Chapter 3
Three
Sebastian
Ella’s eyes are bright with excitement as we travel in the elevator up to the penthouse. “What did you get me?” she asks.
I bend down to kiss her mouth and whisper, “It’s a surprise.”
“Bash,” she says.
I grin. I think it’s the first time she’s called me Bash, and not only that, she’s excited about a gift. Sometimes she puts up a fight over accepting our generosity, like she doesn’t think she deserves good things. Maybe we’re starting to wear her down.
When we reach the penthouse, she skips into the main living area and looks around.
“Your gifts are in the bedroom, princess.”
She doesn’t wait for me, just hurries into the room, her curls flouncing behind her. I follow on her heels.
A dress hangs on the corner of the wardrobe. It’s pale green, covered in sequins. The straps are thin strings, and there’s no back.
“That’s for me?” she asks, surveying the dress.
When I saw it in a shop window downtown, I knew it would look great on Ella. Whether she would like the style and color, though, I’m still not certain about.
“Do you like it?” I ask from the doorway. “If you don’t, the shop is still open and you can exchange it for anything you might like better.”
“Like it? I love it. Thank you.” She spins around and throws herself into my arms, hugging me tightly.
“Why don’t you get ready?” I nod at the shoes, clutch handbag, and lingerie sitting on top of the dresser.
“Ooh, there’s more.”
“Of course. Only the best for my princess.”
She picks up a package and runs her fingertip over the ridges of the thigh-highs.
“Master has given Ella stockings,” she says, blinking up at me. “Ella is free!”
“Oh, shut up, brat,” I say, but I can’t help my laughter. “You keep that up and you won’t sit for a week.”
She’s trying really hard not to laugh, pressing her lips together, her shoulders shaking.
I trace a line from her forehead, to her nose, to her lips. “And you, Ella, will never be free. You’re mine forever. Got that?”
She nods, all seriousness.
She misses King. I do, too.
Hopefully tonight will reunite us all. It’s necessary after the bomb scare and being so distant from each other all week.
While Ella gets ready for Vice, King texts that he’ll have to meet us there. I hold back a curse. If he falls into his old workaholic tendencies, it’ll be hell pulling him back out again. I should know—I had to do it when he and Rayanne split up.
Ella comes out of the bedroom, sparkling in her dress.
I clear my throat, suddenly speechless, then manage to say, “Turn around for me, princess.”
The hem hits her mid-thigh. When she spins, I can see that there’s no back to the dress at all.
“No bra?” I say.
She shrugs. “Nope.”
Fuck. I don’t want to take her out—I want to stay in and lift her dress, lick her pussy until she shakes from exhausted pleasure.
“Are the shoes comfortable?”
They’re little heels, but the woman in the shop assured me they should be comfortable for dancing.
“They’re great. Should we go? Where’s Kingston?”
“He’s meeting us there.”
I grab her hand and drag her to the elevator, reminding myself to be patient. There will be plenty of time to pleasure her later. Waiting will build up suspense and make it even better.
But fuck if I can’t think of anything else except reaching beneath her skirt, pushing her panties aside, and fingering her to orgasm right here in this elevator.
We get to Vice and go in. I ask Ella if she wants a drink and she shakes her head. “I just want to dance.”
“Sure, baby.”
We go to the dance floor and begin to move. Her hips sway and I hold them in my hands, tugging her close. When I spin her around so her back is to my front, she leans against me, pressing her ass over my dick.
“Fuck, princess, you’re a little temptress.”
Laughing, she arches her back and clings to my shoulders, locking her hands behind my neck.
I slide my hands down her sides, tantalizingly close to her tits before stopping at the hem of her dress and teasing along the tops of her thighs.
I could lift up her dress so easily and find paradise.
But with just the two of us here, someone would definitely take notice. Where the fuck is King?
After a minute, Ella turns around and points to the bar. I take her hand and lead her over there, through the crush of other dancers.
“What’s up?” I ask when we’re far enough from the speakers to not have to shout at each other. “Change your mind on a drink?”
“Nope. Just, either your cock now vibrates, or someone was trying to call you. I didn’t know if you’d want to check that it’s Kingston.”
I laugh. “A vibrating dick would be a useful new skill. Probably a call, though.” I pull my phone from my pocket. The missed call came from my cousin. A second later, a text pops up. I stare at the text, unmoving.
My dad had a stroke. Can you come to the hospital?
Poor Lin. My uncle is one of the strongest, most vivacious people I know.
Ella touches my hand. “Hey, what happened?”
“My uncle had a stroke,” I say. “He’s at the hospital.”
“Oh no,” she breathes, squeezing my fingers. “What do you want to do?”
I need to see my uncle and support Lin, but I don’t want to leave Ella here. “I’m not sure. I should probably go to the hospital.”
“It’s okay,” she says, nodding. “Go to your family. Kingston should be here soon, right?”
I check my phone and text King. His response is immediate—he’s a block away. Nodding at Ella, I text Lin. On my way .
“Love you, princess,” I say, kissing Ella’s cheek. “King will be here in less than five minutes.”
“I suppose I can stay out of trouble until then,” she says with a wink.
I kiss her lips. “You better.”
“I hope your uncle is okay,” she says.
“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”
Kingston
Vice is crowded. It’s Saturday night, so of course it’s crammed with people. I’m getting too old for clubs like this. Although Vice is classy, the people who show up seem to be getting younger and younger, louder and louder.
