Chapter 8
Eight
Kingston
Ella rolls over and sits up when I get out of the shower. “Good morning.”
“Morning, beautiful,” I say.
She eyes me, her gaze raking over my bare chest to the towel I’ve wrapped around my waist.
“See something you like?” I ask.
She shrugs and looks away. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Chuckling, I drop the towel and stalk toward her.
She can’t help but watch me now. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
I stop at the edge of the bed. “Suck me, little one.”
She scrambles off the bed and gets on her knees, then takes my cock in her mouth.
I hold onto her hair while she licks and sucks me, but I don’t want to come like this.
Before long, I’m pulling her away from my dick and helping her onto the bed.
I flip her around, yank down her panties, and eat her out from behind. I can’t resist tasting her.
“Are you ready for my cock, Ella?” I ask.
“Yes, please, Daddy.”
“So polite,” I remark.
“Well, you wouldn’t let me have it last night when I forgot my manners.”
“I’m glad you learned your lesson,” I say, notching myself at her tight, slippery entrance, “because now I can do this.”
I stroke inside her, struggling to leave my worries behind for these few blissful moments.
In less than an hour, I have that meeting with Joel, and I need to talk with Jaxon about the investigation before I head into the office, too.
But right now—right now, I’m with Ella. She’s going to live here with me, and the three of us are going to make things work.
She cries out when she comes, her voice raising to the ceiling, and the squeezing sensation of her pussy clamping over my cock sends me over the edge, too. I remain inside of her until I’m soft, peppering kisses over her shoulders.
“About moving you in with me,” I say. “How about we do that this weekend?”
She turns around and smiles at me. “That sounds great.”
My movements are quick and light as I get dressed. I kiss Ella with a smile on my lips, then leave for work.
I’m still grinning to myself, light on my feet, as I arrive at the coffee shop near my office building.
Joel’s already here. He sees me arrive and gestures me toward his table.
He’s wearing a dark gray suit and has his brown hair slick and combed up.
I think he favors the style because it gives him an extra half-inch or so of height.
The watch on his wrist is a Hasan-Auguste, which I recognize because Rayanne bought me one for Christmas when we were together.
My watch is gone, now—she took it with her when she left me for Steve.
I keep expecting to see it on Steve’s wrist one of these days.
“I already ordered your coffee,” Joel says. “It should be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks.” I can’t keep the note of caution out of my voice.
His blue eyes flash with irritation. “I’m not here to fight,” he says. “I’m here to apologize.”
I’m not sure what I think about this. Can I believe him? Fuck, I want to so bad. I want to have raised a good man, not a misogynistic little shit. I’m about to sit down when the barista calls out that two coffees are ready for Joel.
“I’ll get them,” I say.
When I return to the table and set down our drinks, Joel’s hands are folded in front of him and he leans forward.
“So you want to apologize,” I say.
“Yes. I’m sorry for the things I said about Ella, both around her, and around you. It was hard for me to find out you and your friend were sleeping with my girlfriend, but that’s not an excuse for my behavior.”
“Your ex-girlfriend,” I correct.
“My what?”
“Your ex-girlfriend. I didn’t sleep with her when you two were together.”
He shrugs. “We had just broken up, like hours prior, but okay.”
I take in a long, slow breath. I’m not here to debate specifics with him. But I’m also not going to allow him to spin this story like I slept with someone he was actively dating. He’d been fucking cheating on her for weeks.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say those things. I’d really like to make it better, and I think I can do this by returning to my old job.”
My brain does a mental record-scratch noise. Or, more accurately, squealing car brakes.
“Hold on,” I say. “ What ?”
“I apologize for my poor behavior, and I’d like to make it up to you by returning to my position at our company.”
Our company. Hmm.
He goes on, “I’ve seen the news, and Kristin Wayfield’s disappearance can’t be easy.
I imagine you’re dealing with the investigation as well as trying to cover the responsibilities of my old position.
Ruberetta needs more handholding than you can offer, and he likes me.
” Joel sits back in his seat, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks out the window.
Completely at his motherfucking ease.
“A woman is missing ,” I say in a low voice.
“I’m not using her kidnapping as a way to get my job back,” Joel bites back. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Right,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. Something about this entire meeting strikes me as wrong. “Well, I appreciate your concern for my company. I’ll take it under consideration.”
