The Last King

by Katee Robert

  “Beckett.” Despair colored her tone and she gave a desperate laugh. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know.” Using a hand on the small of her back, he pressed her firmly against him. “I don’t want to stop.”

  Samara hesitated, but finally placed her hands gingerly against his chest. He waited, letting her decide. Yes or no. Push or pull. Stay or go. She hitched a breath. “I don’t want to stop, either.”

  “Thank fuck.” He kissed her and dug his free hand into her hair, tilting her head back and teasing her mouth open with his lips and tongue. I need you. Let me touch you. He nipped her bottom lip and devoured her gasp. Reality narrowed down to the feel of her tongue against his and the way she writhed against him, her hips rolling as if she’d take his cock right there in the middle of the executive offices.

  That slowed him. He lifted his head and looked around. There was no one there to witness, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put her at risk. Beckett might have every intention of poaching Samara, but he didn’t want her or her reputation harmed in the process.

  He looked down at her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and there was a hazy expression in her eyes. Because of him. He didn’t have a right to the possessive feeling that soared through him in response, but Beckett didn’t give a fuck.

  He scooped her into his arms, ignoring her yelp of surprise, and stalked down the hall to his office. It had more privacy just by the nature of its corner position, but he still set her on the desk and moved to close the wood-slat blinds covering the glass wall overlooking the rest of the offices. Beckett shut and locked the door and turned to find her watching him. “We’re doing this.”

  “Yes.” A wicked smile lit up her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “I want all your secrets.” His gaze fell to the gold ring on her right hand, the one he’d never seen her without. A secret.

  Samara laughed. “I might be a little punch-drunk off lust, but not that much.” She smoothed her hands over his stainless-steel desk and leaned back. The move pressed her breasts dangerously against the bodice of her dress, as if they might spill free at any moment. Her gaze dropped the front of his jeans and she licked her lips. “I’ve thought about fucking you on this desk.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head and advanced on her. “Tell me.”

  “We’d fight—we always fight—and you’d kiss me.” Her lips quirked. “Kind of like you just did.”

  “Mmm.” He stepped between her knees, and slid his hands up her legs. Beckett coaxed the dress up under her hips and then all the way off. It left Samara completely naked and he froze. “In this fantasy, did you show up to my office without a damn thing on under your dress?”

  “I may have.” She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and towed him closer even as she undid the button and dragged down the zipper. “Though I will admit—in my fantasy, it was in the middle of the day and there were a dozen people around who could hear if we weren’t quiet enough.” She glanced at the closed door and windows. “This is better.”

  “Samara.” He framed her face with his hands. “If nothing else, I’ll never do something to intentionally harm you.”

  She shivered. “The proposal—”

  “Is business.” He let his thumb drop to press lightly against her throat and dragged his other hand down the center of her body to cup her pussy. “This? This isn’t business. This is pure fucking pleasure.” He pushed two fingers into her, watching her eyes slide half shut and her lips part.

  “Mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea.”

  “We left business behind out there.” He jerked his chin to the rest of the world outside his office. “In here, it’s just me and you.”

  “And pleasure.”

  “And pleasure,” he agreed. Beckett spread her wetness up and over her clit and then resumed fucking her with his fingers. “Look at that.” He drew almost all the way out. “Look at the way you coat my fingers. So fucking wet for me.” He bent and sucked one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and flicking with his tongue even as her fingers tangled in his hair and she cried out.

  “Yes, Beckett! Like that.” Samara’s hips lifted to take his fingers deeper, but he had no intention of pushing her over the edge yet.

  He kissed the underside of her breast and then the valley between them. “What happens next in this fantasy of yours?”

  “I suck you off.”

  He lifted his head. “Describe it. In explicit detail.” He kept stroking her between her legs, urging the words from her lips.

  Samara blinked and seemed to try to focus. “You’re in your office chair. I’m on my knees. But we both know who holds the power.”

  Her.

  His cock jumped and he bit back a curse. “That’s what you want.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she bobbed her head in confirmation. Beckett circled her clit and claimed her mouth. He used the tiny circles that drove her crazy, urged on by every moan and shudder she made. As tempting as it was to bring her like that, he wanted her just as wild and desperate for him as he was for her. He took her right to the edge and then removed his hand, still kissing her.

  Samara sobbed against his mouth. “You bastard.”

  “You like these games we play.”

  She reached between them and tunneled her hand into his jeans to stroke his cock. “I love them and I hate them.”

  “That makes two of us.” He stepped back, forcing her to release him, and strode around the desk to the office chair. Samara turned to follow him with her gaze, and he slowly finished unzipping his jeans and drew his cock out. “This is what you want.”

  She licked her lips and he fought back a groan. Samara walked to him slowly, letting him look his fill. She was…Beckett didn’t have words to describe her. Her brown skin practically glowed with her desire, her full breasts swaying with every step, the curve of her waist inviting his hands, her legs…Fuck, her legs. Perfection did not begin to cover Samara Mallick.

