28. Chloe
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHLOE
NOW
Ihaven’t seen Kingston since he disappeared from the shower the day before yesterday, and his absence is as painful as it is irritating.
The worst part? I’m not even sure he’s in the house.
I want to think there’s no way he would leave me here by myself, but then I remember that he abandoned me once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?
In a particularly weak moment, I hunted for the cameras, hoping he might come back if he saw how lonely I was, but not even that worked.
Wandering through the house, I test the doors and windows, hoping one of them has been unlocked since the last time I checked, but no such luck.
I’m bored.
I’m lonely.
And frankly, I’m kind of pissed.
Kingston is acting like a teenage girl that’s not getting his own way, and if I needed any other reasons not to marry him, this should go straight to the top of the list.
Noise in the backyard catches my attention, and I make my way into the kitchen. It’s probably just the gardener, but just seeing another person right now might make me feel less alone.
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was losing my mind and my hopeful heart was imagining it, but it’s worth checking out, even if all I achieve is a snack.
Skirting around the kitchen island, I lean over the bench to look out the window, but the last thing I expect to find is no less than twenty people positioning chairs and floral decor and something that looks a lot like an altar.
“That fucking asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
Turning on my heel, I only make it a handful of steps before slamming into a hard chest.
“Careful, Mama,” he murmurs, grasping my shoulders and pulling me back until I’m staring at his stupid handsome face. Why does he have to be so attractive when he’s such an asshole?
“What the hell is going on outside?”
“Preparations for our wedding,” he says simply.
“We’re not getting married,” I snap.
“Oh, but we are, baby girl. By the time we go to sleep tonight, you’ll have my ring on your finger and my last name.”
I shove at his chest, desperate to put some distance between us, but his hold on me borders on pain.
Kingston won’t hurt me physically, but I would be an idiot not to at least be wary of him.
“I don’t want to marry anyone, let alone someone that abandoned me during the worst time in my life!
” I shout, my heart beating so hard I can barely breathe through the pressure.
He’s already explained why he left me back then, and his reasoning makes sense, but that doesn’t take away the pain it caused, nor the fears that made it difficult to trust anyone ever again.
His dark eyes narrow, and the dark part of him he usually keeps hidden from me peeks out.
Gathering both my hands in one of his to stop me from pushing him away, he spins us, pressing me face down over the kitchen island.
“Kingston,” I warn, an edge of fear stuttering through my chest.
His much larger frame covers mine, pinning me where he wants me.
Warm breath whispers across the shell of my ear, and it takes everything in me not to moan when he presses his hard cock against the curve of my ass.
Goddamn it. Why does my body have to set alight every time he touches me?
“That’s better,” he murmurs, shifting his hips against mine with a deep rumble. “Your mind is desperate to disobey me, but your body? Your body craves submission. Your body knows I’ll always take care of everything.”
“I’m not marrying you,” I repeat, but it’s impossible to miss the way my voice trembles.
He sighs, the sound of disappointment sending guilt shooting through my chest.
Why do I have to be such a people pleaser? If there were ever a time to not do something just because it would make someone else happy, this seems like the one.
“I don’t want to do this the hard way, Chloe. But I will. If the only way I can get you to say ‘I do’ is to force your hand, I can always ask for forgiveness later.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “What about the others? How can you possibly want to marry me when you’ll never have my whole heart?”
Kingston doesn’t reply immediately, and for a time I wonder whether he’ll bother at all. But then his hips shift, giving him enough room to tug my yoga pants and panties down in one quick move, leaving them banded around my knees.
“King,” I warn.
Without a word, his fingers dip between my thighs, immediately finding the tight bundle of nerves that ache for him despite how much I should loathe him.
“Your pretty cunt seems to want me just fine, Mama.” He chuckles, dipping two fingers into my heat before returning them to my clit.
A desperate release barrels toward me. Between his ministrations the other morning and stopping me before I could find my release in the shower, it doesn’t take much to bring me to the edge.
“My body isn’t the problem,” I remind him.
“Your heart I can covet. It might take time to push them out, but we have the rest of our lives to make sure the only man in your heart is me.”
Pressing my eyes closed, a stray tear rolls down my cheek as he drives me closer to an orgasm I’m both desperate for and dreading.
I want to ask him to stop, to beg him not to do this, but there’s another part of me, one I’ve kept buried for years, that wants this, that wants someone to take the decisions away from me, to make the hard choices so I don’t have to.
“You want to come, Mama?”
I shake my head while my body pleads with me to say yes. To give in to everything he’s offering.
What are my other choices?
Say no and spend the rest of my life torn between them?
“Yes,” I whimper when he plunges two thick fingers into my aching heat.
“Marry me,” he demands.
“No.”
He doubles his efforts, his thumb drawing tight circles over my clit while his fingers drag over the place inside me that will send me spiraling whether I want it or not.
I’m vaguely aware of the obscene sound coming from between my thighs and the wetness clinging to my heated skin, but I’m lost in a fog of desire, desperate for a release that has the power to destroy me.
“You’re gushing for me, baby girl. So fucking wet,” Kingston groans against my ear, his hardness grinding against my thigh, pushing me closer to the edge. “Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll still be feeling aftershocks when you walk down the aisle in a few hours.”
“I can’t,” I sob.
“Of course you can, Mama. Just say the word, and everything you’ve ever wanted is yours,” he pleads, and for the first time I hear what I’ve been missing in his tone. A desperation I’ve never heard from him before.
Tears slip down my cheeks and onto the marble beneath my face.
I’m torn between two imperfect options. The desperate need to be loved and cared for is warring with the knowledge that I can’t marry a man who only holds part of my heart.