Lost Without You (The Lost Series Book 2)

by Tracie Douglas

  “Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish this time,” I whisper seductively. He smirks down at me.

  “I won’t,” he replies, and his arm snakes my waist. I grip his steely biceps for support, because my legs feel weak as the knowledge of what is happening between us spreads through me. My naked breasts brush against the soft sprigs peppered across his chest; the heat of his skin heats my body a few degrees. “Tell me you want this.”

  I close my eyes, trying to clear my head, but it’s impossible with him this close. Fuck, it feels good to have his arms around me.

  “I want this,” I murmur, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his spicy sent. His hands run up and down the naked skin of my back, suddenly cupping my ass through my jeans. I groan as I feel his erection press against me, the thought of him sliding inside of me making my pulse speed up.

  “There’s no going back.” His eyes bear down on me. “I’m not letting you go ever again.”

  I nod. The seriousness in his voice only intensifies my need for him. He smiles, holding me against him as he picks me up and carries to me to the bed, laying us both down gently. A stray lock of his dark hair falls across his face as he shifts his body beside me.

  He works the button and zipper on my rain-soaked jeans, pulling them quickly down my legs. He grunts in appreciation to find the light pink lace thong I have on. He’s not one for lingerie, but Kingston appreciates sexy panties.

  “These for me?”

  I nod again. This time, a small moan escapes from my throat. His fingers caress up the length of my legs, stopping at the apex of my thighs. It’s true. I didn’t plan on seeing him today, but I did think about him this morning while I dressed. My brain might have been clouded and confused about us, but it’s clear where it wanted me to end up. Pleasing him with sexy panties.

  He shifts again, this time sliding a hand in between my legs, pushing them open as he moves higher. His dark eyes look down at me as he pushes aside my panties, revealing how drenched I am for him.

  My hands reach out to touch him, but he stops what he’s doing and grabs them. He pulls them over my head and pins them in place.

  “Don’t move or I will stop.” His voice, calm but firm, leaves me on edge.

  “Why can’t I touch you?” I groan, rolling my hips toward him. I want him to touch me again.

  “Because, Queenie, I said so.” He looks down at me, and I see the fire burning in his eyes, daring me to disobey him. “I’m going to play and you’re going to let me. If you move, I’ll find another way to restrain you. Do you understand?”

  Shock rolls through my body, but I nod, wondering where this version of him is coming from, realizing there is a caveman in him after all. I keep my hands above my head as his hand once again returns to my panties, moving them aside.

  “Such a pretty sight.” His finger runs lightly along the lips of my pussy, only prolonging the torture on my inevitable release. “Made special for me.”

  I struggle to keep still, but it takes every ounce of self-control to not move. All I can think about is how close his fingers are to the spot I need them most. I’m on the brink of begging for them when he finally parts my lips and delves them into my wet folds, two fingers slipping inside me instantly.

  “Please,” I beg, feeling my body tense and the pressure build. It isn’t going to take much to send me over, not after the way he built me up earlier. His thumb presses down on my clit, sending a shockwave through my body. He rubs it in a circular motion, and my hips come off the bed in response. I quickly place them back down and open my eyes to meet his gaze. “Don’t stop.”

  He doesn’t stop; instead, he presses down harder and rolls the bundle again. His fingers slide in and out of me faster. My eyes roll back, the pleasure almost too much, but I keep still, letting him work my pussy until I feel my orgasm give way and my wetness drip down his fingers.

  Screaming out his name as each wave hits me, I’m writhing under his touch. I can’t help moving now. Kingston ducks his head, replacing his fingers with his tongue, and he laps up every drop. The vibration of his deep moan makes my toes curl.

  “Kingston, please,” I beg, feeling much more sensitive now, even with the warm flick of his tongue teasing me. As much as I love coming from his mouth, this is not what I want. I want him inside of me. I need him inside me. I need to feel him stretch me and claim me. “I need you.”

