The Last King

by Katee Robert

  “Pretty sure you’re right.” He grabbed her other ankle and flipped her onto her stomach. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

  Samara shivered and tried to keep her mock anger going. “Fine, I guess I’ll settle for a secret.”

  His low laugh rolled down her spine. “I’m never going to play fair where you’re concerned, Samara. Not if it means I have you like this.” The bed dipped as he leaned onto it. “Especially if I have you like this.”

  He adjusted his grip on her ankles and pulled her until her hips hit the end of the bed. “You are so fucking beautiful, it takes my breath away.” Beckett lifted her hips with firm hands. He dragged his mouth along the curve of her ass, pressing open-mouth kisses every inch or two. Worshipping. “You were there for me tonight. Let me be there for you right now. I’ve got you.”

  “Beckett.” The comforter muffled her saying his name, but he seemed to hear it despite that.

  He shifted down to lick her clit, long and slow. Again and again, as if he was savoring her taste. That, more than anything else, had her fighting not to move. She wanted to arch into him, to ride his mouth to orgasm, but he was in the driver’s seat—for tonight.

  He didn’t make her wait long.

  Beckett’s mouth disappeared, and she couldn’t hold back a moan of protest. And then his hands were on her hips, urging her up and spreading her legs wider to take him. Through it all, he didn’t say a single word, and she couldn’t see his face to gauge his mood.

  “No condom.”

  His grip tightened on her hips. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

  “I’m on birth control and clean.” It was easier to take this jump with him when she couldn’t see his face. “Please, Beckett.”

  “I’m clean, too.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” She wanted this closeness, this truth between them. Rationally, she knew this wouldn’t be some magic thing that sealed them together, but she craved the connection all the same. You are not alone, Beckett. I’m here. Feel me. Let me feel you.

  She held her breath as he notched his cock at her entrance and pushed into her, inch by inch. His hands trembled against her skin, just a little, and his breathing hitched as if he was fighting with himself for control. “Samara.” In that tone of voice, her name became something more. Something profound.

  His cock filled her, stretching her, and she gripped the comforter, fighting for her own control. To not slam back and take him fully. To savor every second of this. To memorize the feeling of his hands sliding over her hips and up her back as if he sought to imprint his own memories with this moment. As if he cherished her.

  Beckett withdrew, and she couldn’t stifle her cry of protest. He didn’t make her wait long. One moment she was facedown on the bed, the next he’d grabbed her right leg and lifted it to prop her calf on his shoulder, turning her onto her side. He slid her further on the bed and knelt between her legs. As he slid his cock into her again, the new position had his thigh rubbing against her clit with every movement.

  Better yet, she could watch his face as he fucked her.

  No, not fucking. It stopped being fucking when we were in LA.

  This was more. So much more. The truth was written across Beckett’s face as he watched her. Possessive, yes. But it was the thread of tenderness that did her in. As if he wanted to take care of her the same way she’d taken care of him tonight.

  He leaned down and kissed her. His tongue seduced her slowly even as his moves became rougher. He slammed into her again and again, each stroke hitting her cervix and driving her pleasure higher. All the while he kissed her slowly, softly.

  She writhed for him, soaking in the feeling that she was the most important thing in the world to him. Even if only for tonight. Pleasure sparked and crackled through her, almost painful in its intensity. The heat of his hands on her. The long line of his thigh sliding against her clit every time Beckett’s thrust jolted her body. His tongue sliding against hers as if savoring the taste of her.

  Her orgasm took her by surprise. She cried out, her nails marking paths in his thighs. He kept going, pursuing his own pleasure even as he watched hers. She kept her eyes open through it all, memorizing every line of his face, the vulnerability of his brown eyes as he lost control, the way his lips curved when he said her name as he came.

  No matter what happened in the future, she would always have tonight, and the unnamable thing that lay between them. He slid down next to her, his arm a comforting weight across her stomach and his harsh breaths making the sensitive skin on her neck tingle. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. There was no chalking her reaction up to the amazing orgasm. This went bone deep. “Beckett—”

  “Not tonight.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “We’ll have that conversation soon, but not tonight.”

  He was right. She knew he was right. But that didn’t change the fluttering in her chest. She didn’t recognize the sensation, couldn’t tell if it was hope or despair. He’d blasted through every boundary she’d thrown in place between them, and now she felt like she was wandering in an endless fog without a signpost in sight.

  I love you, Beckett King.

  She couldn’t say it now just like she hadn’t been able to say it last time. “You’re right. Not tonight.” She kissed him. The orgasm had only sharpened the edge of her need, her desire to show him exactly what he’d come to mean to her. “You took me to bed. Now it’s my turn.”

  “Insatiable.”

  “Only for you.” She nudged him onto his back and straddled him. “You called me beautiful, but I think you might be more beautiful than I am.” She leaned down and kissed his scar, tracing its edge with her tongue.

  Samara took her time exploring his body the same way he’d done to her in the past. She nipped the carved muscle of his pecs and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his stomach. His abs clenched with every swipe of her tongue, and she grinned against his skin. “Ticklish?”

