by Kelsie Rae
Raising my chin, I ask, “Why do you care?”
The silence is palpable as his penetrating eyes bounce around every inch of my face. I can feel him searching for something; I just don’t know what it is. Honestly, I don’t know if he knows what he’s searching for, either, but I don’t cower under his scrutiny. I stand to my full height until there’s less than an inch of space between the two of us, leaving only enough room for my fingers to continue their fidgeting.
After a moment, he murmurs, “You’re able to get through Sin’s doors without anyone suspecting a thing.”
Bullshit. He could find plenty of people who could walk into Sin without anyone batting an eye.
Licking my lips, I push, “So that’s it?”
“Yeah.” Again, his tone is laced with indifference as his minty breath brushes against my cheeks. And for some reason, the response grates on my nerves. I go to release the fabric from my fingers that I’d been playing with when he grabs my wrist to keep me from letting his shirt go.
“Let me go,” I grit out.
Ignoring my plea, he asks, “Do you trust me?”
With furrowed brows, I ask myself the same thing. Do I trust him? I barely know him. But that doesn’t stop the way I feel when I’m around him. When I think about him. Hell, as soon as I feel his presence in my tiny apartment, an overwhelming need to press his buttons, to peel back every layer that makes up the man in front of me, and to dissect every single word that comes out of his mouth consumes me.
“No,” I admit quietly. “But I think I want to.”
Silence.
That’s all I get in reply as he doesn’t move a muscle. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. Nothing. Until seconds later, the word, “Truth,” slips from his mouth before his lips connect with mine.
My entire body is frozen, my mind trying to catch up to what the hell is happening. And then it hits me. His mouth––Kingston’s mouth––is on mine. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel indifference toward physical touch. I feel heat. And passion. And lust.
I feel everything.
From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I feel it all. And I don’t want it to stop.
As soon as the realization hits, my body jolts into action as he guides me through the kiss. My eyes slide closed, and I part my lips on a sigh. I’m kissing Kingston Romano. A satisfied Kingston takes the lead by dipping his tongue into my mouth like I’m a decadent dessert before slipping back out and repeating the motion all over again.
I never would’ve guessed Kingston would taste this good. I never would’ve guessed anyone would taste this good. But he does. And I want more. Parting my mouth farther, I decide it’s my turn for a taste and mimic his movements. With a slide of my tongue, I come to the obvious conclusion that I like kissing Kingston, and I should definitely do it more often. How the hell we got from him yelling at me, to me defending myself, and back to him asking if I trust him or not before finally landing on a toe-curling kiss, I’ll never know. But I like it––a lot.
With a groan, he crowds me against the wall before I feel his hands slowly press into my lower back. The heat from his palms nearly brands me through my hoodie before he lifts the hem and brushes his calloused fingertips across the sliver of skin from my jeans to my top. The unfamiliar touch nearly brings me to my knees, creating goosebumps that pebble my skin.
With a triumphant smile, Kingston pulls away and peppers kisses along my jaw and neck. “You like that, Ace?” he murmurs against my skin. “You like when I touch you?”
“Yes,” I moan, not caring how desperate I sound. Twisting my fingers into his shirt, I tug him closer until my front is plastered to his, then wrap my arms around his lower back. I feel like I’ve run a marathon with the way my heart is racing, but I don’t care.
He chuckles then dives in for another heated kiss, our tongues dueling for dominance. Pulling away, he looks down at me with a cocky grin that’s been stripped of his usual armor. “Truth.”
“Shut up and kiss me.” I tug him closer before wrapping one of my legs around his and tilting my hips toward him. I’m desperate. I know I am. But I’ve never felt like this before. Not when I’m around anyone else. It’s not a want. The feeling pulsing through me is so much stronger than that. I need some relief, and I need him to give it to me.
Thankfully, Kingston complies without argument, shoving me back against the wall before grabbing my ass and picking me up. With an open mouth, I nearly scream with relief as soon as he grinds into me. His fingers bruise my thighs as he holds me in place, taking me to a height I’ve never known. The realization that my clothes are still on, yet he’s still zeroed in on the perfect spot is enough evidence to prove he knows what he’s doing.
How he’s that talented, I’ll never know, but I sure as hell won’t question it, either.
“I’m close,” I whisper, my tone laced with disbelief.
“Let go, Ace.” Diving in for another kiss, I pull his tongue into my mouth, sucking on it for dear life as I finally fall over the edge with a few more thrusts.
My mouth is opened wide, desperate for oxygen when Kingston stops grinding and slowly puts me back on solid ground. Resting his forehead against mine, he stares into my eyes. The intimacy in his gaze is enough to keep me on cloud nine for a few more seconds before reality brings me crashing down.
“You a virgin, Ace?” Kingston asks, watching every tiny movement to see my reaction.
With my face on fire, my mouth opens then closes like a fish out of water, but I don’t know how to respond.
“Answer the question.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray to all that is holy that I’ll disappear into the wall behind me, but it doesn’t work.
Rule #6: Don’t get personal feels like a freaking joke right now. This is as personal as it gets, and I know that Kingston won’t let me out of answering his question no matter how hard I try.