But I’m here for Ella. Bash had the idea to treat her to a night of fun, and I’ll be damned if I work instead.
Kristin has formed a team of analysts to work on the Ruberetta account, and everything seems to be going well, there, but she has questions for me all the damned time.
I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake in hiring her, but up until now, she’d always been more than capable.
I’ll give her a couple more weeks to settle in, and then arrange a meeting if necessary.
But now isn’t the time to be worrying about all this. Now, it’s time for fun. Where’s my little girl?
I look along the wide bar, manned by multiple bartenders, to see if there’s any sign of Ella. Nope. She’s not in line for the bathroom, but I watch the restroom doors for a long moment to see if she comes out.
She wouldn’t be dancing without me or Bash, would she?
When she doesn’t materialize from the restrooms, I realize that the dance floor is the only other place she could be.
Frowning to myself, I scan the crush of dancers.
There. A flash of green sequins, a laughing face with bright eyes, luxurious brown curls pulled into a high ponytail. It’s Ella.
She’s out there dancing, shaking her little ass for all the guys around her. I clench my fist, then make a conscious effort to loosen it.
She flicks her ponytail behind her shoulder and turns slightly.
Makes eye contact with me.
Turns around and starts dancing again.
Brat.
I watch her profile, see a stubborn, teasing smile on her face as she lifts her arms in the air and gyrates to the beat of the song.
The lyrics are syrupy sweet, some shit about wanting to dance with their lover until sun-up.
I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. All I see is Ella and how obstinate she’s acting.
How beautiful and bratty she is.
Bash is missing out.
I take out my phone and snap a photo of her, then another. She’s gorgeous out there, just out of reach. Taunting me.
My little girl is playing with fucking fire.
Ella
I pretend I don’t see him and continue to dance. Not with any guy in particular—I’m not cheating, ever , and I’m not flirting with anyone or leading anyone on. But I lose myself in the music and sway my hips. Anytime another dancer gets too close, I move away.
I can feel Kingston’s gaze on me, hot as a brand.
The music holds me in its rhythm, and Kingston’s possessive focus holds me in his lust.
But I don’t go to him. I stay where I am.
Let him feel what I’ve been feeling. Let him know what it’s like to be left wanting, confused as to why the other person isn’t available.
I’m here to have fun, and he can just…I don’t know. He can just sit there and watch like a brooding jerk.
The past week has been hard. I’ve been feeling like I’m not as important to Kingston as his company. The only things getting me through it are Sebastian, and knowing that Kingston’s busy spell won’t last forever.
“Hey, beautiful,” a low voice says in my ear.
“No, thanks.” I jerk to the side, away from him. “Not interested.”
The guy mutters an insult, but I ignore it. I’m just going to dance my heart out. I feel sexy in my new stockings and dress, and I fucking love the idea of Kingston sitting at the bar, stewing.
So I continue to dance through one song, then another. Groups of other dancers let me join them, and sometimes I dance alone. The whole time, I’m aware of Kingston’s attention, even when I’m not looking anywhere near him. And in fact, I purposefully ignore him.
My ignoring and teasing campaign lasts until a strong hand grips my wrist and whirls me around.
I know it’s him without even seeing his face.
I collide with his hard chest. He smells so good—sandalwood and spice. I look up at him from beneath my eyelashes.
“Excuse me,” I say, “but I’m trying to dance, here.”
I tug myself from Kingston’s grip and sway my hips in time to the beat as I walk away. He doesn’t say anything, but I can still feel him watching me.
A couple of guys are dancing nearby, and when I go to join them, they let me stand close.
“Is that guy bothering you?” one of them asks in concern. “He’s really staring.”
“Nope, I’m messing with him—he’s my boyfriend,” I say with a wink.
They laugh and gesture that I should dance between them and the three of us can give him a show, but I shake my head. That would push Kingston too far. I continue dancing next to them, though, and when the song is over, I grin and wave at them before making my way toward the bar.
I don’t make it far, though, because large hands clamp down on my hips and hold me in place. Again, I know without looking that it’s Kingston.
“Are you trying to make me jealous, baby girl?” Kingston’s mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel his warm breath on my skin. His words are so angry, I can feel my bratty side emerging.
And his voice so low, I can feel it in my pussy.
“Maybe I fucking am, if it’s the only way I can get your attention,” I say.
“Upstairs,” he says. “Now.”
The two guys that I was dancing with give me a questioning look as Kingston practically drags me toward the stairs. I give them a thumbs-up so they won’t worry.
Kingston and I don’t even make it into one of the private rooms. He crowds me against the wall, groaning.
“You’re such a little tease,” he says.
His fingers are rough, bruising, as he slides his hand under my dress and along my thighs, gripping my legs to pull them apart.
“You think flirting with other men is the solution to your own feelings of neglect?” he asks.
“It seems eff—” I break off as he yanks my panties to the side and plunges a finger knuckle-deep into my pussy.
“You were saying?” he says, his voice a growl.
“It seems effective,” I gasp.
He takes his finger out of me and holds it up to my mouth. “Lick me clean.”
“No.”
“You are on such thin fucking ice,” he says.
Am I, though? I’m finally getting what I want. Kingston’s attention, undivided. I raise my gaze to his and smirk.
He leans in close. His teeth clack against my earring as he bites my ear before licking it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”