“Mika,” she whimpers.
I smile, and for a moment I think that she has seen me, but then I see what her naughty little hands are doing. I watch as her slender fingers cup her full breast and pinch her hard nipple. Her other hand slides between her legs, and her back arches. She moans, and the combination of what I am seeing and that sound has me throbbing and rock hard in my own hand. The fact that she just called my name and is therefore obviously thinking about me while she touches herself is so fucking hot. My eyes are fixed on her every movement while my own hands slide along my cock. She slides a finger into her pussy, and I think I might lose it.
“Mika…please,” she begs.
Fuck, I want to give her what she wants so bad. I love to hear her beg...almost as much as I love giving her what she’s begging me for.
She adds another digit and starts pumping in earnest. Her other hand is still kneading her breasts and pulling on her nipples. She looks fucking incredible, and I can barely stand it. I have to touch her. I am so hard, it’s almost painful. I have made my way to the tub, and I’m mere inches away from her now.
“Raeva,” I breathe.
Her eyes flicker open and widen when she sees me. She gasps loudly, and although it is dusky in here, I can see her cheeks flush.
“Don’t you fucking dare be embarrassed,” I growl. “That is by far the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life. I have never been this hard,” I say as I stroke my cock.
Her eyes are glued to my movements. I step into the tub with her and stand before her. She sits up and bites her lip again, and I watch her suck in that plump lip. Good lord, that sight fucking does crazy things to me.
“Holy fuck, Raeva, you are so incredibly stunning. And that smart mouth of yours, I want to fuck it. I want to see those incredible lips wrapped around my cock.”
Our gazes meet, and just when I think that she is too embarrassed, she holds my gaze as she lifts herself onto her knees. Her lips curl into a sly smile, and she continues to hold my gaze as she wraps one hand around my thigh to steady herself and the other around my cock. She leans forward and lets her tongue swirl around the head. She doesn’t take her eyes off me, and I swear I think I am going to combust right here. She pulls back some and strokes my length.
“I’ve been craving you all night,” she whispers and licks her lips.
Before I can even try and assemble a reply, she takes my cock back into her gloriously hot and wet mouth and slides it all the way in. And I mean all the way because I hit the back of her throat and she moans. She fucking moans! This woman is incredible. She pulls back, alternating between swirling her tongue and sucking. She still hasn’t taken her eyes off me, and I cannot tear mine away from hers. I know that I have to pull her off me before I fucking explode.
“Baby, you gotta stop,” I groan as I try to move her away from me gently.
“Uh-uh,” she admonishes me before plunging back down.
She increases her grip and her stroke, and when my eyes flicker to her mouth and I watch my cock slide in between those luscious lips of hers, I come—hard. I can barely feel my legs right now, so I sink to my knees and pull her toward me. My mouth crushes against hers, and I’m instantly hungry for her again, as if I didn’t just have a mind-blowing orgasm.
“My turn to taste you,” I state with a smirk as I gently push her backward.
She giggles.
“Yes please, Mr.Kingsley.”
And just like that, I know that neither of us is going to do much sleeping tonight.
The past few days have gone by without too much drama. It has been about a week since the Serenity event, and thankfully Jillybean and I made up the next day. I can’t stay mad at her, and really, I realized that she was just trying to protect me.
I also behaved poorly at her event; I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me like that, especially more than once. She hasn’t even mentioned any of that, and I think we are both just happy to be on good terms. I was having a pretty good day today, was being the operative word here. The media coverage about Jasper’s (or Sam or whatever the heck his name is) death and Mika’s suspected involvement has been out of this world. I have purposely been staying away from any news outlets. I can’t even remember the last time I logged into Facebook. I stopped doing any social media weeks ago after my whole timeline was clogged up with links to some of the very uncomplimentary articles about me. Much to the amusement of Jill, these also included some very unflattering pictures. Not to mention the many random messages—most of them hateful—and sudden surge in friend requests. I’ve been stressed out for weeks, but when I got to work this morning and was ushered in through the back door, I felt surprisingly relaxed. After Mikaela was discharged from Hillcrest, I once again got assigned to Mr. King. Due to the fact that we had a hard time getting through the hordes of photographers who were blocking the street, I am running a little late this morning. Sean has assured me that he will make sure the street is cleared from now on, but that didn’t really help me today. I’m almost sprinting down the spiral stairwell, hoping to avoid the watchful eye of Mrs. Sims. I almost miss a step when I get to about halfway from the bottom of the stairs, and I stumble forward. In true Cinderella fashion I lose a shoe, which of course slips in between the steps. Now, in maybe even truer Cinderella fashion, here I am on all fours, feeling around in the barely lit hallway behind the stairwell. The sound of heels clicking on the steps above me has me freezing in place. I hear several voices that sound female. When they get closer, I can clearly make out two separate voices, and I recognize one to be the wicked stepmother aka Mrs. Sims.