  “Woman, if you think I’m worried about being ticklish in our current position, then you’re out of your damn mind.” He cupped the side of her face with one big hand. “Come here, Samara. Let me make love to you again.”

  Make love.

  She held his gaze as she turned her head and captured his middle finger between her lips. Samara sucked him deep, flicking his calluses with her tongue. His eyes narrowed. “Get your ass up here.”

  She released him. “Beckett—”

  “Don’t care. Need you.” He hauled her up his body and took her mouth. She forgot all about arguing as he reached between them and eased two fingers into her. He stroked her as leisurely as he’d kissed her before. She quivered with the need for more, more, more. Beckett gently bit her bottom lip and then soothed the ache with his tongue. “Stay with me, Samara.”

  She could almost hear the rest of what he wasn’t saying. Stay with me after this is all over. Stay with me forever. Or maybe it was her own feelings talking. “Yes.”

  “Ride my fingers. Take what you need.”

  “What I need is you.”

  The only warning she got was him removing his hand, and then he flipped them. And then he was inside her again, thrusting slowly as he framed her face with his hands. “Have me, Samara.”

  She twined her legs with his and rose to meet each stroke. Their earlier frenzy allowed for something slower, deeper. They shared breath even as their bodies moved in perfect coordination. Sweat slicked their skin, adding to the decadent feeling of friction between them, and she fought the pleasure spiraling through her, wanting to make this last as long as possible.

  That moment. That place. Them together.

  Perfection.

  “Let go,” Becket murmured against her neck. “Give it all to me.” He slid his hands beneath her ass and lifted her against him, controlling the rhythm. It was too much and it might never be enough. Her desire for him—her love for him—rose from a well with no end, engulfing Samara completely.

  She came with
a soft cry, clinging to him even as he followed her into oblivion.

  Samara would have given anything in that moment to make the night stretch onward for an eternity. If the sun never rose, they’d never have to take the next steps that led out of her home, into the dangers awaiting. They never had to deal with reality crashing into the fantasy they’d built together, never had to fight to keep from having everything fall apart around them.

  Time marched on, whether she wanted it to or not. The sun would rise and they would rise with it. Tomorrow, for better or worse, everything would change. She was sure of it.

  But tonight wasn’t over. Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Beckett managed to slip out of bed without waking Samara. A quick glance at the clock proved it was early, but not indecently so. He poked around her kitchen until he found coffee, and got a pot going. Then he sat down to check emails.

  Three from his bank, all notifying him of attempted charges that had been denied, thanks to the holds he’d put on the accounts. He smiled grimly. Gotcha, Lydia. She hadn’t been able to resist that little dig the other day, and he was glad he’d trusted his gut.

  Next up, he answered the few emails that were urgent, and had his HR director post internal job openings for the employees Lydia had poached. It would take time to fill those positions, and it couldn’t wait until he’d had it out with his aunt.

  He heard Samara stirring and poured a second cup of coffee. A few minutes later, she padded out of the bedroom, wearing a short robe that left her long legs bare. “Morning.” She yawned.

  “Morning.” He set his phone down and watched her cradle her mug in both hands and inhale deeply. God, this woman kills me. “Samara.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Oh, no. What else happened?”

  “What?”

  “You have a serious tone and it’s not even six thirty in the morning. That means something horrible happened.”

  He grinned despite everything. “I love you.”

  “You…” She gaped at him. “You can’t just say things like that. This is…I’m not…Damn it, Beckett! I love your contrary ass, too.”

  His heart leaped in his chest. It was one thing to make the declaration himself, to see evidence of her feelings in how she treated him and did her best to offer comfort in what was both the shittiest and the single best week of his fucking life. It was entirely another to hear her say the words aloud. He took a slow sip of his coffee to center himself. “Should I have waited for a romantic dinner and bought you a dozen roses beforehand?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even like roses. They’re bitchy little flowers. Lilies are better. Or even daisies.”

  “Noted.”

  She glared into her coffee mug. “It’s so damn early in the morning and I’m not even fully awake and you just spring it on me. It’s rude. Thirty minutes from now would have been appropriate.” Samara finally looked up and grinned. “But I do love you, Beckett. It’s too soon and it’s crazy and I don’t know how this is going to work. It’ll probably blow up in both our faces.”

  He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “You kill me.”

  “No one needs to be killing anyone. You can’t joke like that given your current predicament.”

  That sobered him when nothing else would have. Samara loves me…and my aunt likely wants me six feet under. “Life’s complicated.”

  “You can say that again.” She touched her hair and grimaced. “I need another shower and a small vat of coffee after last night. What’s the plan for today?”

  He held up his phone. “Frank found Walter. He’s holed up in a little hotel just outside of town. I figured we’d go have a nice conversation with him and then see where the day goes from there.” Beckett wasn’t too keen to haul Samara around with him, if only because he couldn’t guarantee her safety, but he couldn’t guarantee it across the board without knowing Lydia’s exact plans. But if she wasn’t with him…

  She scrolled through her phone, a frown appearing. “Actually, I’m being called into the office for an emergency meeting.”

