Don't Trust Him: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense (King Vs. Queen Book 1)

by Bonnie Kennedy

  “You’re so fucking delicious,” he groans, using his thumbs to push my thong down. He does it slowly, allowing the electricity to build up in my body before he dives in, and I feel a maddening kind of anticipation taking over me.

  “Then have at it.”

  Acting on pure instinct, I reach for his hair and, grabbing it, I pull him against him. He comes willingly, his parted lips finding my clit in a fraction of a second. Pressuring down on it in a way no one has ever done before, he then uses one finger to part my inner lips, rubbing one fingertip up and down the length of my pussy.

  “So good, so good,” I mutter, my heart beating so hard I feel my breastbone rattling.

  “I should be the one saying that.” He pauses just for a moment, and then he’s back at it again, this time using his tongue to explore my pussy. It goes up its length, and then circles back down each time he hits my clit; he does it over and over again, a wildfire spreading inside me with each flick of his tongue.

  Holy shit, I’ve never been eaten out like this. I don’t care if you think I’m being crude right now—I just wish I could have his mouth on me forever.

  “Holy fuck!” The words fly out of me in a hurry the moment he slides one finger deep inside me, curling it upward like a hook until his fingertip is tightly pressed against my G-spot. How the hell does he know my body even better than I do? And then, as if he what he’s doing to me wasn’t enough, he slides one more finger inside me, his tongue now fully focused on giving my clit a fierce lashing.

  Before I know what the hell’s happening, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.

  My head is thrown back, and I’m yanking so hard on his hair that soon enough I’m going to tear it out. Every single muscle in my body is twitching, and every single inch of my skin feels as if it’s on fire. We haven’t even started to fuck, and he has already given me the best orgasm of my entire life. You think that’s an exaggeration? It could be, but let’s be honest...this is Grayson Teague we’re talking about. And his fame, well, it seems to be based on nothing but pure facts. The man is relentless.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Looking up at me, his chin glistening from my own juices, he offers me a teasing smile.

  “Absolutely.” Reaching for him, I place one finger under his chin and help him get up. He does it without taking his eyes off mine, and then he just leans in and brushes his lips against mine, the flavor of my own pussy fanning the flames of desire and making me eager for more.

  So much more.

  I never thought I’d want a man as badly as I want him right now.

  I never thought I’d want to be fucked as badly as I do know, and I sure as hell never thought that a man would ever wake in me this wild urge to act dirty. Because there’s no doubt about it—with him, there’s nothing I want more than to act dirty.

  It’s a weird thing to say, but...let’s be real. We all want to act crazy, we just need the right man to help us let it all out. And I think I found a man that can do just that...and then some more..

  “I want you to fuck me,” I mutter against his lips, “and I want you to do it so hard I won’t be able to stand when you’re done.”

  “Is that a request or a command?”

  “Can’t it be both?”

  “Oh, it sure as fuck can,” he whispers, his hands going down the side of my body and then around my waist. As his fingers settle on the round curves of my ass, he pulls me up and into him; I react instinctively, lacing my legs around his torso, and gasp when he presses his body against mine.

  Doing it in a hurry, he undoes the top button on his pants and pushes the zipper down; next thing I know, I feel the tip of his cock pressed against my aching pussy, its hardness making me lose my mind.

  “Do it, I want you now,” I plead, my fingers turning into claws as I bury my fingernails on his back, over the fabric of his shirt. “Do it, I need you to fuck me right now, I need you to—”

  When he finally thrusts, it feels like a thermonuclear explosion has happened inside my skull. My brain heats up, my heart starts galloping like a horse, and my body temperature reaches such a feverish state I wouldn’t be surprised if flames just appeared out of nowhere.

  Rocking his body slightly, he starts to thrust, doing it exactly in the way I requested. Hard. He starts by picking up the pace, his long cock forcing its way against my tight inner walls, and then he simply succumbs to a maddening kind of hunger. Each time he thrusts makes me feel as if I was a virgin, discovering for the first time what sex really is about. It’s weird to think about it in such a way—I’m an experienced woman, after all—but there’s simply no better way to put it.