Shit.
“These rooms on the lower floors have direct access to our garden,” she says to the woman with her.
I crouch down, shrinking myself as small as I can. I hope that, combined with the dim lighting, will shield me. I peek through one of the steps to see which way they are headed so I can plan my escape. When I see a head full of fiery red hair, my stomach drops. A feeling of dread creeps into me as I can already guess who that red mop of hair belongs to. When she turns her head slightly for me to see enough of her facial features, my suspicion that the woman talking to Mrs. Sims is no other than Layla is confirmed. Why the hell is she here? Right now, I am highly annoyed that I am stuck hiding behind the stairway. Getting caught like this with her right there would be mortifying.
“Will my office be down here?”
What in the actual fuck?
“Yes, I think it will be the best place for your office,” Mrs. Sims replies.
I feel like my breakfast is about to make a comeback. Her office? Who the hell is she, and why is she getting an office here? It isn’t until I feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands that I realize I’m squeezing hard. Every single muscle in my body has tightened. I wait for them to walk far enough down the hall. When their voices fade, I know that it’s safe for me to come out from behind the stairs. My heart is beating in my throat so hard and so fast, I worry it’ll jump out.
“Hey Rae!”
I gasp loudly and flinch at the sudden loudness of her voice. Seriously, I literally feel the color drain from my face. When I turn to face Tammy, the nurse assistant, she has a look of terror painted on her face. Immediately I feel bad; after all, she only said hello.
“I…I…I’m s…so sorry, I didn’t me—” she stutters.
“No, please. I am the one who is sorry. I guess I am just a little jumpy,” I say, forcing a smile to put her at ease.
“Of course you are, honey. You’ve been through so much lately, I’m surprised you’ve not taken more time off than you have. It’s not like you need the money.”
I frown.
“Why would you think that I don’t need the money?”
I am so tired of people just assuming that I am with Mika because he has money. I don’t give a crap about his money. Of course, I know he has it, but the long list of things that I love about Mika Kingsley doesn’t include his fortune.
&nbs
p; She must understand the look on my face because the color that explodes onto Tammy’s cheeks would make a lobster look pale.
“It’s just...I thought…I mean…you’re dating a billionai—”
“Let me stop you right there,” I say as I hold up my hand. “I earn my own money. I pay my own bills. I have no intention of letting anyone else but me pay my way. I certainly hoped you’d know me better than that.”
I stop talking when I hear my tone and volume. I may have been a little too overzealous. Tammy’s eyes widen slightly, and while at first I think she’s reacting to what I just said to her, I’m quickly proven wrong. I’m confused for a moment when Tammy mouths something at me. I’m a terrible lip reader. I scrunch my face together, and just as I am about to open my mouth and ask her what the hell she is trying to say, someone behind me makes their presence known.
“Hmmm, very interesting.”
I turn abruptly at the sound of her voice and when I do, I am face to face with Layla. Mrs. Sims is right next to her, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
“Excuse me?”
Layla flashes me a smile, and it is not genuine. No, this one doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and I suspect it is more for our spectators than anything else. Images of me slapping that fake smile off her face flash through my head. I have no idea why this woman brings my angry side out, but she’s pretty damn near an expert, seeing as I have been seeing red every single time I have engaged in any sort of communication with her.
“Apparently you are abrasive with everyone and not just strangers you meet at a party.”
I scoff, but I am cut off before I can reply.
“I am quite certain that I do not pay either of you to socialize in the hallway,” Mrs. Sims says in an annoyed tone.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sims. I’m on my way to take Mrs. Clover to the garden. Excuse me, please,” Tammy says before she turns and scurries off.
Mrs. Sims turns to me, her eyebrow raised.
“I’d better get back to work, too.”
I manage to sound at least semi pleasant which, given the fact that I am talking through gritted teeth, is quite impressive. I turn and start walking to Mr. King’s room.
“I’m sorry about that, Dr. Hayes. I assure you that these things seldom happen here.”
Doctor? Layla is a doctor? I reach Mr. King’s room and don’t have much time to dwell on it. As soon as I step foot over the threshold, I flip a switch and am in caregiver mode. I start off by helping him take a shower and get dressed. Breakfast arrives shortly after I set him up at the table. They bring two trays, one for Mr. King and one for myself. Dr. Sampson explained to me a few weeks ago that one of the symptoms Mr. King exhibits is called echopraxia, which means that he will often mimic a person’s movements. When I learned that, I started having my meals with him instead of trying to feed him, and the results have been out of this world. He sees me eat and then mimics me and feeds himself in the process. I am so excited to show Dr. Sampson! He has been on vacation, and he has not been in to see patients. He has no real medical need to come and see Mr. King anyway, but he always stops by.
