Chapter Twenty-Three
Grace
The door closed softly; the barely perceptible snick of the mechanism filled the room like a gunshot.
What the fuck did I just do?
I sat up, holding the sheet against my naked body, and looked around the room. It was the largest room in the clubhouse. Resembling a small efficiency apartment, more than a bedroom.
Aside from the king-size bed, nightstand, and dresser, there was a leather couch, a large flat-screen TV, and a counter along the far wall over a mini-fridge. A small sink was set into the counter and what looked like some kind of small countertop-size oven or air fryer.
None of it looked used.
I stared at the pile of clothing on the floor. There was no turning back now. I brought my knees up to secure my elbows as I grabbed my head.
I was so fucking stupid. When King threw me over his shoulder, I knew exactly where he was taking me and exactly what would happen when we got here.
And I let it happen.
In fact, I craved it. I’d been waiting years for this day. The smell of sex permeated the air, and I hated myself for it. I knew it would be amazing. And somehow, somewhere deep inside, I’d expected him to walk out as soon as we were done.
I also knew I wasn’t being fair. I’d heard what Joey said. The strip club was on fire. Of course, the president of the club that owned The Shadow Box had to be notified. And of course, he would have to leave and check on his business and employees.
But it didn’t mean I had to like it.
I wouldn’t blame him for it, though; it was out of his control. And I hated myself for being angry. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I’d wanted him for so damn long.
It’s my fault really, I thought to myself as I climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I should have said no, but again, I was being selfish.
I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted him to make me his. But was I really? He’d called me his old lady, but he hadn’t said a word to me. It didn’t matter anyway. He’d said it himself; nothing had changed.
I used the bathroom and dressed quickly. I left his room and hurried downstairs to mine. Locking the door behind me, I stripped off the dirty clothes and left them in a pile. Turning on the shower, I waited for the water to warm up, and then I stood under the stream and cried.
I didn’t know how long I stood there before the shower curtain slid open, and King stepped in beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his warm chest.
“You could have showered in my room.”
“I didn’t have any clean clothes.” It was an excuse. I couldn’t tell him I had to leave. I’d had to get away from his things. His scent was everywhere in his room, and it was swallowing me whole.
“You don’t need any fucking clothes, baby.”
He kissed the side of my neck, and I closed my eyes, leaning back into him. I never wanted to leave his embrace. This was where I wanted to live. After so much wasted time, I was finally here, and I couldn’t even let myself enjoy it.
Because nothing has changed.
His hand traveled up my belly until it covered my breast. He squeezed it in his hand, lifting it and pinching the nipple before moving to the other side as his other hand dipped down between my legs.
“Are you sore?” he asked as he gently trailed his fingers over my sex. I shook my head—no, and his index finger gently probed me until I had no choice but to spread my feet apart, giving him access.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered, and I heard the smile in his voice. A shiver ran through me knowing I had pleased him. I was such a fool. I’d have thought I would have learned something from my mother’s life. But here I was, living the same one she had until we had to run.
How long before I had to run?
How long before he got tired of me?
He called you his old lady!
The voice in my head tried to make me see reason, but all I could see was my mother. Crying in her room after Steele left. After Freeway left. After Uncle Stephen left.
They all left her.
And then she left me.
King kissed my shoulder as he thrust his fingers in and out of me while his thumb circled my clit. I tipped my head back against his shoulder and let myself feel. Let myself enjoy what he was willing to give for as long as he wanted me.
His hands became rougher as he pinched and pulled at my nipple. My breathing quickened as he fucked me with his fingers. I reached up and put my hand on the back of his head as his lips moved along my throat.
“Come for me, baby. Let go and give me what I want.”
I didn’t want to give in. I wanted to be stubborn, wanted to hold out and make him work harder, but he was correct in his assessment earlier. He had full control of my body, and when he commanded me to come on his hand, to let go of my tenuous resolve, I was powerless to stop it.
My hand grabbed a fistful of his hair as I dug my fingernails of the other hand into his arm.
My body tightened, and lightning shot through my insides.
King lifted me just enough so that only the tips of my toes touched the bottom of the tub, and the orgasm washed over me as I screamed out his name.
