her, but it meant nothing. She was only doing it because so many men watched us, wanting us. I was only concerned about King. I wanted his attention.

  I danced until I saw him leave the dining area, then I followed.

  He was coming out of the bathroom when I pushed him back into it. I locked the door and pressed my back against it.

  He backed up and leaned lazily against the sink. He gave me a dark dangerous once over. Again, his eyes were really low and red, as if he was high or drunk. He always seemed to be one or the other.

  “You look stunning,” he complimented.

  Instead of thanking him or complimenting him back, I said exactly what was on my mind.

  “You’ve been hiding from me. I don’t like that.”

  He cocked his head and laughed, a deep rich sound that caused my stomach to clench.

  “I wasn’t hiding. I was avoiding you. Avoidance is good under the circumstances,” he said

  I rolled my eyes dismissively, then got down to the business at hand. “I want to do what you did to yourself. I want to touch you.”

  He shook his head, after studying my face for a moment. “No, we’re not doing anything like that again.” It wasn’t a very adamant no, and he made no move to leave the room. He outweighed me by fifty pounds. There was no way I could keep him there if he didn’t want to be.

  “You say that like you really believe it. If you want to leave, leave.” I grinned while pulling the top of my dress down over my breasts. They bounced once then settled. My breasts were perfect double D cups that sat up on their own. My nipples were the color and size of Hershey kisses.

  His breath hitched and the arrogant smile he’d worn fell away. His reaction gave me satisfaction. It made me feel even more brazen.

  I invaded his space until I stood flush against him. I smirked when I felt his hard dick pressed into my thigh.

  “Leave,” I challenged.

  His head lulled forward; he pressed his forehead to mine. Our lips were inches apart. His breath smelled like cigarettes and expensive whiskey.

  “You’re determined to make me ruin your life.” It sounded as if he felt sorry for me. He reached up, gripped my neck, applying enough pressure to spike my adrenaline. I liked it. I raised my head daring him to squeeze harder.

  “Like you could,” I taunted<
br />
  “I can. And I very well might.” He drew his bottom lip into his mouth. “Keep playing, little sister, and I’m going to give you the nine inches of heartache you keep begging for.” It was a warning I would later wish I would have taken heed of.

  He used his thumb to trace my lips once, then his hand dropped to his side.

  Instead of walking away from the fire that would later burn me, I pressed my lips to the sliver of exposed skin around his collar, peppered his warm flesh with kisses.

  His breathing turned heavy.

  “Teach me, please.” I whispered close to his lips. If my momma hadn’t taught me much else, she’d taught me to say please. It worked.

  The low groan that came from his mouth signaled his defeat.

  In the next moment I heard the metal on metal clank of his belt, heard his zipper being unzipped. I felt his pants graze my legs as they fell to the floor. They pooled around his ankles.

  He was being extra helpful for someone who had told me “no” a minute earlier.

  He grabbed my hand, ran his tongue over the palm wetting it. The sensation made butterflies dance in my belly. His hand shook as he guided mine to his cock. It was hard and hot. I could barely wrap my fingers around it, it was so thick. I circled the head gathering sticky fluid.

  He hissed.

  I rose to my tippy toes, traced the curve of his jaw with my nose. He groaned.

  I brought my lips to his ear, making him shiver as my breath hit his flesh. “Show me!” I wanted to please him.

  He set the pace. He guided my hand up and down his shaft, showing me how to stroke him. “Tighter,” he moaned and gyrated his hips, sliding his cock in and out of my grip.

  “Damn, you’re sexy,” I rasped,” trailing my free hand up his shirt tracing the contours of his abs with my long fingernails. He trembled ever so slightly, but just enough for me to catch it. During it all he never looked away from my face.

  Not long after I started, he was cumming all over my fingers, in thick streams. The urge to drop to my knees and suck him clean was there but he didn’t give me the chance. As soon as his body settled, he staggered away from me. He turned, pulled up, zipped and buttoned his pants. Then he angrily shoved me to the side and left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He and his companion had left the party before I made it back downstairs. I thought about his reaction the rest of the night. It left me wondering if maybe I should leave him alone.