There is some physical therapy scheduled for today with our new physical therapist, Macy. She’s super sweet and a great physical therapist. After we finish eating breakfast, I get Mr. King ready for her. Like clockwork, she walks in at 9:15 a.m. and gets to work. I attend to some cleanup and then chart while she is doing the physical therapy. My cell phone vibrates to indicate that I have received a text message. When I look down at my phone and see who it is, I can’t help the smile that takes over my entire face.
Mika – Don’t make any plans for tonight. I’m claiming your time…and your body.
Raeva – Don’t tell me what to do!
Mika – Oh Sweet Pea, I love it when you tell me what to do. In fact, I would love it if tonight you would tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. Believe me, your wish will be my command.
Good God, that man can make me so needy with just a couple of text messages. I’m physically aching for him, and it’s only been mere hours since I felt his weight pressing down on me, gasping his name, begging him to—I realize where I am, and I know that my face is currently a lovely tomato red. I glance over at Macy and Mr. King, who are happily ignoring little old me. Relieved that nobody is looking at me, I reply.
Raeva – Kind sir, please refrain from sending me caveman messages while I am at work. It is very distracting.
Mika – Ha! You love it.
I roll my eyes. He’s right, though. Jerk.
Raeva – Maybe…
Mika – Sean will pick you up after work. Be ready. X
I chuckle and slip my phone back into my pocket. That man is bossy, possessive, and more maddening than any person I have ever known. But at the same time, he’s smart, treats me like a goddess, and dear lord does the man worship my body. Caveman or not, he’s all mine, and I wouldn’t want him any other way.
I finish my charting, order lunch, and when I walk back to check on Macy and Mr. King, they are wrapping things up.
Now that physical therapy is done for the day, I take Mr. King for his daily walk in the garden. It is a beautiful day outside, and I regret having to go inside so soon since lunch will be served shortly. These days, the garden here at work is the only time I get to spend outside without having to worry about being photographed, and therefore—sadly—it has become my favorite part of my day. After our walk, and after a surprisingly delicious lasagna and salad, I help Mr. King into bed for a nap. I decide to catch up on my charting, which isn’t much since I completed most of it this morning during Mr. King’s physical therapy session with Macy. Having nothing to do is dangerous; my mind starts to drift to this morning’s unfortunate run-in with the soulless redhead. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket intending to text Jill, but instead I open the browser. For the first time in weeks, I venture out into the World Wide Web and type “Layla Hayes, MD” into the Google search. Apparently, she specializes in psychiatry and, if I can believe all the articles that chronicle her many awards and publications, she is very well-known and respected. I am annoyed, and as much as I just want to close the browser, a perverse part of me clicks on the images tab. I know in my gut that there will be a picture of her and Mika somewhere. The pictures are loading when there is a knock on the door. I have my phone stowed inside my pocket in a flash. It’s almost ridiculous how relieved I am that it’s Tammy walking in the door and not Mrs. Sims. She’s holding a plate of donuts. I immediately eye them and note that they are glazed—my favorite!
“Hey Rae,” she almost whispers. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier.”
I feel bad. Granted, she was completely out of line, but I must admit that my reaction was a little…overzealous. Even after that, she tried to warn me about the impending doom of Mrs. Sims and Layla approaching. I smile at her.
“It’s okay, Tammy. While I was very annoyed at your assumption, I shouldn’t have overreacted. You didn’t deserve all that.”
She returns my smile and sighs loudly, as if she was holding her breath.
“Oh girl, I would be annoyed, too. I am sure you have been hearing those types of things a lot lately.”
My turn to sigh.
“You have no idea.”
Her face scrunches, and I know that she genuinely feels sorry, both for me and about her part in our little scene earlier.
“But I see that you brought backup?”
She looks at me, confused. I can’t help but chuckle as I nudge my head toward the plate of donuts that she’s holding.
“Or did you just bring them to torture me?”
She joins in with my laughter, and we walk to the dining table. She takes a seat as I grab a couple of glasses and some milk from the small fridge in the kitchenette. We take a little break together and eat a couple of donuts while she catches me up on all that I have missed around here lately. When she leaves to get back to work about twenty minutes later, I feel a whol
e lot better about my day. I check on Mr. King, who is awake now, so I help him up and assist him into his La-Z-Boy by the window. I pull up a chair beside him and start our afternoon post-nap ritual. I read to him, and today we are starting a new book.
“Well, Mr. King,” I tell him. “How does The Great Gatsby sound?”
I’m not sure why I look at him expectantly because of course he doesn’t reply, but I swear that when I look down to pick the book from the small side table, I see a small smile. When my eyes flash back to inspect his facial features, he’s as stoic and unmoving as ever.
“I must be more tired than I thought,” I mumble to myself.
I shake my head, open up the book, and start to read.
By the end of my shift, I am more than exhausted and admittedly a little cranky. My poor feet are aching, and all I want right now is a long, hot bath and a glass of wine. Sean meets me in the lobby with a bright smile.
After Tomorrow (Kingsley series Book 2) Page 4