The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense Page 4

Her fingers dig into my upper back, and I thrill at the small pain she inflicts. I bury my finger to the base, tapping the depth of her.

  “Chet!” she whispers hoarsely, the tips of her toes on the floor and her hot palms on my back.

  I bend down, my face between her thighs.

  “Sin,” I correct and tongue her from entrance to clit.

  She yells, and I smile against her moist heat. My teeth move with smooth assurance along one lip. I worry it with gentle urgency.

  “Hurts,” she breathes.

  But Kandace does not say no.

  I continue until she pants, mewling my name over and over.

  Sin, Sin, Sin.

  It's all I hear.

  “I'm going to come!” she says in a breathless shout.

  “I know.” I work the other side with the hardest biting I've ever endeavored to do.

  It's delicious. Deviant.

  Perfect.

  Her wetness pours around me. I take my fingers out of her and shove my tongue deeply inside her wet hole.

  Her fingers latch onto my head, trying to pull my mouth away, but I'm too strong. She can't accomplish anything.

  Hot.

  “Too much, it's too much,” she whispers.

  I go harder.

  I feel her pussy give a little squeeze around my seeking tongue, and I know she's ready.

  I stand, and Kandace half-staggers back, hitting the wall.

  I drop my pants and step out of them. The ends of my silk button-down shirt flutter as I attack her against the wall.

  I work out to stay in shape, to defend myself if the need arises. But it has other advantages too.

  I reach for both globes of her ass and lift, using the wall as both leverage and surface.

  Kandace's eyes bulge with my intent.

  My dick finds her pussy as if it had sent an engraved invitation. I spread her wide as I dip the end of me into her wet center. With my toes, I push up and forward and bury all of me in one sliding press.

  A breath whistles out when she's fully impaled on my prick. My head dumps forward, pressing against her shoulder.

  She screams. “So good!”

  “Yes,” I groan, jerking higher, burying myself as deeply as I dare.

  I dare more.

  Fingers digging in, I spread Kandace further. My prick fights its way inside her, and gravity assists me.

  She gasps. “Too big, Chet... you're too big.”

  I know I am. I smile.

  She's as tight as anyone I've ever been with. Tighter maybe. But Kandace King will be broken in my way.

  Her arms drop over my shoulders, and I fuck her deeply, as quick as a pinned women can be sexed against a wall.

  I stroke up hard—once, twice. When I'm sure her pussy has the slick, tight feeling of giving, I throw her arms above her head and vice-grip them together.

  Her breasts come high and together and my forearm holds her still as I surge into her again.

  My mouth covers a nipple, and I bite on my next thrust.

  Kandace yells and comes hard.

  She pulses around me in a hot squeezing around my cock, and I can't hold back. I come from the ground up, shooting inside her as she hugs around me.

  I hold her against the wall and rock into her until I'm too flaccid to be held inside.

  I let myself fall out, and I drive forward into her body. My hands come to her ass again, and her arms fall around my shoulders as I carry her to where her bed lies through a partially open door.

  “Mine,” I say softly, and my teeth find her shoulder. A quick nip, and her head lifts.

  “You're a teeth man.” Her languid voice sounds drugged, her large dark eyes half-lidded with spent lust and untapped desire.

  I shake my head slightly, my hair falling across my shoulders.

  “No, I'm so much more than that.”

  *

  My eyes mark where I've been on her body.

  Each spot I touch, smoothing my fingertips over the proof of my hands, body, and teeth.

  I pull her legs apart when she tries to close them to my scrutiny. I part her pussy lips, see my cum sliding out of her, and take a finger up to her swollen clit. The inside of her pussy is a bright, used pink—swollen.

  “Stop. I think you've done enough,” Kandace says, trying to pull away.

  I drop on top of her, catching my weight on her bed with my elbows.

  “It will never be enough.” I push a strand of hair behind her ear and lay a soft kiss behind it. I unravel the rest of her long hair from a knot the size of a rodent on top of her head.

  She laughs self-consciously. “I was going to work out.” She lifts a hand to fix her hair, and I trap it with my own.

  “You have,” I say with a straight face.

  “God, have I.” Her eyes find mine.

  I'm struck anew by her beauty—as though I haven't been mesmerized all along. Kandace is different from me, yet the same. It's what first attracted me. That, and the obvious personality.

  Women who are outwardly assertive many times make the best submissives.

  Kandace King vehemently rejected me more times than I could count.

  Of course, that made me want her more, but I don't think that was her goal. She was simply running scared.

  Our chemistry is that powerful. On some primal level, she resists because she's aware of it.

  I don't resist. It controls me, and I allow it.

  Her long dark hair appears soft but has a slightly coarse texture as I squeeze it. Kandace gazes at me with brown eyes that consume the precious real estate of her face.

  Her skin is a true light coffee. My pale skin is a whip of cream against the darkness of hers.

  I move my hips until my nakedness is against hers.

  Her eyes widen. “God, is that you? All hard and that—already?”

  She laughs.

  I do not. My eyes hold hers. “Yes. And all that. Very much that.”

  “What have I gotten myself into?” she asks, regarding my unsmiling face.