“Do you want me to be?” I return.
A low growl reverberates through his chest, and the sound hits me in all the right places. Mainly my lower gut. “Hell, yes.”
Truth.
Chapter Twenty
Ace
Kingston left a few minutes after my little moment––as I like to call it––when he received a call on his cell from someone named D. I didn’t hear the details, but it didn’t really matter. With a soft kiss against my forehead and a muttered, “Talk soon,” he was out the window, and all I was left with was the memory of my first big O. With another person, anyway.
I slept like the dead in my lonely twin-sized bed, only to wake up with a giant grin on my face before doing some quick grocery shopping, then searching the internet for a Macey Johnson.
When I see a fake Facebook profile pop up, along with a fake family, fake friends, and a few fake status updates, I catch myself nodding in approval. Not too shabby, Kingston. Not too shabby at all.
Closing my laptop in satisfaction, I peek through my window that Kingston escaped through. The sun is starting to set in the sky, and my stomach rumbles.
Dottie’s, here I come.
“You look chipper,” Gigi quips while sipping her coffee. Her piercing green eyes are narrowed as she assesses me before pushing a plate of fresh eggs toward me. “Here. Mama Gigi ordered your eggs. You’re welcome.”
With a grin, I reach for the plate and dig in. “Thanks,” I say through a mouthful of food. “And what kind of a word is chipper anyway?”
She waves me off. “I grew up in a weird family. We use words like chipper and darlin’ and sip Old Fashioneds on the weekend. So, sue me.”
With a grin, I ask, “Now, Gigi, it almost sounds like you’re describing a rich family who vacations in the Hamptons. What are you not telling me?”
“Trust me, you couldn’t be further off,” she corrects me before rolling her eyes. “But we do say, ‘chipper.’ So what’s with the smile and the pep in your step?”
“Pep in my step?”
“Yes. There is a defin
ite pep in your step.”
“And, how does one step with pep?” I razz.
“Oh, shut up and spill it.”
Rule #6 makes an appearance before I shove it away, pretending I’m a normal girl who’s allowed to have normal gossip with one of her normal best friends.
Smiling softly at the memory of Kingston from earlier, Gigi interrupts before I have a chance to utter a single word.
“You met someone, didn’t you?” With an accusatory tone, a curious Gigi plants her elbows on the table and leans forward in rapt attention as I consider her comment. Have I met someone? It feels so weird to have someone say those words to me. Meet someone? Me? Not possible. I don’t meet people. I don’t have flings. I don’t do what I did last night. Ever. But then memories of Kingston and me resurface, and my grin nearly splits my face in two.
“Maybe….”
“Don’t maybe me…you met someone!” she practically screeches, “Oo…give me the details. Who is he? How did you meet? And has he given you the big O yet?” Suggestively, she bounces her brows up and down while my face lights on fire.
“Gigi! Will you shut up?” My voice is high-pitched and squeaky enough to make my face even redder as it cracks on the last word.
With a laugh, a satisfied Gigi shakes her head. “Nope. No deal. Girl code, Ace. It’s a rule. And we all know how great you are with those. Now, spill.”
I scrunch my face before I finally give in.
“Yes,”—I look around the empty diner—“I did kind of meet someone.”
“Kind of?”
“Well,” I hedge, “it’s a weird situation. But I think I like him.”
“You think?” She grins, challenging me.
Throwing my hands into the air, I huff out, “Oh, will you shut up? I don’t know how I feel, okay? It’s complicated.”
“How is it complicated?” As if she doesn’t have a care in the world, she takes another sip of coffee while she waits for me to explain.
Shifting in my seat, I try to do just that.
“He’s…,” I pause, trying to find the best way to make her understand. “He’s not someone I would normally date. We aren’t exactly in the same social circle, and I don’t really think he’s what most people would consider boyfriend material.” I grimace as soon as the ‘B’ word rolls off my tongue. Plus, using the word date to describe what we’re doing feels wrong too. He’s using me for information then snuck into my apartment a few times before kissing me. If that’s not the definition of unconventional, I don’t know what is.
“Boyfriend, eh? Sounds like it could be serious if you’re considering a relationship.”
“I don’t know what I’m considering anymore. Boys, in general, have never been part of the plan. But—”
“Shiiiiit,” Gigi interrupts me, fidgeting with her cup, her shoulders slumping until she’s almost a lump in the corner of the booth.
“Wait, what is it?” I ask in confusion, looking around the diner.
“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll see you later, okay? How ‘bout we meet here after the tournament? What do you think?”
Rule #3: If something feels fishy, it probably is. And my warning bells are clanging like crazy right now.
Grabbing her wrist, I stop her from running. “What’s going on, G?”
She’s always kept her life hidden from me, and I’ve always respected her privacy, but right now feels different. Like I need to step in. Like I need to know why she looks so freaked out even though I know she won’t let me get close enough to find out.
“Nothing. Promise. Everything is fine, but I really gotta go. See you tomorrow! And good luck!”
With a twist of her wrist, a panicked Gigi disappears out the back of the diner in the blink of an eye as I mumble a single word under my breath.
