Promised to a King
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Promised To A King
Fixer Series Book #7
Lisa Lang Blakeney
Writergirl Press
LISA LANG BLAKENEY
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Copyright © 2018 Lisa Lang Blakeney.
All rights reserved.
Published by: Writergirl Press
Edited by: Lisa Angelettie
Cover by: Writergirl Press
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License Note
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.
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The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
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This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.
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NOTE: All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.
Contents
Books By Lisa
Introduction
Author’s Note
SLOAN
CUTTER
SLOAN
CUTTER
SLOAN
SLOAN
CAMDEN
JADE
JADE
CAMDEN
ARIANA
STONE
NEWS
SLOAN
SLOAN
SLOAN
CAMDEN
CAMDEN
JADE
STONE
SLOAN
CAMDEN
CUTTER
SLOAN
Note From Lisa
Where You Can Find Me
Bonus Stuff!
Gunslinger
Masterson #1
Masterson Unleashed #2
Masterson In Love #3
Claimed By A King #4
Indebted To A King #5
Broken By A King #6
Promised To A King #7
Book List
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Every Reader Who Fell In Love With A King Brother…This is for you.
Books By Lisa
AVAILABLE ON MAJOR RETAILERS
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THE FIXER SERIES
Masterson (Book 1)
Masterson Unleashed (Book 2)
Masterson In Love (Book 3)
Claimed By A King (Book 4)
Indebted To A King (Book 5)
Broken By A King (Book 6)
Promised To A King (Book 7)
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THE NIGHTHAWK SERIES
Gunslinger (Book 1)
Wolf (Book 2)
Introduction
King Brother Drama.
King Brother Hotness.
A King Happily Ever After.
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You are cordially invited to A King Family Wedding. The question is which one of the Kings will make it to the altar?
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Follow these three badass brothers as they unapologetically claim their forever after in this short and sweet, sexy novella.
AUTHOR NOTE
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While all of The King Brother books are interconnected standalone romances within The Fixer Series, this novella is unique in that it asks the question "what happened next" between each couple and who's going to make it to the altar (although you probably already have a good idea if you’ve read all three novels:). That's why it is best to read after this after you've enjoyed the other books in the series.
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Camden and Jade's story in this book falls before the bonus epilogue in their story, Claimed By A King (Fixer Series #4) which fast forwarded the couple three years.
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Cutter and Sloan's story in this book falls after the epilogue in their story, Indebted To A King (Fixer Series #5).
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Stone and Ariana's story in this book falls directly after the end of their story, Broken By A King (Fixer Series #6).
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xoxo,
Lisa
SLOAN
A thin layer of sweat coats my body and the room reeks of sex. I push my hands firmly against a wall of dense muscle which is practically smothering me, in an effort to cool off, but to no avail. My man is heavy as hell and totally unmovable.
Cutter and I have been making love for approximately forty-five minutes, and I know this for sure because I was supposed to be in the shower exactly forty-five minutes ago. I'm meeting one of my clients in an hour for a discussion about a redecorating project of his office located in the Olde City section of the city. It's obvious that now I'm going to be late. My tardiness is beyond unprofessional, but as usual, my "king" wouldn't be denied.
At some point in the early morning I became hot and unconsciously slipped off my night tee, which left me wearing nothing but a sheer lavender thong. But my nakedness is like a beacon for Cutter. He can sense it in his sleep. With my eyes still closed, and his half open, I felt the thin strings of my thong being ripped to shreds and his head between my legs.
Ok, so maybe I'm blaming him for things that aren't one hundred percent his fault. Maybe I didn't take off my nightshirt accidentally, and perhaps it's very possible that I knew exactly what would happen when I did. So in actuality, I guess I'm the one guilty of initiating this particular little love making session this morning.
I attribute it to the fact that we have become recently engaged, and that I still must be on some sort of new fiancee high. It's nuts if you think about it. I didn't think I was the girlfriend type, much less the marrying type a few months ago. Yet here I am, promised to the last man on earth I'd expect to be.
My other theory on why I've jumped Cutter's bones this morning, the theory which actually makes the most sense, is the simple fact that he's a certifiable sex god. I've never admitted it out loud, because it's not like his enormous ego needs the accolades, but it doesn't matter.