“Fuck, I love making you come. I was a goddamn fool for waiting so fucking long for this.”
His words were like ice through my veins. I told myself they were meant to be hot. They were meant to soothe me, and tell me how long he’d wanted me, but all they did was remind me of how long he had pushed me away. Until Steele was dead. Then he pounced.
Wait, that wasn’t true. He’d pounced one other time. The first time he kissed me. When Jingles had dragged me to the clubhouse and King pulled me into his arms and kissed me in front of everyone.
I should have been happy. I should have basked in the fact that he finally wanted me. But he didn’t, not really.
Because nothing had changed.
King set me on my feet. He grabbed my hands and placed them on the shower wall, crowding my body. His hands roamed over my hips and ass, and he kissed my back and shoulders.
He kicked my feet apart, and I let him. I wanted him to take me again, and I hated myself for it. I should be stronger. I should have held out longer.
Because nothing had changed.
And nothing would change.
When I felt him at my entrance, I should have said no. I should have turned around and told him to leave. But I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him right where he was.
And when he slid his long, thick cock inside me, I moaned like the whore I was. But at least now, I was his whore.
Just like my mother.
His hands covered mine, and his lips found my neck as his hips rolled into me over and over. I’d seen the marks on my neck. The marks he left on me. His mark. His brand.
It might be the only one I ever got, but I would wear it with fucking pride. At least, that was what the others would see. They wouldn’t see the girl inside. The one who hated herself for letting him use me.
I came off as this independent woman who had her shit together.
When really, I was just a little girl who missed her mom. Someone who never had a dad to teach her what a healthy relationship was. The closest I’d ever come was Uncle Stephen.
And even he left us.
I loved my mother dearly; she’d been my best friend. But I’d become everything I hated about her. I’d allowed myself to be swayed by a man who would never love me the way I wanted to be loved.
He said he loved me. And maybe in his own way he did.
But nothing had changed.
“Come for me again, Grace.”
His words brought me back to the present. To the shower where he had snuck in and was now fucking me. Not the hard, angry fucking we had earlier. But this was more slow, sensual. He didn’t thrust inside me, piercing me. Instead, he rolled his hips slowly, letting the feeling build like a tsunami.
The side of my face pressed against the cold, wet wall. My eyes were closed as I let myself feel him. Let myself absorb him. His body covered mine as he made love to me.
And he whispered the words in my ear—the ones I was desperate to hear, the ones I wanted to believe he meant—I came harder than I had the last two times.
Because when he whispered, ‘I love you, Grace,’ my heart and body believed him, even when my head told me not to.
I didn’t cry out at my release. I let it wash over me like a giant wave tossing me in the ocean. Drowning me in his presence, in his desire.
As my orgasm subsided, King’s movements picked up until he filled me completely with his own release. He pressed me against the wall as he filled me with cum.
He refused to wear a condom, and I wasn’t on birth control.
I really had become my mother. I was quickly following in her footsteps, and I just knew I would be a single mother like she was.
Statistics showed that girls whose mothers had gotten pregnant before marriage had a higher probability of doing the same.
I should be more careful. I should go get a morning-after pill, but if this were all he was willing to give me, then maybe, having a little piece of him when he was gone would make the hurt a little easier to bear.
He pulled out of me and turned me around. When he stared down at me, I smiled. I didn’t want him to see what I was really feeling. I didn’t want to have to explain.
He leaned down and kissed me passionately. I wound my arms around his neck and held on tight. I would try to enjoy the ride for as long as I was allowed on.
He pulled back, and the look on his face almost made me believe he meant the words he’d said a few moments ago.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” he said.
We quickly showered and dried off. When I went to the dresser to grab some clothes, King stopped me.
“It’s late enough, Grace. We can go to bed.”
He pulled me to the bed and pulled the covers back. He climbed in beside me and pulled me onto his chest. I lay there listening to his heart beat a steady rhythm beneath my ear. My fingers caressed the hair on his chest.
It was only when I felt his body relax beneath me, and his breath even out, that I realized he was asleep in my bed. He’d climbed into my bed without a fuss. No argument about moving back to his room. I didn’t want to think about what that might mean.
And then, at the same time, I realized I’d barely said a word to him the entire time.