  Alarm bells rang through his head. “Is that normal?”

  “It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Considering Lydia sent me off on a fake vacation to get me out of the way and is now summoning me back to the office…” She shrugged. “She’s always operated under her own set of rules. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

  “Don’t go.” The words were out before he could think better of them, about what they would mean in the current situation.

  “I have to.”

  “Fuck that.” Again, he spoke without thinking, but the stubborn lift of her chin told him everything he needed to know about how this conversation would go. “You can’t honestly tell me that you think Lydia is innocent.”

  “I don’t think she’s innocent. If I did, I wouldn’t have snuck into her office and photographed her calendar.”

  Frustration grabbed him by the throat and he set his mug down hard enough on the counter to make them both flinch. “Why go, then?”

  “Because it’s my job.” She held up a hand before he could say something more. “This isn’t a debate. I’m telling you that I’m going, because that’s what I’m doing.”

  He didn’t care why she was going, only that she was putting herself in the path of potential harm for a set of principles that didn’t make any damn sense. “You know, you’re not reenacting your mother and father if you just listen to me for once. You joked about Lydia throwing you out a window, but what’s to stop her from doing exactly that when she realizes that I love you?”

  Samara stared at him and then slowly shook her head. “I’m fully aware that I’m not my mother and you’re hardly my father. But while that might be the case, I’m also my own person, Beckett. Lydia hasn’t struck you directly yet—and she won’t. She’s too crafty for that. She also won’t threaten me directly just because we’re sleeping together.”

  She might say that, but she didn’t know for sure. If I lose you right when I found you… He crossed his arms over his chest, fighting against the words that would drive the wedge deeper between them. He gritted his teeth. “Please don’t go.”

  Something like sympathy appeared in her dark eyes. “Beckett, I know this is coming from a place of caring, but you can’t bottle me up and stick me on some shelf to take out at your convenience. I have to live my own life, even if it’s a life I’m potentially sharing with you. That’s not going to change, no matter what else does. If you can’t handle that…” Another shrug, this one stiffer. “I don’t see how this could possibly work.”

  “I don’t like ultimatums, Samara.”

  “Neither do I.” She turned and walked through her bedroom door, shutting it softly behind her. He stared hard at the pale wood, as if he could will her into understanding that he wasn’t trying to be an overbearing ass, but taking foolish risks just to prove she was independent was stupid. Not a fight I’m going to win. Not right now.

  Instead, Beckett changed and wrote a quick note to Samara. He didn’t trust himself not to say something to make their current standoff worse, but he didn’t want to leave without some kind of good-bye. That done, he headed down to the street and to the lot where he’d parked his car the night before. It was blessedly unharmed. He’d half expected to show up and find it on fire. He climbed into the driver’s seat, locked the doors, and called Frank.

  “What’s up?”

  “Thanks for finding Walter for me.” He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, the lot seemed just as empty as it had been when he arrived.

  “Check your glove box.”

  Frowning, he obeyed and huffed out a laugh. “How the hell did you manage to get his hotel key?” It was in a sleeve with the room number written neatly on it.

  “A gentleman never tells.”

  He slipped the key into his wallet. “I’m going to owe you my soul at this point, but I have one last favor.”

&
nbsp; “We’re friends, Beck. You’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed.”

  He would, but he didn’t like the ominous tone in Frank’s voice. “Everything good?”

  “Yeah.” And that was that. “What’s the favor?”

  “Can you put someone on Samara? Lydia’s pulling her in unexpectedly this morning for an emergency meeting or some shit, but it doesn’t feel right to me. I think she knows about us and she’s going to try to use it to try to leverage some kind of benefit.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  Samara doesn’t think so. Or she thinks she can handle herself. That was the problem, though—Samara could handle herself in most situations. But she still didn’t quite believe the kind of evil bullshit his aunt could bring to the table. He still barely believed it and Beckett had been targeted repeatedly. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’ll handle it personally, Beck.”

  Now was the time when he should have said it wasn’t necessary for Frank to be the one to keep Samara safe, but he couldn’t deny the relief that cascaded through him at the offer. “I appreciate it.”

  “You heading for Trissel?”

  “Yeah, leaving now.”

  “Good luck.”

  That was really all there was to say about it. “You, too.” He turned on the car.

  Beckett hesitated, considering. He scrolled through his contacts to one he’d called maybe once in living memory. Calling Anderson King was a risk. He knew his cousin by reputation more than anything else, and by all accounts he had been raised just like Beckett—to be cold and ruthless and do whatever was necessary to protect the King name and his company.

  And yet.

  He pressed the call button. This would play out according to Beckett’s plans, and that meant he needed Anderson in town.

  The man himself answered, sounding irritated. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me.”

  Guess we’re not acting the loving family. It was almost a relief. Lydia played the family card when it suited her, but it didn’t mean anything coming from her mouth. “It’s in everyone’s best interest if you’re back in Houston today.”