He physically jerks in his seat when I say the words my company . If he thinks I’m going to let him insinuate ownership, he’s fifty shades of wrong.
Just as quickly, he recovers from that discomfort. He pastes a small smile on his face and takes another sip of coffee before standing up.
“Thanks for hearing me out, Dad,” he says. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t use up any more of your time. Let me know how I can help.”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be in touch.”
I won’t, though. And if he has half a brain in his stubborn, spoiled head, he knows I won’t.
Ella
With Garth’s help, I’ve moved most of my smaller belongings up to Kingston’s penthouse.
My tiny pile of clothing, toiletries, and books looks shabby sitting here in his polished entryway.
Embarrassment threatens to heat my cheeks, but I angrily shove it away.
Being poor is nothing to be embarrassed about.
Kingston and Sebastian love me and they don’t care how much money I have.
I should be celebrating today, not worrying over whether they’ll think I’m after their money.
Taking another look at the pile, I grab a bag of clothing and begin hauling it to Kingston’s room. He told me I could have a spot in his closet, so I drag the bag there and swing open the closet door.
I freeze, jaw dropping. The closet is massive. His suits line one wall, and there are jeans and t-shirts stacked on shelves, looking as orderly as if Marie Kondo herself organized the place.
This closet sure as hell sparks joy.
One entire side of the closet is empty of belongings. Chuckling to myself, I start hanging up my few blouses, skirts, and dresses. I’ll be able to fit all of my clothes into a tiny corner.
“Ella?” a male voice calls.
It’s Sebastian. Even though I’m mad because he shared my video yesterday, my traitorous heart speeds up in anticipation of seeing him.
“I’m in here,” I say, hoping some of my anger comes through my voice.
He arrives with my second clothing bag and sets it on the floor next to my first. “Moving in, huh? It’s about damn time.”
“I’ve been either here or at yours just about every night, anyway,” I say defensively. “This just makes more sense. I’m going to give Kingston some rent money, though.”
“Yeah, he said that.” Sebastian frowns. “You’re acting weird. Is there a problem?”
“Nope.” I practically spit the word.
He’s on me before I see him moving, his arms banding around my waist and shoulders, his head tilting toward mine. He kisses me hard and fast, taking more from me than I anticipated giving. As soon as I start to melt into his embrace and return the kiss, though, I remember that I’m angry with him.
I pull back and shove his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course, and merely looks amused.
With his arms still wrapped around me, he says, “You do have a problem, princess. What is it?”
“You said you wouldn’t share my music without my permission,” I say.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t.”
“You did. Right here, on PhotoGram.” I hold up my phone, unlock it, and show him his own damn profile, where my video rests right on top.
His hazel eyes darken. “I reposted something that Pat Chrome tagged me in. Pat Chrome, from Church of Fortune?”
“Yes, I know who she is.”
“So, newsflash, everyone else is sharing it,” he says. “If you haven’t noticed, you really aren’t paying attention.”
I have noticed. It’s…strange and uncomfortable and exhilarating all at once. These are people who win awards for their music. These are the musicians pushed by music streaming services, artists who have signed with major record labels and show up at packed music venues.
And they’re paying attention to me.
But I know one of these musicians. He’s my boyfriend . And I had one request.
One.
I wanted him to not share my video.
“So?” he says. “What do you want to complain to me about, exactly?”
“You’re being a dick,” I say.
“I’m being realistic, and I’m being fair.
Anyone else, who I didn’t know? I would’ve reposted the video.
It’s good shit. The only reason you don’t have agents knocking down your door at this point is because everyone’s waiting to see what else you’ve got.
In the meantime, you have more than enough subscribers to monetize your VideYou account, so you now have a new job, princess. Congratulations.”
I lean back on my heels. I had thought he would apologize, because obviously he was in the wrong. Right? But now that I’m looking at it from his point of view…maybe he isn’t.
“I just didn’t want to depend on you for getting the word out about my music,” I whisper.
He cups my cheek. “You didn’t. Everyone else—freaking Pat Chrome, included—shared it first. It wasn’t me, Ella. This is all you.”
All of my righteous indignation leaves me in a whoosh of an exhale, and the fight is gone.
“I’m sorry!” I say, wrapping my arms around Sebastian.