  “Fuck, Eliza, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes into my ear, the sound of his voice curling itself around my brain and squeezing it tight. Throwing my head back, my only reply is a deep moan, once that bounces off the walls and comes back to me as an echo of pure lust and unbridled desire.

  “It’s your fault,” I find myself saying, bucking my hips at him. “You’re just...so big.”

  “Guess we’re matching pieces then.” He doesn’t give me any space for me to reply; instead, he crushes his mouth against mine, sliding his tongue past my lips. I close my eyes, submitting to the moment, and let the pressure build up inside of me until I simply can’t stand it any longer.

  “Now…” He says, breaking apart from our kiss. “I want you look me in the eyes,” he runs one hand through my hair, tangling his fingers on it, and yanks, forcing me to look him straight in the eyes. “And I want you to come hard. Really fucking hard.”

  Maybe it’s the way he says it. Or maybe it’s the way his hard cock is ravaging me, each of his thrusts setting my body on fire. I don’t know what it is, but next thing I know I’m screaming as hard as I can, my vocal chords nearing their limits as a violent orgasm explodes inside me. He keeps holding my head fiercely, forcing me to stare into his eyes as I come.

  And, I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s just so fucking erotic.

  “Where have you been all my fucking life, Eliza?” He whispers, his cock throbbing violently inside me. He presses his forehead against mine then, and the two of us surrender to oblivion.

  Fire, electricity, chaos—all of it consume and devour us, leaving nothing but pure destruction in its wake.

  The sweetest kind of destruction there is.

  By the time we finally collapse on top of the bed, breathing so hard I’m surprised we don’t pass out, the last thing I remember doing is resting my head on his chest and drifting off to sleep.

  Grayson Teague—what are you doing to me?

  Nineteen

  Grayson

  Sober?

  Hungover?

  Post-coital bliss?

  Can it be all the above?

  Eliza Lang is wrapped in my arms, our legs tangled up, and her head is resting on my chest. Her nails are stroking my arm, on the side with no tattoos. The one with all the skulls going up it? That’s holding her. Two worlds straddled, and one perfect mix.

  Fuck, I love this woman. I can’t stand the idea of letting her go.

  “Can you imagine being free enough to do this?” Eliza says.

  Fuck, can I imagine it?

  Fuck. I don’t know what to do right now. I settle for squeezing the woman I love tight and thinking, no, no I won’t let her go.

  “Yeah,” I finally say.

  “What about all the power our bosses have, and we have this freedom?” Eliza says, and she looks up at me. “I mean,” she starts to look off into the distance. “Just a thought. Like, sex brain.”

  She’s doing it again -- looking off into the distance. And she’s admitting the effect I have on her.

  I decide to ask her about it without even really thinking about it, because I want to know and because I’m dangerously close to blissful and hopeful and totally ignoring reality with her in my arms right now. “Eliza, what are you thinking when you look off into the distance, when you talk sometimes?”

  Eliza l
ooks up at me. Surprised. And so fucking cute. How can she be so sexy and so cute at the same time? I want to cover her in kisses and then cum all over her. It’s disconcerting and fucking wonderful at the same time.

  “Well,” she starts, and gets up on an elbow and starts stroking her finger up and down my cheek. “I’m thinking kinda what I was just saying to you.”

  I gulp.

  Fuck, what does that mean?

  She’s waiting on me to say something, but I don’t.

  “I think about what our own crew would be like. Not just the temporary stuff,” Eliza starts.

  She’s filling the silence with an answer. Eliza looks at me and I think she almost shakes as she gets the words out and she says them a little too fast.

  “I’m thinking about if we ran our own game.”

  This is hard for her. Do I ever fucking get that.

  “I’m thinking about if we were more than just one night, and if we were never enemies again,” Eliza says. The way she finishes her words, like a gust of wind shutting a door, it brings a chill down my spine. I pull her tighter and squeeze her. Kiss her on the forehead.

