The Kingmaker (Powerplay #1)

by Selena Laurence

  The leaves of the small ornamental maple tree in the front yard had turned red and were beginning to fall to the grass beneath. London could almost smell the pumpkin bread that her mother used to bake in the fall, full of the traditional spices as well as cardamom—Farrah’s Middle Eastern proclivities surfaced in her baking. The smell of the spices used to fill the house and when London would come home from school her mother would have left a warm loaf waiting for her, always making sure London came home to something welcoming even when Farrah herself had to be at the University working.

  There was a shift in the light and the glass door in the center of the porch opened. London’s breath caught and she leaned toward the window of the car, feeling like there was a cord attached to her midsection pulling her toward the brick house.

  Farrah came outside, going to the mailbox that hung from the porch railing. Her dark hair had small streaks of gray in it that hadn’t been there ten years ago. But it was still thick and shiny, tendrils falling around her face where they’d slipped the clip that held it into an upsweep in the back.

  London looked at her mother with what could only be described as hunger. Her eyes roamed over every inch of the woman who had devoted a life to her daughter for seventeen years. Farrah’s face was still beautiful, nearly unlined, but there was a tightness around her mouth that said she hadn’t smiled much in a long time, and a shard of guilt pierced London’s chest, creating a pain so sharp she had to catch her breath before she could move to rub at the spot with the heel of her hand.

  Farrah wore the loose flowing silk pants that she’d always donned for work, a fine knit sweater clinging to her curves that were so very like London’s. Around her neck was a vibrant scarf, a swirl of pinks, purples, teal, and black that gave the ensemble a flair uniquely Farrah’s. London put a hand to her mouth trying to contain the sob that waited to pour forth when she realized that she had given that scarf to her mother on the last Mother’s Day they had celebrated together when London was a junior in high school.

  Farrah stood, one foot on the top of the porch steps, and one a step lower as she shuffled through the mail. London realized that one of her own hands was pressed against the cool glass of the car window, and her entire body had moved inches closer to the door, that cord tugging ever tighter.

  “Mom,” London whispered. “Why did this have to happen?”

  As if she could sense her daughter’s presence, Farrah’s head shot up and she looked sharply at the car across the street, her gaze landing firmly on the window out of which London watched. London recoiled for a moment, but then she reminded herself that the car windows were heavily tinted and there was no way Farrah could have seen into the interior. She noticed the security guard shift so that he was turned sideways to the car, resting his arm casually along the roof and simultaneously blocking any view of London in the back seat. A cell phone had appeared in his hand and he looked as if he was one of a thousand hired car drivers in the city, waiting for a client. His act was obviously convincing, because Farrah turned back to her mail, going inside the house a few moments later.

  As soon as she was gone, the guard opened the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.

  “Mr. Ambrose is waiting for you, ma’am. Are you ready to go?”

  London wasn’t sure that she could speak, her heart was so fractured, pieces spearing into her chest wall and rubbing against one another at the same time. The pain was visceral and incapacitating. She nodded once and that seemed to be sufficient for the guard as he started the engine and pulled out onto the street. They drove away from the house that had once been London’s safe place, and she could only think that maybe it was time to go home.

  London was surprised to find that the guard took her to the back of a brownstone in Georgetown rather than her own house.

  “Where are we?” she asked, not sure if she should be worried or merely irritated.

  “Mr. Ambrose’s home.”

  Before she could process that, Derek was at the door of the car, reaching in to take her hand.

  She got out of the car and looked at him, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed.

  He smirked and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Don’t pout, this is one of your lessons. You can’t always be in control, gorgeous. Now that there are reporters at your house too there’s no reason to spend all of our time there.”

  “It would have been polite to ask. What if I needed something at my house, or had plans of some sort?”

  “Did you?” he asked as he took her hand and started to lead her toward the open garage that took up the back of the house.

  “That’s beside the point,” she snapped. She knew he was right, but she didn’t have to like it.

  Derek led her past his Porsche as well as a vintage motorcycle, chrome gleaming beneath its black leather seat and saddlebags.

  “Do you belong to a gang?” London joked, pointing to the bike.

  “As a matter of fact…” Derek let the sentence trail off, and suddenly London had a memory of his friends at the press conference he’d arranged when he announced he was dating her. She opened her mouth then closed it again, not sure what exactly she meant to ask or say.

  “I’ll tell you about it some other time,” Derek said, before opening the door to the house and leading her into a spotless and obviously unused kitchen.

  As soon as the door closed behind them Derek had her in his arms, his lips pressed to hers. London felt any residual irritation at being ‘handled’ melt away beneath his hot and heavy assault.

  His lips crushed hers and his hands clasped her waist, his fingers squeezing her hips with a pressure just short of pain. He bent his knees to grind his semi-erect cock against her pelvis and groaned as his tongue snaked out and stroked hers.

  Her mind whirled in a dizzying mixture of sounds, sensations and feelings. There was heat, aching want, the scent of his desire and his citrus cologne. His hands wrapped around her waist and he lifted her onto the cool granite countertop, sliding between her legs so that her core was against his now very erect cock.