  I plow my fingers through her hair and hold her fragile skull. My dick gives a single hard throb at the thought of reentry.

  “Let's find out.” I dip my head and kiss her full lips for the first time.

  Kandace writhes, parting her knees as I take from her mouth as I took from her pussy just moments before.

  “Chet!” She laughs.

  I capture her happiness as I torture her mouth with my lust.

  I break away, pecking her mouth again.

  “You're insatiable.”

  I cock my head, studying her.

  “Yes, and you'll allow it.”

  She searches my face and gives a small sigh. “I can't pretend I don't love it.”

  I press the tip of me into her cum-filled center, and she opens farther with a small moan.

  “Fuck me again, Kandace.”

  Slowly, she grasps her knees and folds them back beside her ears.

  Her eyes tell me yes.

  I fold my hands over her shoulders and shove inside her. She’s as tight as she was before, now wet with my release, slick with my cum.

  My second release is a branding. Kandace might not know it, but I do.

  She is mine.

  SEVEN

  Kiki

  I am so fucked.

  My breath escapes in a slow slide of inevitable resignation as I stare at Chet sleeping beside me.

  A pie slice of early morning light falls like a heated wedge against Chet's back. His fair skin is polished alabaster I touch.

  But I don't want to move. I want to own this moment and never have it end.

  Every bit of me aches. My pussy feels beat up.

  Perfect.

  I'm sticky with what Chet's done to me, filled me with.

  My heart gives a lurching thud as I try to remember if I took my birth control pill.

  Yes. Thank God.

  Hell, I didn't even think rubber last night. It's as if I'm instantly stupid when Chet's arou
nd.

  My mom had me on birth control the minute she could.

  I shove the bad away and force my body to relax, piece by piece. When even my toes are loose, I exhale slowly and close my eyes, falling back into a dreamless sleep.

  *

  My hand touches cool sheets.

  My eyelids sweep open, and my head jerks to the right. Chet's gone as though he never was there. I sit up.

  I'm nude, and the sheet falls to my waist.

  Sunlight streams through the slits in my curtain. A crack in the window allows early winter air to frost the pane and send a shiver of gooseflesh over my skin.

  I swing my feet around, aiming for the floor, and groan.

  All my parts are sore. I look down and see the remnants of fingerprints on my skin. God, I might have bruises. That should disturb me, having marks from Chet. Instead, a little flutter of excitement breaks free inside me like a broken piece of my heart. I place a palm over where my body shivers at the memory of us together.

  I stand and move stiffly to the bathroom.

  I step close to the mirror, inspecting every bit of my body.

  My shoulder is the first place that indicates I screwed Chet three times. Teeth marks form a crescent on my skin.

  My flesh isn't broken, only marred.

  My fingertips trail over the marks. The skin is slightly inflamed where he branded me.

  God... it's as if he wants every man in the world to know I've been with him.

  I scowl.

  Like peeing in a corner.

  What's wrong with me? Why did I let Chet walk in my door and fuck me... like that?

  I cast my eyes away from my reflection.

  Because it's what I wanted.

  I can't blame him for being so quick at seeing so deeply inside myself I don't have time to hide.

  But I can't let it happen again. It hurt so good, but I'm not his on-demand booty call.

  And there's The Bitch, Chloe.

  I grip the sink, remembering my nails digging into Chet's back. My pussy gives a lustful pulse.

  Great.

  I turn and walk the two paces to my walk-in shower that consumes half the size of my small bathroom. I give the faucet a vicious twist to the hottest setting.

  Maybe I can purge my bullshit.

  I step under the spray and adjust the temperature to a non-boiling lobster setting.

  I hiss when the water hits my female bits. Goddamned.

  I can't be with him again. He's some kind of fucking sadist. Teeth. Vertical fucking. God.

  I remember him holding my arms above my head and biting my nipple.

  I've never come so hard in my life.

  I soap everything, wincing at the sting of where his teeth touched me.

  His cock's too big for pleasure, but... he fills me.

  Indecision is so foreign inside my head. It’s like a diseased seed that germinates. Why can't I operate and excise it? I lean my head against the glass block, the cold surface warming beneath my fevered flesh.

  Then there's him leaving without a word.

  Who fucks someone three times and leaves without a word?

  Sin, that's who.

  I step out, the water dripping from the spigot a tapping echo against the tiles. I wrap my hair in a towel and a second around my aching body.

  Once I’m in my bedroom, I slide into black yoga pants and kick away the hot pink ones as if they're on fire. They hit my dirty clothes hamper and lie there, mocking me—ruined panties knotted inside the Y of the crotch.

  I chuck my body towel on top of it all.

  I carefully slip my arms through the straps of my bra, grab a teal T-shirt from the dresser, and tear it over my head, towel and all. There'll be hell to pay if my hair doesn't have some time drying in there. I pad out to the kitchen and start coffee.

  It's definitely not a tea day.

  I glance around my condo and see my entrance table is an inch out of place. I look at the wall Chet nailed me to and search for proof of his pounding.

  I swallow, walking over there slowly.

  Drywall flakes dust the floor to the left of the little glass table. His cufflinks glint in the low light from the window.