  He moves up the length of my body and hooks his thumbs into my panties before dragging them down the length of my legs and tossing them aside. I spread my legs, reach for him, and wrap them around him as he settles in between them. Our lips crash together as my hands make their way between our bodies. I find the button of his jeans and undo it, then my fingers work the zipper down, releasing him from the tight confines.

  Slipping my hand past the band of his briefs, I grip his velvety softness, stroking him gently. He groans into my mouth, thrusting his hardness firmly into my hand. I tighten around him, stroking him again, before placing him at the entrance of where I need him most.

  The sound of his phone ringing interrupts us from our sexual daze.

  Kingston

  The shrill of my phone interrupts us at the worst possible moment, making me curse silently. I break away from Missy’s warm, naked body, and she moans in protest. I briefly think about ignoring the call, but something tells me to answer it. I reach into the pocket of my unbuttoned jeans and take it out.

  Annabelle’s name blinks up at me, and since I told her to send my calls to the answering service we use, I know it’s important. I connect the call.

  “Annabelle, this better be a fucking emergency,” I clip into the phone, cringing because I know how much of an asshole I sound like. Missy sits up on the bed. Her eyes run up and down the length of my body.

  “I have an Officer Brody Lawson on the line. He’s refusing to leave a message,” she drawls. My attitude doesn’t faze her in the least. The name isn’t familiar, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “He said it’s about Tatum.”

  “Put him through.” I swallow hard and look over at Missy. My heart thumps hard in my chest and my stomach sinks as Layla and Oliver’s faces come into focus. I don’t know if it’s because she sees something on my face or my quick change in demeanor, but Missy gets out of bed and begins gathering our clothing.

  The line clicks twice as Annabelle connects the call, and a voice comes across the line a second later. “Mr. Cole, my name is Officer Brody Lawson with the Portland Police Department. I’m calling on behalf of your wife, Tatum Cole...”

  “Lawson, where are my kids?” I ask, but he ignores me and keeps talking about Tatum. Missy freezes and turns to stare at me. I see the same worry I feel in her eyes. She crosses the room, stopping in front of me, and reaches out to caress my arm. I lift my arm and pull her in, tucking her against me, needing to feel her comfort as I wait for news.

  “Mr. Cole, we have arrested your wife—”

  “Don’t care about Tatum; she’s nothing to me. Tell me about my kids.”

  “Your wife said to call you—”

  “She isn’t my wife, divorced her years ago. How are my kids?” I cut him off again, my irritation rising. I just want to know about my kids and all he wants to talk about is Tate. Missy pulls back and hands me a clean shirt. I manage to shove both my arms into it without dropping the phone.

  “Your wife—”

  “I already said I don’t care about Tatum. You can tell me about my kids or put someone on the line who can,” I growl into the phone, done with the runaround. He mumbles something incoherently and places me on hold. Since calling, Officer Dipshit has finally done something right, because another officer comes on the line.

  “Mr. Cole, my name is Detective Lance Samuels. Your children are safe,” he tells me, and I relax a bit. His words are welcome and overdue.

  “Thank you.” The harshness I feel lessens as my irritation subsides.

  “Mr. Cole—”
r />   “Kingston.”

  “Wait, Kingston Cole, as in Cole Securities?”

  “The very same.”

  “Right, well, we have both your children set up in our break room until you can get here. Their mother—”

  “We can talk about her when I get there, detective,” I clip. “But we aren’t married anymore and I won’t be helping her. I’m on my way to get my children. Please let them know I’ll be there soon.”

  I don’t wait for a response from him before hanging up. It was clear the man knows who I am, so I don’t worry too much about being a prick. It’s not like my reputation will suffer from it.

  I look around the room for Missy and find her sitting on the bed, shoving her feet into a pair of furry boots. She stands and moves toward me.

  “Queenie, I got to get my kids. Tate’s in trouble. My kids need me.”