  “Yeah, I think that, too,” I admit. “I think it a whole hell of a fucking lot. And I think I know better than anybody us else how much you don’t fuck with your goddamn cartel. In Bonita Muerte, that’s a way to get a visit from me…” I run a hand through my hair and look at her, shaking my head. “But they fucking need us more than we need them. I can handle myself, and you’re fucking scrappy, Eliza, and I’d never let anything happen to you.” I choke for a second but the words already started coming. “I fucking think about burning them to the ground. Like you can’t run. You gotta fight. And I would do it. I would fucking kill every other member of every goddamn cartel out there to have our own shit.”

  “That’s crazy,” Eliza says. But she doesn’t pull away. “So...crazy,” she slowly whispers. “I think it, too. It’s way too fucking much to hope for. But it is nice to talk about.”

  Nice to talk about.

  Fuck, I’m not daydreaming in my goddamn notebook and drawing names in hearts.

  I put dicks in throats.

  Wait. That sounded fucked up. You know what I mean.

  I bleed out motherfuckers who do just what I’m thinking of doing.

  But I want more than just some greedy little piece of the pie. I want the whole fucking game, with my queen at my side. I want to knock the fucking playing field as it stands completely off course.

  I wanna change the goddamn world with the baddest bitch out there on my arm, on that throne with me.

  Fuck, talk about unrealistic dreams.

  I know I need to swallow it. Dangerous thoughts, for a woman who may have admitted to thinking similar thoughts, but that by no means said she was ready to put her whole goddamn life in peril for me.

  Because it wouldn’t be a clean sweep. You don’t take out a cartel so easily.

  Eliza didn’t say she was down for that.

  But, fuck, it feels so good to think about it.

  Eliza thinks so too. I see that wistful look in her eyes when she looks at me. “Telling motherfuckers what to do, having them afraid of us, having more than just a small crew running one lab that’s basically a goddamn pop up. We wouldn’t be the food truck of coke, we’d have the best fucking product out there and we’d take the world by storm.”

  Um, yeah. She’s definitely enjoying daydreaming about it.

  “I’d have someone just to transport the shoes I’d want for any given destination, I swear,” Eliza laughs.

  But it is just that, dreaming.

  And fucking God, I can’t help but dream with her. “I’d fuck you in all the finest hotels in the world. Private beaches where you’d sit naked, wearing nothing but my cum,” I say, watching Eliza’s eyes sparkle as I tell her that. “I would love to watch you crawl over to me on sand only we touch and just fly from paradise to paradise. Come back to knock a few skulls in, and then take off for the next adventure.”

  Eliza laughs. “We’d be Bonnie and Clyde.” Eliza brings her mouth close to mine.

  I look into her eyes, taste her breath and feel it’s warmth so close to me.

  “Ours is a story with a neverending bodycount,” I tell her. My lips are so close to hers that when I talk they’re touching hers.

  “But fuck it, I’d love our happily ever after. I’d love it,” Eliza says.

  She’s trembling a little.

  I hold her closer.

  “I love you, Eliza,” I tell her. I fucking said it. How could I help it? “I have fucking loved you since I saw you, I’ve loved you more when I fought you, and I became fucking addicted to you the moment I was inside you. Fuck,” I groan.

  I hold her so tight, and my eyes can’t shut for a moment, just looking at the cascading brown waves of her hair down her back as I hold her.

  I feel the hot drop of a tear sliding down my shoulder as I hold her.

  I pull back and look at her.

  “I can’t fucking love you,” Eliza says, voice choking. She rubs the back of her hand over her tear but her eyes and her nose are bright red. She’s like a work of art, but way more fucking gorgeous and fucking unattainable.

  I want to distract her from reality. I want to go back to the dream we were sharing.

  “Do you think the concierge could just get you new shoes for every restaurant I took you to?” I ask her.

  She smiles wide. “Maybe. But maybe we’d spend a lot more time with just the white slippers, the plush ones with the big gold InterContinental I’s on them, and ordering room service. We could spend months in bed at that rate,” she laughs.