“Lie.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ace
My hands are shaky as I dial Kingston’s number. Part of me wonders if the anticipation I feel whenever he’s involved will ever go away, and the other part of me hopes it doesn’t.
“Yeah?” his gruff voice greets.
I let the silence hang on my end for a second, wondering if his tone will soften like it did the last time we spoke on the phone when he found out I was on the other end.
“Hey.” My tone is far breathier than I’d been hoping for, but I can’t change it.
“Hey, Ace.” A soft smile graces my lips as I hear my name roll off his tongue.
Releasing a sigh, I get to the point of why I called. And no, it wasn’t in a desperate attempt to see if he’s still thinking about what happened last night the same way I am. Or maybe it is, but I refuse to admit the unsettling truth to myself.
“I have a weird question.”
His throaty laugh echoes through the speakers, making me smile even wider.
“Yes, I did jack off to you in the shower. No need to be shy.”
“Kingston!” I squeal, my cheeks heating to epic proportions. “That’s not what I was going to ask!”
“Hey, don’t feel bad for being curious. You were great, by the way. In my head, it was crazy hot.”
“Kingston!” My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I look around the diner. I want to kick myself for giving into temptation and calling him under the guise that I need a favor from him when, in reality, I just miss the guy. Sure, I’m anxious about Gigi, and when I’m anxious, I use counting to clear my head, but I shouldn’t try to fool myself that my reason for calling him is completely innocent. I wanted to hear his voice. His laugh.
Gah! Gigi was right. I like the guy. This is ridiculous.
With a laugh, an unapologetic Kingston continues, “Alright, alright. What can I do for you, Wild Card?”
Wild card?
“Um…” I can’t believe I’m actually asking this right now. “I was just wondering if I could possibly swing by the Charlette for a game of blackjack?” Grimacing, I rush on, “I know that sounds terrible, but I’m feeling anxious about some stuff right now, and the best way for me to calm down is to count cards. That probably sounds ridiculous, or like I’m using it as an excuse to see you after what happened, but it really does help—”
“Ace,” he interrupts.
I stop to catch my breath from all my rambling. “Yeah?”
“I’ll see you in a little bit.”
A big, dopey grin spreads across my face. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kingston
I’ve been going through the motions since my dad died a few months ago from liver failure that threw my entire world from its axis. I guess all that alcohol finally did him in. After he passed, I stopped caring about life in general, let alone the family. But as I left a satisfied Ace last night, her pheromones still lingering in the air, I found the potential for a new reason to get up in the morning. And it’s scary as hell.
With my knuckles taped, I pummel the punching bag as visions of Burlone filter through my mind. In the basement of my father’s estate––my estate––there’s an in-home gym where I can usually be found when I need to work off a little steam. And after my time at Ace’s, I need to work off a little more than that.
Diece and I are dripping in sweat as he holds the bag and yells at me for another cross, jab, hook combination. Finishing the move, my chest inflates for some much-needed oxygen while my knuckles flex and release to ease the tension in them.
“Not bad,” D notes. “You seem awfully chipper today.”
I quirk my brow but refuse to admit it’s because of my conversation with Ace on the phone an hour or so ago. “Chipper?”
“You get laid?” he continues, ignoring my ribbing.
D doesn’t give a shit that I’m the boss. That I could have him in the ground with a snap of my fingers if he ever offended me.
But as I roll my sore shoulders up and down, I shake my head.
“No?” he pushes. “Did Burlone fall into a vat of acid?”
A dry laugh escapes me. “Wrong again, D. Yo
u going soft on me? Losing your edge?”
With a narrowed gaze, an intense Diece considers me. “Oh, so you want me to play hardball?” He squares his shoulders and stands to his full height, stepping around the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. The guy is built like a fucking grizzly, but it doesn’t stop me from lifting my taped knuckles to goad him.
“You are in a good mood.” Mirroring my position, he brings his fists from his sides up near his chin. “We haven’t sparred in months. You’ve been too much of a pussy to take me on.”
I snort before sending a half-assed jab his way. The big bear doesn’t bother dodging as I connect with his forearm.
With a laugh, he continues, “No wonder she wouldn’t sleep with you. With a punch like that? My grandma could take you down.”
I join in his laughter as D throws a cross hook. Squatting low, his fists graze nothing but air before I cut upward with my clenched hands, connecting with his stomach. A gush of air escapes Diece, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing a punch at my unprotected face and hitting me on my left cheekbone.
“Going soft, my ass,” he grumbles under his breath.
Seeing stars, I blink rapidly to center myself while raising my hands up protectively to block another shot. He does a quick cross, jab combination, bruising the shit out of my forearms when I see an opening and uppercut him in the jaw.
“Who said she wouldn’t sleep with me?” I throw out as he rubs his chin.
“You already told me you didn’t get laid, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re interested in Ace. No offense, King, but you’re not exactly a hard one to read. Not for me, anyway. What happened after you had your little chat about her entering the tournament?”
A frustrated groan echoes throughout the room as I rub my hand against my swollen face. D’s mouth tilts up in amusement before coming back to the conversation at hand. “Cat got your tongue, King? Or maybe it’s your little wild card that has you tied in knots.”