  “I’m going with you.” She nods and turns to leave the room. I follow behind slightly dazed over what’s happening. She’s already at the bottom of the stairs when I catch up to her. She hands me my boots, her green eyes still bright from the orgasm I gave her only moments ago. Even her naturally pale skin still glows, but everything else about her has morphed into the strong-willed woman I’ve come to love deeply. She wants to get to my kids almost as badly as I want to, and it makes me realize how lucky I am to have to her.

  She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sins of the Mother

  Missy

  We walk into the police station hand in hand, our eyes looking all around for Layla and Oliver. Even though I made the trip to Portland with him a few times over the years, tonight’s drive was different. It was intense; barely a word was said. All I could do was hold his hand during the drive and give him whatever strength and support I could through the connection.

  Tatum followed Kingston to Oregon, despite her life being back in North Carolina. She wanted to be close so she could inflict torture on her ex-husband. Luckily, living in a town as small as ours was not something she could do, so she chose Portland instead. Kingston didn’t mind, because his children are close and he is always willing to make the trip to spend some time with them or bring them home for a weekend.

  Layla’s face peers at us through the window of a closed door. She stands from her spot next to her brother and opens the door.

  “Daddy,” Layla calls, running toward us. Her face is a little puffy and red from crying. The relief to see her father is heartbreaking as she gets closer. He kneels when she reaches him, and she throws her arms around him. Oliver’s slower to react to Kingston’s presence. His face is also puffy from crying, but there is something buried in the depths of his eyes that worries me. He stops a few feet away, watching the way his sister clings to their father.

  Oliver looks over at me, his eyes assessing me just the same, but there is more trust in his little face now. He reaches me and buries his face in my stomach, wrapping his little arms around me. The six-year-old boy’s head barely reaches my belly button, but his grip is hard and tight, showing great strength. Layla’s seven-year-old tooth-gapped smile is tentative, but her eyes are filled with relief.

  “Hey, baby girl,” Kingston kisses his daughter’s head, concern for both his children written in the way he holds his body. He looks up at me, allowing the moment to let me see his fears. Oliver’s reaction to him didn’t go unnoticed, and it worries both of us, especially considering Oliver has always idolized his father. I lovingly rub Oliver’s back, and he tightens his grip on me.

  “Hey, Ollie,” I say softly to him, shifting so I can get down on my knees to be at his level. He doesn’t respond, instead burying his face in my neck as soon as I’m level with him. He doesn’t let me go, either, clinging even tighter as I stand, so I lift him in my arms.” It’s going to be okay, buddy, you’re safe.”

  “Are you Kingston Cole?” A man approaches us from the room where the kids came from. He’s dressed business casual, but there is an official air about him. Even though his blue button-up shirt is rolled to the elbow and his matching tie hangs loosely about his neck, or the fact that his shaggy blond hair is in complete disarray as if he’s been up for hours, there is no doubt this man is law enforcement. His dark blue eyes flick between Kingston and me before settling on him. The officer’s face is gravely set like he’s about to give us grave news.

  “Yes.” Kingston’s voice sounds a bit strangled from the death grip his daughter has on him, but he does nothing to loosen her hold. Instead, he picks her up as he stands to meet the man face-to-face.

  “My name is Detective Lance Samuels.” He offers his hand to Kingston, who takes it.” Thank you for coming. I hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

  “Thank you for calling,” he replies dryly. “When can I take my children home?”

  “Right after I have a word with you about their mother.” Lance’s gaze flicks between us again, like he doesn’t know what to make of me. “In private.”

  Kingston nods and mumbles something to his daughter before she reluctantly unwinds her arms from their death grip. She slides down, and as soon as she’s on her feet, she sidles up next to me, gripping my free hand. Kingston follows the detective down the hall and into another room. His large frame disappears from sight as Lance closes the door behind them.

