Chapter 31 #2
The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping and their harmonized moans.
“Don’t stop,” Ace grunted. “Don’t fucking stop until you wet my dick up again.”
As if on his command, another orgasm welled up. Joy collapsed against his solid chest as it overtook her and he continued pounding into her from below.
Ace gripped a handful of her curls and pulled her head back from where it was tucked in the crook of his neck, taking her lips in a kiss.
Moans escaped from the both of them, each swallowing the other’s sounds of pleasure before they could fill the room.
“Adonis,” Joy gasped, feeling completely full of him.
“Mhm,” Ace hummed against her lips. “Let me hear you.”
Ace’s control finally slipped as his rhythm broke into something more urgent. Ace groaned, fucking into Joy harder as he chased his release.
“Give it to me,” she encouraged.
That sent him over the edge.
With a drawn out groan, he gripped her so hard she knew she’d see his hand prints on her skin tomorrow, and drove into her one final time. He spilled into her as both of their bodies shook.
Joy lay on top of him as they came down. Their chests rising and falling in sync as their bodies hummed.
Ace kissed her shoulder, then the side of her face.
“You good?” he asked.
Joy nodded with a sleepy smile.
Ace chuckled and kissed her forehead.
No words were needed when he carried her into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower and stepped beneath the warm spray with Joy still in his arms. His body was hungry for more of her, but instead, Ace gently cleaned the evidence of their night from her skin.
Joy returned the care, washing the blood from his hands and watching it disappear down the drain.
Those same hands had killed for her, then brought her unimaginable pleasure.
The contradiction should have frightened her.
Instead, it made her feel safe.
When the sun finally rose later that morning, Ace got up and prepared for his day, quietly going into the bathroom to take care of his hygiene.
When he stepped back into the bedroom, his attention was pulled to the bed with the sleeping woman he’d left lying there as she shifted.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at Joy as she slumbered. He smiled at the memory of their night and early morning. He’d woken her up close to dawn for another round that she happily accepted.
She’d knocked out after that, and hadn’t tied up her hair, so her mass of curls were spread out on the pillow around her and slightly covered her face as she slept peacefully.
Ace’s lips quirked as he watched the beautiful woman in his bed snore the paint off the walls like a grown man who has just finished a twelve hour construction shift. He couldn’t even bring himself to be irritated by it. He was just glad to have her there.
She fit in his bed. In his home. In his life.
He wanted to keep her there for as long as possible.
Deciding that the day could wait, he crawled back under the covers with her, content to lay there and watch her sleep.
He pulled the duvet back, discovering she was still fully nude. With the wash of light from the window bathing her, Ace took in parts of her body he hadn’t had the time to explore last night in their haste.
Joy slept with her fists balled, ready to attack even in her sleep. He gingerly took the one closest to him and kissed it, slowly unfurling each of her fingers until it laid flat against the pillow.
Her skin, though smooth to the touch, was marred with scars, old bruises, and stretch marks. All of them held stories that collectively created the wonder that was the woman lying in his sheets. They testified to her strength, growth, and anger and he wanted to bear all of it.
Ace stayed there for close to an hour, tracing alight finger over her silhouette and placing kisses on scars he discovered. With each kiss, he silently vowed that she wouldn’t have to endure whatever had caused them any longer.
Around noon, he reluctantly decided that he needed to start his day, but not b before waking Joy up with his face between her legs.
“I’ve gotta go,” Ace mumbled, licking the remnants of her essence from his lips.
With half lidded eyes from remnants of sleep and the orgasm he’d pulled from her, Joy acknowledged his statement.
Before departing, they shared a final kiss.
It was slow and passionate.
Feverish yet tender.
Possessive yet submissive.
They pulled away breathless and Ace had half a mind to get back in bed for a second time.
Instead, he straightened, got dressed, and headed for the door. Joy watched him leave. The strong muscles in his back flexed under the suit and her core thumped with memories of how they’d felt beneath her fingers when she clung to him as he brought them both to release over and over again.
Once alone, Joy sighed looking around the room. She’d awakened that morning with more questions than she went to bed with.
With the haze of lust cleared from her brain, she finally took the time to put together everything she’d seen and heard the night before.
She’d always had suspicions of Ace’s involvement with organized crime. The clients they met with treated him differently than she’d ever seen, but she’d chalked it up to being a crooked lawyer who was good at their job.
The night at the club made her reconsider her original assessment and last night only deepened her suspicion.
After brushing her teeth with the toothbrush Ace left for her, she found her phone in her discarded purse downstairs and laid back under the covers. Once comfortable, she commenced some research.
She typed Ace’s name into the search bar. The results were clean with the only things coming up being articles about his cases, the socialite women he’d been seen with, and his fashion.
A search of April’s name wielded more of the same—photos from galas and parties, her arm looped through the elbows of rich and powerful men.
Zachariah’s name was no different at first. There were a lot of photos and articles detailing his founding of the firm and work in the community.
Praising him for his long history of being one of the go-to’s in criminal defense for celebrities and high profile dealers before his retirement in the early 2000s.
On the 5th page of the search engine, things started to get interesting, starting with an aged mugshot from the 70s.
The suppressed article was published seven years ago criticizing the King family for their alleged involvement in organized crime, noting Zachariah and Senior’s multiple arrests and dropped charges related to accusations of their involvement with the Black Mafia.
The article detailed all of the evidence that had been brought against them, all of it circumstantial or thrown out completely along with the cases that left them without convictions.
At the bottom of the article was an edit made a month after the initial publishing retracting most of the statements made and clarifying that all of the claims made were simply speculation and hearsay.
Joy stared at the screen for a moment longer before locking her phone.
The weight of what she’d learned settled over her.
She laid back, stared up at the ceiling, replaying every interaction with the Kings through new eyes.
It was all starting to make sense. The pieces she hadn’t thought much of before began to paint a picture she wasn’t sure how she missed.
The way Ace carried himself.
The way his clients deferred to him—not just as their lawyer, but as something more.
The respect.
The fear.
The quiet authority that followed him into every room.
The pressure that visibly weighed on his shoulders.
Joy had assumed it was the pressure of one day running the firm.
But it was more than that.
Much more.
Not only did it explain the way Ace moved and was treated but it also explained the way he handled her.
The way he seemed to see her and get her. Because he did.
They were the same. Cut from the same twisted cloth.
The realization should’ve unsettled her. Should’ve made her put distance between herself and a man who was clearly more dangerous than she’d allowed herself to believe.
Instead, she wanted him more.
Joy exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over her face.
She would have to be careful if she wanted to keep her identity under wraps.
If Ace was who she suspected, then he wasn’t a man who could be misled or outmaneuvered easily.
She would need to be sharper. More controlled.
Joy’s worrying and reeling were momentarily disrupted by a wave of desire.
They were the same, she thought again.
Perhaps that’s why loneliness fled when he was around and her carefully curated mask slipped without thought.
She’d spent so long hiding in crowded rooms, blending in, becoming what was needed.
But she couldn’t hide from him.
That fact used to unsettle her about him but now, it brought comfort. And not for the first time, she wondered what would happen if she stopped trying to.