He already knows.
I've never been this strongly attracted to a man like I am to Cutter. I look at his huge, hard, chiseled body and blush almost every single time that I do (especially after he's jumped out of the shower).
When he tells a joke, I laugh hard. Like big belly laughs. I mean the guy is funny without even having to try hard. I can already tell when his top lip starts to hitch up in a certain way that he's about to say something funny. Sometimes I laugh before he's even started talking. That's why he tells me that he's marrying his number one fan, because I laugh at all of his jokes.
And just forget about it when this man gets excited. When Cutter gets fired up about something, I get excited. His enthusiasm is infectious. He loves people. He craves experiences. He enjoys life, and he makes me love it too.
Then when he tells me that I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, I believe it. Thanks to my father, I have been in the local celebrity spotlight for most of my life. It isn't unusual for a local paper or blog to snap a shot of me at an event. And when they do, they often comment on what I'm wearing, how I look, and they do it in the most surface and shallow sort of way.
Yet when Cutter tells me I'm beautiful, that I'm his princess, it doesn't feel like just words or a
shallow compliment. It feels true and genuine. Right down to the bottom of my soul, I believe every flattering remark that he's ever paid me.
And when he touches me.
Holy crap.
When he touches me I literally swoon. Sometimes his touch is delicate and reverent. Like he is worshiping every part of me. Then sometimes his touch is firm and frenzied. As if he needs to touch me to breathe, as if he needs to push and enter inside of me for survival.
Now if I was someone observing from the outside, I would talk all kinds of crap about what a tragedy I was. I would tell that woman to hand in her independent woman card, to hang her head in shame, and to get a freakin' life.
Yeah, I'm a total a walking hypocrite.
Some days I have a really hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I have a ring on my finger. Gifted to me by a man I couldn't even stomach a few months ago.
"Can you please get your big ass body off of me?” I jokingly say through a well satiated grin. "I'm blazing hot."
I let out a quick yelp as Cutter unexpectedly and effortlessly flips our positions in the bed. Now I'm laying on top of him. I try wriggling out of his grasp, but his strong hands hold me firmly in place.
"Yes, princess, you definitely are hot and speaking of assess–" He taps my butt with his hand then grabs one of my cheeks and jiggles it. "You ready for another round of this good lovin'?" he asks playfully.
"No, sir." I shake my head no. "I'm already late for my meeting."
"I love it when you call me sir," he jokes. His voice dripping with playful lust. "It sounds so right."
"I can't frolic with you anymore today," I chuckle.
"You sure? I'll do that thing with my tongue that you like."
"Uh-uh."
"I'll use an ice cube," he whispers seductively in my ear. "And the cuffs."
I drop my head in the crook of his neck and seriously consider his proposition for a moment. It's very tempting. That ice cube and cuff trick that Cutter does could weaken even the strongest woman's resolve. It's one of my favorites. Maybe I could stop working altogether and simply become his love slave.
"That's my girl," he croons as he begins to slide one of his thick fingers between my swollen folds. "You stay wet for me all the time, Princess. I love that about you among a million other things."
“What would those million other things be again?"
"What are you implying?" He grins. "You think I'm only interested in you for your body? This exquisite piece of art that bends and folds at my will and belongs only to me."
This is exactly why I'm late for my meeting. My legs, my pelvis, and my hips all seem to have a mind of their own right now. Cutter is playing my body like a fiddle, and it's responding instinctively. That is until I see the obnoxious green neon-colored numbers on his retro styled alarm clark out of the corner of my eye.
9:45am
I suddenly lift my head from his neck and clamp my legs together.
"I've got to go to work, lover. Seriously. Playtime is over."
He releases me and exaggerates a groan like he's in some sort of real physical pain.
"Ever since you quit your full time gig, I feel like you've been working more than you ever did. I'm seriously not understanding the point of it all."
I pick up my cell phone from the side table and send my client a brief but apologetic text.
Cutter is in rare form today. This is going to take at least another fifteen minutes.
CUTTER
"What is this the 1950's?"
I worship the ground that this long-legged, beautiful woman walks on, but right now I'd like to stuff a gag in her mouth, tie her to my bed, and fuck her well into the night. That would be my idea of a happy ending to this conversation. Alas, that would be entirely too easy.
