Chapter Twenty-Two
Grayson
E lla’s a drug. I got my very first hit when I saw her that hungover morning in the diner, and I’ve been addicted ever since .
And right now, instead of getting what I want and getting bored, I can feel my addiction, my obsession blossoming, something that’s never happened before. I’ve never wanted a girl more once I’ve already had her, but with Ella I do .
I want to stay in my bed all day with her. I want to fuck her with her head thrown back on the pillows. I want to lick her soft, sweet pussy until she screams, and I want her pretty lips wrapped around my cock again as she swallows my load .
And between rounds, when we’re too tired to move? I want to hear her laugh. I want her to tell me about life in my kingdom, the kind of life I’ve never been able to have myself because I’ve been busy being the Prince .
Ella slides off of me, and I spoon her again, pulling her into my arms .
“I should go soon,” she murmurs again .
“What part of I’m ordering you to stay don’t you understand?” I tease, running my fingers over one still-stiff nipple .
Ella just laughs softly, and soon, I’m asleep again. I’ve been a heavy sleeper my whole life — which is useful when your primary sleep hours are ten in the morning until five at night — and I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep where the only thing I really know is that Ella’s in my arms .
When I wake up, I’ve rolled over, and I’m facing the other direction. I stretch sleepily, eyes still closed, and think about what I’m about to feast my eyes on: Ella, naked, ready, and inviting, and I roll over .
My bed’s empty .
I blink. That can’t be right, Ella was here maybe an hour ago. I woke up to her on top of me, sliding my cock into her, my voracious little kitten .
But she’s gone. She’s really not here, and for a horrifying second, I’m afraid I dreamed the whole thing. Maybe I’ve been so desperate to find this girl that I just invented last night out of thin air and I’m losing my mind .
Horrified, I stand up, still half-wrapped in the sheets, searching for something, anything , a clue that I’m not crazy .
And I nearly trip right over it, next to the door. A pair of high, crystal-studded shoes half-hidden under a chair. They sparkle in the light. I didn’t notice her shoes, really, but now that I think about it there was a certain glimmer to her walk .
They have to be hers .
Her name was Ella. She works at a diner, and that’s all I know about her — besides the fact that last night was the best night of my life, and I need her like a fish needs water .
I don’t know why she left, but I keep thinking about her saying that she needed to go, like she was in trouble. Like she was frightened of something, and the thought alone makes a hard, black knot of fury tighten inside me .
I think Ella might be in trouble, and she didn’t want to tell me. I clench her shoe in my hand and look toward the window where the sun’s now up, and I make a promise: to me, to her, to the world at large .
Whatever’s happening, I’ll find you again .