  He pulled away briefly. “I had the worst day I can remember ever having, and I don’t want to push you past where you’re comfortable, but I need you so badly I feel like I’m being torn in two.”

  She stroked his cheek, feeling the five o’clock shadow that had sprouted there. “I had a bad day too. And I hurt.” She placed his palm against her breast over her heart. “Right here. But when I’m with you, it all goes away. I want to be here for you like that.”

  He tilted his head into her touch, his eyes closing in surrender. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

  “You would never,” she answered quietly.

  “I don’t want you to shut me out—not like the others.” He swallowed uncomfortably and her stomach turned at the thought of Derek and her clients in the same moment.

  “Don’t,” she told him, placing a finger against his lips. “I can’t not feel when I’m with you. When you touch me it’s like a fire tears through me. That’s what’s scary. I feel so much, and I can’t control it, and I’m not used to that. You could never, never be like those other men, Derek. They weren’t even men to me, just machines, and I was the mechanic sent to give them a tune up. You’re flesh and blood and heat. You’re everything human and male and you make me feel things I’ve never felt. Not even before…” She arched into his lips and the next words came out on a breathy sigh. “Before all of this.”

  He skimmed his hands under her top, caressing her skin with feather light touches while his mouth fused to hers, teeth and tongues and lips crashing against one another. He nipped and licked and sucked until she was utterly breathless, and all the while his fingertips explored her bare skin, seeking, learning, memorizing.

  At last he pulled back and tugged her top over her head before unhooking her bra and sliding it down her arms. His eyes were flaming as he took in her naked torso, and she realized that no matter how much lust men had looked at her with over the years, she ha
d never seen one look at her like Derek did.

  As if he could read her mind he said, “It’s because I want all of you." She watched him, not sure what he was trying to tell her.

  “The reason you feel with me—it’s because I want all of you. Not just your body. I want your mind—your thoughts, your dreams. I want your soul—your fears and cares. I want all of you, London Sharpe. And you can feel it, how badly I want every piece of you.”

  And in that moment, London became his. He was the dream she’d never dared have, the fantasy she hadn’t been able to entertain. He was the future she’d given up at seventeen, and the hope she’d tucked away in a secret drawer, hidden from even her own eyes. And now, as her heart disobeyed every instruction she’d given to it over the last decade, and her soul fluttered against the bars she’d trapped it behind, her mind told her that this wasn’t possible. He wasn’t possible, it wasn’t possible, because London held on to something deep and dark in that same secret drawer, it was the lock that kept the drawer closed and it was something that ruined men like Derek.

  But she didn’t have the strength to turn away from him. She couldn’t bear the idea of being alone again, not after feeling so much. She wanted every piece of him too, and though she knew she could never really have him, she desperately wanted to pretend for just a bit longer. She shoved the truth away, tamped her conscience down harder, and gave herself over to the feelings—the butterflies in her stomach, the heat curling in her core, and yes, even the piercing pain in her chest.

  “I want you to make love to me,” she gasped. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to feel it all.”

  His breath was hot and heavy and he dug his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back to look into her eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “No, but I need you anyway.”

  “I’ll go slow. If you want me to stop, say so. Just like last time.”

  “No.” She knew that wasn’t what she needed. She wanted him too badly, and their time was too short. He could be gone at any moment for so many different reasons she couldn’t list them all, and if she lost him before giving him every part of her that she could, she’d never recover. “You have to push me harder. It’s a physical reaction not an emotional one, I want to be with you, there’s no question in my mind. I want you to do it.”

  He made a small choking sound and pulled back from her. His brows drew together before he turned and took a step away. “What are you asking me to do?”

  She breathed deeply. “Fuck me no matter what I do or say.”

  He faced her, fierce heat pouring from every inch of him. “Absolutely not.” He stepped back to her and took her chin in his fingers, his face inches from hers. “I would never do that to you. I’m not a goddamn rapist, London.”

  Her face heated and she felt such shame she broke their gaze. “That’s why I’m asking you to push me harder. I know you’d never hurt me, but if you don’t force me I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to finish it.”

  “No,” he said again, his eyes softening now, pain seeping through the anger. “I don’t care if you never get there. It doesn’t matter. We’ll do what you’re comfortable with, nothing more. You’re far too precious to me to risk hurting any part of you—your mind, your heart, or your body.”

  Her eyes prickled with tears of frustration. How could she make him understand? This might be the only chance she ever had to share it with him. Sooner or later it would all have to end and she would regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t take this one fleeting shot at something real.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please help me, Derek. I want to be with you so badly it hurts everywhere. I don’t think it’ll stop hurting until I’ve given you everything. Take away that pain.”

  He sighed, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

  “A compromise then…”

  She nodded rapidly.

  “A safe word. I won’t stop unless you say the safe word.”

  The breath left her in a rush of relief. “Yes. Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you.” She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her heart lodging in her throat and her entire body trembling in anticipation.