Sloan has never been easy.
"No, princess. Neither of us were even born in the fifties," I deadpan.
"Exactly!" she says emphatically. "I know you're rich as sin, but I'm not like any of those little brats I grew up with in private school or the hoards of spoiled models and actresses you've slept with. I like to work. I want to work."
"And I want you to work, babe."
"But only if it isn't an inconvenience for you."
"I never said that."
Where the hell is my ball gag?
"You basically did."
"You're starting a fight for no reason other than to prove that you're right."
"I am right."
"No, babe, you're not."
"Do I say anything when you stroll in here at four or five am after you've been bouncing between the Tapas Lounge and the club all night? Smelling like smoke and minions."
Is she serious right now?
"No, but maybe that's because you can't say anything. You're right in there with me too, shaking your ass in the club every night."
"I'm in there some nights, because when I'm there I'm supporting your business," she says. Pointing her well manicured finger at me for emphasis. "Like a good girlfriend should."
"Let's face it. My fiancee is there for two reasons only." I make it a point to correct her. She is my fiancee, not my girlfriend, yet she continues to use the term a lot and it irritates the fuck out of me. "To keep an eye on me and the minions, and for the free drinks my bartenders keep comping you."
I actually love that Sloan is jealous. When we first met, she tried really hard to remain unaffected by everyone and everything. I suppose it was some sort of coping mechanism or a control thing. Like she had seen it and done it all. Seen one man, you've seen them all type of attitude. But that's not who my fireball is at all.
Sloan is territorial.
Sloan is jealous.
Sloan is possessive.
Sloan is my life.
"I'm sleeping with the owner." She mischievously grins. "Of course my drinks should be free."
"It doesn't seem like you're too interested in sleeping with the owner right now." I pout.
"Cutter freakin' King. I can't believe you. I'm an entrepreneur. Something which you encouraged me to pursue by the way. I cannot simply bail on a meeting whenever I feel like it. My interior design business is new, and it's basically a twenty-four hour hustle to get it off the ground. You should understand that. You're the greatest entrepreneur known to mankind right? God knows you never stop claiming that you are."
"Obviously I know what it takes to build a successful business," I say with restrained annoyance. “But your design work is second nature to you. It's your passion. Why do you have to spend hours holding meetings to convince these rich bastards to hire you? Your portfolio speaks for itself. I've told you a million times I can throw you a couple of clients that will keep you busy all year. No groveling necessary."
"I'm not groveling, and I rather book my own clients thank you very much."
Why does she have to make everything so difficult?
"What the hell for?" I gripe. "This business of yours is feeling too much like a job when it's supposed to be fun."
"I'm having loads of fun!"
"Well you seem to be the only fucking one."
"You're so spoiled. I swear. Why do I bother with you?”
Sloan tries to end the conversation by attempting to maneuver herself out of my grip, but she should know better. She can get up when I'm ready for her to get up.
"Obviously, I'm spoiled, darlin'. I'm a king."
"You're delusional."
"And hot."
"Puh-lease...and ridiculous."
"And the love of your life."
"Maybe,” she teases.
"Maybe?" I grab her left hand. "This ice on your finger definitely confirms that I am.”
"This?" she says indifferently.
Sloan stops trying to free herself from my grasp and holds her hand up to playfully glower at her engagement ring as if it's not much. It rubs me completely the wrong way, but I put faith in the fact that I know my girl.
"Yes– that." I playfully tickle her sides to lighten
the mood.
"I hope that you realize that the size of this diamond is not some sort of accurate measure of our feelings or our commitment for each other. It's just a ring."
I raise a curious eyebrow at that last statement.
Just a ring?
What the fuck is she talking about.
Sloan's poor choice of words seem to hang like a heavy funk in the air around us. We both are silent for what seems like an eternity, until I decide to diffuse the situation like I always do– with humor and sex.
"The size of this diamond might not be an indicator, but the volume of your orgasms are. You must love me lots, because they grow louder every time I'm inside of your pretty ass. Why don't we find out just how loud they can get right now?"
Then I pull out the big guns and tickle her under her arms.