  Fuck it, I’m laughing with her.

  I’d rather think about her shoes than I would my breaking fucking heart, or hers.

  Twenty

  Eliza

  “An old-fashioned, please.”

  “Right away, ma’am,” the bartender nods with a smile, immediately taking bottles off the shelf and preparing my cocktail. I drum my fingertips on the counter and look out the large floor-to-ceiling windows wistfully.

  God, nothing beats these plush bars. Too bad that Grayson preferred a trip to the hotel’s gym instead of joining me. Ah, well, nothing beats a relaxing drink after you’ve just had the best sex of your life and plotted to take over the world.

  I still can’t believe the things Grayson and I agreed on. Have we just signed our death sentences?

  Don’t go there, Eliza, I chide myself, taking a deep breath as I try to rein in all those thoughts. Sure, our plan might be the stupidest thing anyone has ever attempted—going up against two of the largest and most vicious cartels in the world isn’t exactly a bright thing to do—but it’s not like we have a choice.

  It might seem like have a choice, that I can just shut the whole thing down, keep my eyes on the prize, and do my job. But it’s not that simple. To do that, I would have to deny everything that I am. Because, now I see it...all those years with the Cebeza Dios cartel, they were nothing more than a paid internship.

  An internship during which I learned the art of logistics, violence, money laundering, and all the skills you need to run an organization that thrives on crime. And, more than that, I learned how to control the darkness inside of me. I learned how to harness it.

  Because, whether I like to admit it or not, revenge never left my mind. How could it, when I still wake up in the middle of the night, smelling burning gasoline and flesh? How could it, when I still dream of the flames that engulfed my father, turning his body to ashes?

  Lorenzo Quentin took me in out of mercy.

  And it’ll be that small kindness that will be the seed for Cebeza Dios’s downfall.

  “And there you go.” The bartender pushes the glass across the counter. Nodding, I mouth a thank you. I take a sip of my cocktail, allowing the whisky, citrus and sugar to coat my tongue.

  “I never enjoyed whisky,” I hear a voice say from behind me, one that I haven’t heard in decades. “I’m s
urprised you do.”

  I don’t move. I remain frozen in place, glass in my hand as I try to comprehend what’s happening.

  Has the cocktail been spiked?

  Am I hallucinating?

  Or am I just going batshit crazy?

  “This isn’t real,” I whisper, more to myself than to whoever’s standing behind me. “This is a dream. A bad one.”

  “But it isn’t, is it?” That voices whispers, and then I feel a hand resting on my shoulder. I glance at that hand, the skin on the fingers already growing wrinkled and patched with liver spots, and I swallow hard. “I thought you’d be happier to see your mother, Eliza.”

  Slowly, I turn around on my seat, and there she is, Marta Lang. She’s older, streaks of white on her hair, but there’s no doubt that it’s her.

  My mother.

  Twenty-One

  Eliza

  “You...you’re dead.”

  “Oh, don’t be a fool, Eliza,” she laughs, taking over the seat right next to mine. “Bring me whatever it is she’s having,” she tells the bartender, and then offers me a smile that makes my blood turn into ice inside my veins.

  “How?”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know,” she shrugs, her smart eyes never leaving mine. Why does she seem so relaxed when I feel as if I’m about to lose my goddamn mind? “Don’t act so surprised. You don’t think the higher-ups would let you in on every secret, do you?”

  “The...higher-ups? What are you talking about? You’re with the cartel?”

  “Now that’s my kid,” she chuckles, taking a sip out of her drink and making a disgusted face. “Ugh, awful. Don’t know how you can stand it.”

  “Mom...I don’t understand. What’s happening here? How can you be alive? I thought the cartel had killed you…”

  “I’m a valuable woman, Eliza, just like you. Instead of putting a bullet through my skull, the cartel decided to put me to work. Just like what happened to you. I’ve been watching you from a distance, you know? And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Not that I’m surprised. You’re my daughter, after all.”