  She went to her knees before him and ran her hands up his thighs. “Yes, Beckett. That’s what I want.” She gripped his cock and guided him between her lips, her gaze never leaving his.

  He watched his length disappear into her mouth, felt her wet heat close around him, and nearly lost his fucking mind. It took everything he had to keep perfectly still and let her control the interaction. As it was, he white-knuckled the arms of his chair. “Suck me hard, Samara.”

  She released him and flicked the underside of his cock with her tongue. “You aren’t driving this bus. Not right now. I am.” She licked his cock like her favorite flavor of ice cream was melting right off the cone. “And I’m going to have my way with you…all in good time.”

  She worked him, alternating between sucking him deep and those playful little licks that damn near made his eyes roll back in his head. Over and over again. Payback for leaving her on the edge earlier. He held out as long as he could, but she took him deep enough that he bumped the back of her throat and Beckett tore the fucking arms off the chair.

  Samara didn’t get a chance to react to Beckett destroying the chair before he clamped his hand on the back of her neck and hauled her up his body to straddle him. She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. “You could have just told me to stop. You didn’t have to break things.”

  “Stop talking.” He kissed her and grabbed her ass as he pushed out of the chair and set her back on the desk. The cool metal shocked her, but it only spiked her desire hotter.

  Samara reached between them to stroke his cock. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I need you inside me.” I’ve needed you inside me for the last six months.

  He yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a condom. Samara raised her eyebrows. “You keep condoms in your work desk.”

  Beckett set his teeth against her neck and then nipped her earlobe. “Want to know a secret?”

  Her skin flashed hot. “Yes.”

  He tore the condom open and rolled it on, all wit
hout taking his mouth from her skin. “We share the same fantasy.” He circled her clit with his thumb and teased her with two fingers, pushing them in just enough for her to moan before withdrawing again. “I’ve imagined you coming in here to yell at me about something. I’d shut the door and then we’d be on each other.” He dragged his cock over her clit and pressed against her opening. “I’d shove up your dress and set you on my desk just like you’re sitting now. From behind you look downright proper, but here…” He squeezed her thighs hard enough that she hoped she’d have bruises tomorrow. A physical mark to hold the memory of this time together close even when they went back to their default sniping.

  “Here.” He went to his knees and breathed over her clit. “I’d fuck you with my tongue and no one would be the wiser.” Beckett looked up her body and sucked her clit into his mouth. He released her and dragged his mouth across the most sensitive part of her. “No one but the building across from us.”

  Samara jumped, her gaze flying to the windows behind Beckett’s desk. The tinted glass reflected the sun’s glare away from the windows, and rationally she knew no one could see inside, but staring at her own reflection in the glass, her nakedness on display, Beckett’s face buried between her thighs…

  A tremor went through her. “I could come just thinking about that.”

  “Not yet.” He slid his hands beneath her ass and lifted her to meet his mouth. “I don’t want it over too soon.” He kissed her there, fucking her slowly with his tongue until she had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep her moans internal. Beckett breathed against her clit. “Think about someone watching, Samara. Think about him palming his cock in envy as he tries to get a better view of your pretty pussy. Think about him hating me for knowing your taste when he’ll never get to.”

  She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled. For a long moment, she thought he might resist her urging, but Beckett finally rose. She dragged her nails down his back, pulling him closer. “Who says it’s a man watching?”

  His dark eyes glinted with interest, and that was the only warning she got before he lifted her and reversed their positions, leaving her to straddle him on his desk. This time, she wasn’t letting him get away with teasing her. Samara guided his cock into her, taking him into her completely. Only then did she start talking again. “Maybe it’s a woman with her hand down her skirt.” She rolled her hips, biting her bottom lip at how freaking perfect it felt to have him stretching her, filling her. “Maybe she’d pretend she’s the one riding your cock where anyone could see, taking you as deep as she’s able, your hands on her body.”

  “Fuck her.” Beckett shifted farther back onto his desk, giving her leverage to ride him more thoroughly. “Fuck them both. The only ones who matter are you and me.” He cupped her breasts roughly. “Ride me, Samara. Take what you need. What we both need.”

  She gripped his shoulders and did what he commanded. Each stroke dragged her breasts against his chest. Every nerve ending zinged, trying to feel everything at once, every sensation linked back to Beckett’s mouth on her neck, his hands on her body, his cock lodged deeply inside her. She ground down on him, seeking her pleasure as much as she wanted to give him his. It was all too much, too quickly. She came with a cry that she tried to muffle against his shoulder. Beckett kept his hands on her hips, keeping her moving as he followed her over the edge. He growled her name as he came and Samara had never heard anything sweeter in her entire life.

  This was such a bad idea.

  She didn’t have the strength to move, let alone address the way they kept complicating the situation despite their best efforts. Or maybe because of their best efforts. She didn’t know anymore. Nothing was clear in the peace after the glorious sex they’d had…except that she wanted to do it again. Samara shifted, but Beckett wrapped his arms around her.