  Layla stares at the door, but both children’s bodies shake with tension and worry. I wonder what is running through their minds but don’t ask because I don’t know what traumas they suffered today. I move toward a bench set along the wall and sit, adjusting Oliver in my lap and pulling Layla close to me.

  “Don’t you worry. Your dad will be back,” I whisper, and their little bodies relax a little from the reassurance. They know me well enough to know I won’t lie to them. Their trust means more to me now than ever before.

  I lean back and look down at them. Layla’s beautiful hazel eyes look haunted, while Ollie’s brown ones look empty. I offer them a tentative smile, but my stomach churns. What the hell happened today? I can’t help wondering, but I have no doubt Kingston will get to the bottom of it for the sake of his children. I just wish my mind would stop spinning with so many different ideas. Worst case scenarios begin to fill my brain, making me want to vomit.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask while reaching into my purse for the extra granolas bars I always keep on hand. Layla nods, taking one of the bars with fervor. Ollie stares down at it like he isn’t sure of what it means. He looks up at me, cautiously reading me before gently shaking his head. My heartaches at his actions. “Do you two want to wait for your dad here, or would you like to go to the truck?”

  “We’ll wait for him,” Layla whispers softly. She shares a look with her brother before looking back at the door her father is behind. My heart clenches tightly, and I pull them even closer, needing to grant us all a little comfort.

  “Are we going to live with Daddy now?” Layla asks quietly. Her question throws me a little, because I’m not sure how to answer it without knowing what happened. What I am sure of is that Kingston won’t let his children feel unloved or unwanted, especially if things are as bad as I’m starting to believe them to be.

  “I’m not sure. I do know if that’s something you want to happen your daddy would love to have you with him all the time.”

  “Mom isn’t coming back for a long time,” she states matter-of-factly. Ollie tenses at the mention of his mother. I rub his back. Layla goes on as if she read my thoughts earlier. “Even if she does get out of this, I’m pretty sure Dad won’t let us go home with her ever again.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, sweetie, and let your daddy worry about all of that.” I bite my lip nervously.

  Kingston’s children take after him as far as seeing the way the world works. They’ve always been honest and straightforward, just like him. Good qualities to have in the world. If Layla says her father will be this protective over them, then whatever happened was serious shit. But in the sam
e thought, her observations worry me, because she sounds like she has no hope for their mother, and it takes a lot to make a child do and say something like this.

  Again, worst case scenarios fill my head, and I turn my attention to the door both children are watching avidly. Holding onto his children is all I do right now as my own protective shield settles into place around them and I try to calm my anxious nerves.

  Whatever the outcome, these children won’t only have their father in their corner anymore. Not as long as I breathe. They’ll have me, too, and I’ll be damned if someone thinks they can come around them and cause them any kind of pain or suffering. Even their own mother.

  *****

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been waiting when Kingston finally emerges from the room, but I’m stiff and ready for a more comfortable spot. His eyes catch mine, and I see the variety of emotions fill them. Detective Samuels stands in the doorway of the room they’ve exited, his face drawn and stricken. It worries me.

  Layla stirs. She fell asleep not too long ago. Her sleep-ridden eyes quickly find her father approaching us from across the room. Ollie doesn’t move from his spot on my lap. He too fell asleep. It moves me, the trust these two children have in me, finding rest within my arms after whatever they’ve been through.

  Kingston stops in front of us and reaches for his son, taking him from my arms. The little boy hardly reacts, only snuggling deeper into his father’s neck.

  “Are we going to live with you now, Daddy?” Layla asks from beside me. Kingston rakes his hand through his hair and swallows hard. His eyes settle on me afterwards, and I can see that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

  “Yes, you’re going to live with me,” he says softly. “Let’s get you two home and tucked into bed.”

  Once the kids are tucked into the truck, Kingston pulls me aside, closing the passenger door for privacy.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up to cup his cheek. I can’t imagine the emotions raging through him, but I get the sense that something is severely off.