  Derek was a tangled mess of want and shock. Force her? Fuck no. He had never touched a woman who wasn’t begging for it. Even as a teenager, he’d known to look for the signs that a girl was not just tolerating it, but an enthusiastic participant. He had no interest in doing things to a woman, he wanted to do them with her. Nothing turned him on as much as his partner being turned on. The breathy moans, the questing hands, seeking tongues, and writhing bodies of women were what did it for him. And men who didn’t give a shit about a woman’s wishes deserved to be strung up by their balls from the nearest tree.

  But what the hell was he supposed to do with a woman who said what she wanted most was for him to force her? He was torn in two. Unable to hurt her—either by denying her something, or by forcing himself on her.

  “Pomegranate,” she said softly.

  He blinked at her. The safe word. They were going to do this, and he was going to force things until or unless she said, pomegranate.

  “Really?” he asked, unable to keep a small smile from his lips in spite of the seriousness of the moment.

  “It’s my favorite fruit and definitely not a word that’s said normally during such activities.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Pomegranate it is then.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her downy soft cheek. “Please don’t hesitate to use it. There have to be other ways to work on this. We could do some research—”

  She thrust her breasts against his chest and wrapped her legs around his hips, wiggling closer to his erection. “This is what I want,” she whispered. “Now quit talking and fuck me.”

  Derek was a prince among men, but he was still a man, and when a half naked sexy as hell woman twined herself around him and asked him to fuck her, he felt obligated to comply. He lifted her off of the countertop, locking his lips to hers at the same time. His minimalist décor made walking through the house while ravishing a woman relatively easy, and he quickly navigated them to the living room where he lowered her to the Flokati rug in front of the fireplace and kneeled over her, stripping off his own shirt and tie before peeling down her leggings and panties.

  She was laid out like a buffet beneath him, her golden skin glowing in the low light that spilled in from the adjacent kitchen. Her breasts were full and tipped with dusky nipples, her waist narrow and her hips perfectly rounded before dropping to those long, slender legs.

  “It was your legs,” he said, running his hands along her thighs.

  “What?” she gasped, squirming a little as his touch tickled her.

  “The first I saw of you was your legs. They were the best looking pair I’ve ever seen—and I’m a leg man, so I know about these things.” He leaned down and kissed high on the inside of one thigh.

  “But I’m also a breast man…” He licked around one nipple, then took it in his mouth, sucking it for a moment before releasing it and moving on to do the same to the other side.

  Her breathing was rapid, but he could tell it was from arousal and not panic. He leaned down, a mere whisper from her swollen lips. “Then you turned around and I saw that ass.”

  His voice was husky with want, and she opened her eyes to watch him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Now I think I’m an ass man too.”

  She chuckled and raised her head to kiss him hard and fast. He rubbed his cheek against hers, and she shivered, her hands going to his ass and palming him through his pants.

  “I’m going to lick that beautiful pussy of yours now,” he whispered. “And I’m going to make sure that you enjoy every wet, slick, second of it.”

  If her moan was any indication, she was convinced.

  He grasped both her ankles, placing her feet flat on the floor and spreading her open. God, she was so wet his cock throbbed in anticipation. Heart ra
cing, he wrapped one arm around her thigh and lowered his hand to spread her open so he could lick up her juicy center. She tasted tart and sweet at the same time, and he licked her again, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue.

  Her breathing grew erratic and he could feel the muscles in her legs tense.

  Lifting his head he growled, “Are you okay, gorgeous? Do you need me to stop?”

  “No…don’t…stop…please,” she gasped between breaths. Her face and jaw were set and he could see she was struggling, but he let her have the say, and went back to business. And what a business it was. He sucked on her clit, licked along her center, alternately thrusting inside of her with his tongue and his fingers. He could feel that tiny rough patch of skin in her channel, and he stroked it, noticing the way her hips canted in rhythm with his thrusts.

  His thumb pressed down on her clit, and two of his fingers were inside of her as he nibbled along the world’s softest skin at the apex of her thighs, when suddenly she sat up. He bolted upright with her, his hand still between her legs. She was gasping for breath, her eyes wide, pulse racing under the delicate skin of her neck. He tried to move his hand, prepared to back far away until she could calm down. But then her own hand shot down between her legs, her fingers closing over his to hold them in place, and she managed to gasp out a strained, “no” before her entire body froze for a split second, and she tossed her head back, screaming out her release as she throbbed and pulsed around his fingers.

  Derek stayed inside her while the soft, swollen flesh contracted around his fingers, and his dick surged with need, the drive to fall on top of her and start thrusting an overwhelming urge. But then London’s sobs brought him out of the haze of lust, and he sat back on his ass, pulling her onto his lap as she collapsed in a slick, soft heap.

  “Shh, shh, shh,” he hushed, his own eyes stinging with an ache for her pain. “Don’t cry, gorgeous. Don’t cry. I won’t ever push you again. I’m so sorry. I should never have agreed. It’s going to be okay.”