  I trace the dents in the wall and place my hand in a fist-sized divot. It engulfs my hand, and I snatch it back.

  I've endangered myself. Chicken flesh sweeps over my body with the realization.

  Chet Sinclair is a six-foot-two-plus, lean, mean, rich sadist.

  And I let him fuck me.

  Three times.

  As though I have no brain. As though I'm just a vagina with a beating heart. He doesn't give a shit about me. I'm just the new flavor of the what? The month? Week?

  He should ring every trigger that I have, yet somehow, and this is the sickest thing of all, I felt consumed by Chet.

  I'm the flame, and he's the oxygen. I burn brighter with him near.

  God help me, I felt safe.

  It's so many degrees of twisted and fucked up.

  What am I going to do? I grab my cell, parked in its usual location on the kitchen table.

  No messages.

  That's not true. I have plenty of messages: Faren, Thorn, Juliette, a fucked up missive from Mom.

  Damon Axton—again.

  Just no messages from Chet.

  I glance at the cufflinks and startle when the doorbell sounds.

  I set my phone carefully on the table.

  The bell chimes again.

  I hope it's not him.

  My heartbeats pile on top of each other like a game of Jenga.

  I desperately want it to be Chet.

  My feet carry me the short distance, and I open the door, peeking from behind it.

  Roses sprout from a deeply cut, heavy looking crystal vase.

  Eyes look over the top of the inky petals.

  “Miss Kandace King,” a bored sounding dude asks.

  I bob my head, clearing my throat. “Yes?”

  “Sign for these please.”

  He thrusts a paper and pen toward me, and I sign it as he pushes past me.

  Dick.

  He turns and walks back to the door.

  I begin to close it, and he moves through it again.

  A second vase of roses appear on the kitchen table.

  I feel my eyes bug a little on his third trip.

  “How—how many are there?” I ask, feeling oxygen deprived.

  He rolls his eyes to me and shrugs. “Just three.”

  Just three.

  “Have a nice day,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I quietly shut and latch the door. My hands tingle with delayed adrenaline as I turn and face what the delivery guy set on my table.

  Three identical vases sit in a loose triangle.

  The roses are striking—bold.

  All black.

  I see as I step closer that there's a cream-colored one centered in each of the three bouquets. It looks like a spot of innocence in all that inky black. A cream flower for each time we had sex. What does all this cloak-and-dagger shit mean?

  Who gave me black roses?

  I know the answer before I look at the card.

  Sin

  Just the one word. It says who sent them.

  It says what we did.

  It tells what we'll do.

  Unless I stop it now.

  In the center of the vases lies a slim velvet box, also black.

  I can't help the sweat that instantly beads on my upper lip.

  I finger the top of the box slowly, though I know I'll open it. I tap the crushed velvet once with my finger.

  I crack the lid, and the spring hinge pops open with a snap.

  A smartphone lies nestled inside like a coiled snake. My brows knit.

  What?

  A smooth ding sounds like a chime inside crystal, and I flinch.

  I drag my finger across the screen, and an image of my breast floats to the top.

  A set of perfect teeth marks make a ring around th
e nipple.

  He took a photo of my tit while I slept.

  I snatch my hand away as my arousal dampens my pants.

  My breath hitches in my throat.

  I lower myself into the chair and weep.

  NINE

  Chet

  I press send, and the lovely image of my ownership zings into the ether.

  To be viewed by Kandace.

  A wide grin stretches my face, and I lean back in my solid chair, the leather so new my office smells like a biker's shop.

  I slide my phone inside my breast pocket.

  They're matching. I have one phone just for Kandace, and she for me.

  Excellent.

  I have not sent any words. Well, if I don't count my nickname on the card.

  A very romantic gesture by my standards. I have never sent a woman flowers. It is strange, but somehow right.

  My cell buzzes, and I feel the coolness of the phone I share with Kiki.

  My hand moves to the other. It vibrates in my hand with a text from Mick.

  Mick: want to ride?

  A handful of seconds slide by.

  Me: yes.

  Mick: be there soon.

  I don't answer. I don't need to. Mick understands me. He has always understood. He's the bridge between so much of my past and present.

  I think of Kandace—possibly my future.

  Just the thought of her underneath me, the taste of her flesh deep inside my mouth brings an instant hard-on to painful attention.

  Three times weren't enough. I don't know what would be.

  I move through my large home to the bedroom to change. A suit will not do.

  *

  Mick pulls up on his hog, and I smirk. He makes fun of my Jap bike, but mine doesn't leak or spit heat, and it starts like a wet dream every time.

  Speed isn't an issue, mine is faster than my needs. Which have always been many.

  His red hair, barely more than brown, stands out against the dim gray bowl of the sky.

  Mick's outfitted in chaps, a leather jacket, and an inky black bandana that wraps his ears.

  We could be twins except for our hair.

  He has me by two inches, but my speed... well, we have sparred. What I lack in sheer bulk is made up for in my reflexes and stamina.

  As Kandace can attest.

  Not that it was an easy dance to put off my release. She's exquisite: tight, wet... a pussy I can never tire of paired with a disposition I crave.