  “Just a minute.” He kissed her shoulder. “The rest of the world waited this long. It can wait a couple minutes more. And if you’re going to bolt out of here as soon as you have clothes on, I might have to throw the damn dress out the window.”

  She smiled because that had been exactly what she was thinking of doing. “Do you really think that would stop me?”

  He leaned back enough to catch her gaze. “Not a chance. You’d steal my shirt and find a way to get out of here without anyone being the wiser.” His dark gaze sparked with mischief. “You’d bill me for the dress, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know it. I love that dress.”

  “I love that dress, too. I’ll buy you seven of them—one in every color.”

  Though he was still joking, she shook her head. “No, thanks.” She could take care of herself—could buy herself pretty much whatever she wanted. Even joking about taking gifts from him set her teeth on edge. She tried to temper her response, but it was too instinctive to deny completely. “I don’t want anything from you, Beckett.”

  The humor bled out of his expression. “You couldn’t have made that clearer if you’d tried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You keep apologizing to me, but I don’t think you mean it any more than I do. I’m not fucking sorry, Samara. This. You. Me. This could be something special if we’d stop getting in our own way long enough to make it happen.”

  He might think so, but she kept coming back to the inequality of power between them. Beckett didn’t see it because he was the one with all the power. He wanted her, sure, but if she walked away, the most he had to worry about was a broken heart. Despite so many country songs out there, no one had actually died of a broken heart. He’d be sad. He’d mourn the loss of her—or what she represented—until some other beautiful woman came along and loved away his pain.

  If Samara lost her job—and lost it because it came out that she was sleeping with the competition—no one in their industry would hire her. While she might be qualified to work in most corporate settings, that reputation would follow her for the rest of her damn career. She might find another job, but she’d never be trusted the way she currently was.

  If she screwed this up, all her mother’s sacrifice was for nothing. All the long hours, the endless homework and helping Samara write papers and fill out scholarship applications. The times when she knew her amma went hungry so she could have what she needed. All for nothing.

  “We have to stop doing this,” Samara whispered.

  “You don’t want to stop.”

  She started to deny it, but here, in this moment, she couldn’t lie to him. “No, I don’t want to stop. But we have to stop.”

  Beckett stroked a hand down her back. “Trust me to protect you, Samara. Take a leap of faith with me.”

  She never thought she’d actually be tempted by the offer—and it was tempting. Beckett was the kind of man who took care of everyone he considered his. She saw it in the way he fought so hard for this company, and in the sadness lurking in his demeanor because the one relationship that should have been solid—with his father—was anything but. He might not admit it to himself, but he felt it all the same.

  If she let him, he might even take care of her, too. Maybe it would even turn into a love for the ages and they’d have a wonderful future together.

  It still would have started with her making all the sacrifices and him making none.

  She didn’t hold that against him, but he couldn’t put himself in her shoes, and she couldn’t imagine a life like his, either. Not really.

  Samara climbed off him, doing her best to ignore the way her body cried out at the new distance between them. “I’m sorry, Beckett.”

  “Are you?”

  She picked up her dress. “I am.”

  The phone rang, saving them from what would be an undoubtedly awkward postcoital conversation. She shimmied into her dress, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He stood naked next to his desk, not the least bit self-conscious. Why would he be? He’s built like a freaking gladiator. All lean muscle and barely contained power.

  Beckett frowned. “What do you mean
, the door’s locked?” He turned to look at Samara as alarms screeched through the building. A pulsing, screaming sound, followed by a monotone, “Fire. Fire. Fire.” And then it started all over again.

  “Call nine-one-one!” Beckett barked into the phone. He snatched up his pants and yanked them on. She’d barely got her dress straps over her shoulders when he grabbed her arm. “Run!”

  Chapter Eight

  Thirty fucking floors.

  Beckett kept hold of Samara’s hand, ensuring that she didn’t trip as they raced down staircase after staircase, their bare feet slapping the floor. Too slow. In the distance, he heard sirens. With each floor they passed, the temptation to get to a window, to look out and figure out what the fuck was going on, rose.

  “Beckett, I can’t.” Samara stumbled, her free hand pressed against her stomach. “We have to slow down.”

  The door at the next landing marked the tenth floor. Closer to the ground—to safety—but not close enough. Beckett bit back his frustration. “Keep up or I’ll carry you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You can’t carry me.”

  “This isn’t up for negotiation. You have five seconds. Decide.”

  She set her jaw and her eyes went steely. “I’ll keep up.”

  “Good.”

  They ran.

  Ninth floor.

  Seventh.

  Fourth.

  The scent of smoke curled through the third-floor landing, though he didn’t see it. His breath sawed through his lungs, a burning brand in his chest. Samara looked as bad as he felt, her skin shining with sweat, her hair a tangled mass. Beckett slowed, just a little. “Don’t touch the doors.”

  “I know how fires work,” she snapped. Real fear lurked in her eyes and she clutched his hand tighter. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”