27. Kingsley
Kingsley
I’m power-walking across the rooftop like it’s nobody’s business.
No one is supposed to know me. We’re over an hour out of the city, yet someone still knows enough about me to take pictures. God fucking dammit.
The picture cannot get out. It’s one thing to be seen with Rip, but the way he talked next to my ear, how we kept looking at each other’s lips… No one can see that.
Sylvie passed away only a year ago. It’s too soon for me to pop out with another partner, especially a man, at that. The last thing I need is for people to get suspicious, or the media will have a field day. After Aralynn’s arrest, we need no more headlines.
I’m pushing past people and chairs to reach him. He’s still in my line of sight, which is honestly pathetic. The guy with the camera is sprinting, but my power walk is way faster than his.
Rip’s right on my tail, immensely ticked off. He doesn’t want this to get out as much as I don’t.
Tired of the cat-and-mouse chase, Rip catches up with the freighted reporter in seconds. He looms over the other guy, making him stop. Everyone’s looking this way, and we’re still outside, so we can’t exactly do anything to him right now.
“Let’s chat in the restroom,” I offer a smile, but my words come out strained. He eyes the bathroom nervously, then, with a tremble, he heads in.
Rip locks the door behind us, and the man cowers against the wall, unable to meet our intense gazes. Pretty funny how he acts so bashful after he had the guts to snap a picture of us.
“Give me the camera,” Rip orders, stretching his hand out.
“No,” he mumbles. His tone is unsure, as if he’s asking for permission, but he won’t budge.
Rip faces him, eyes wide with disbelief. The guy with the camera is so audacious, I have to hold back my laughter. Does Rip strike him as someone who takes no for an answer?
Rip gets in his face, practically spitting as he speaks. “Give me the fucking camera.”
The man swallows hard. “I said no.”
Rip towers over the guy, his brows pulled so tightly together I’m half convinced he’ll pop a vein.
He struts around each day like he’d strangle anyone who even breathes wrong in his direction.
At first, I figured it was an act to scare people off, but now I realize that’s just who Rip Wright is.
Because the way he’s glaring at the cameraman, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen, like he’s genuinely about to do something he shouldn’t, is nothing like he’s ever shown me before.
With a powerful shove, he throws the man against the wall, and his head slams against it.
With his fist balled at his side, Rip’s arm muscles strained, betraying his desperate effort to resist the urge to punch the man.
Part of me wants to let him, but beating the man in the bathroom of an establishment for an unsolicited picture of us is not the right move.
If I don’t do something about Rip, he’ll have a lawsuit on our hands.
I yank Rip away from the man before he snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Rip doesn’t pull his glare off the reporter. He takes pictures of us to post and profit from like the sneaky creep he is, then refuses when I tell him to delete them. He’s lucky I don’t break his jaw.”
“Do you want us to be the headline in the news? ‘The son of Beaumont Grand and an unhinged idiot assault an innocent, scared reporter after taking pictures of their secret relationship.’” I move my hands as if to broadcast the news. “Is that what you want?”
Still fuming, I grip his bicep and squeeze, signaling him to chill out. Only when the gravity in my eyes becomes clear to him does he let his guard down, even as he continues to glare at the other man.
“Calm yourself, darling. Violence isn’t a personality trait, y’know,” I say with a playful smirk. Then I turn to the reporter. “If you took a picture of me, you know who I am, correct?”
I wait for his answer. He nods.
“Good. And if you know that, then you also know how poorly life can turn for you if you get on my bad side. Am I right again?”
With a tight grip on his camera, his eyes drop to the floor. “I’ve heard stories.”
“Then you have to be pretty fucking stupid to play this game with me.” I take a step forward, and he shudders. “I admire your persistence, but I am gonna need that camera.”
The man’s eyes dart between Rip and me. I have to hand it to the guy; he may be terrified, but he’s held his own. But like I told him, my patience is thinning not only from irritation, but because watching Rip manhandle the reporter has my pants growing tighter.
I go to stop Rip when he approaches, but he raises his hand to tell me he’s okay. He gets down close to the guy, right by his ear, and whispers to him.
His breathing grew shallow and rapid as his wide eyes remained glued to the floor. He holds the camera out, head slumped in defeat, when Rip snatches it. He fiddles with it, trying to delete the photos, before finally giving it back to the guy.
“If you speak a syllable about this to anyone, we will find you.” Rip’s fingers dig into his shoulder with a harsh squeeze. “Now get the fuck out of here. Please.”
The reporter nods, his shoulders slumping as he scurries away in defeat. With a sneer that pulls his lips back, Rip erupts into wild, crazed laughter. It’s booming and gleeful, like it’s the first time he’s laughed in years.
It’s only now I notice my hands are still wrapped around his bicep. “What did you say to him?”
He smirks. “Take a wild guess.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
“What would be the fun in that?” He takes a smooth step forward, and his hand snakes around my waist. “Just know that reporter won’t be setting foot anywhere near you or your family again.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, eyes trailing his muscles. “But I was handling it.”
“You say that a lot, don’t you, Prince?” he flirts, his hips pressing against mine. The friction is heavenly, sending electricity surging through my body as his pelvis rolls against my hardening dick. “Yeah, thought so.”
It’s times like this I want nothing more than to kiss him. The thought of his tender lips and the feel of metal on his tongue grazing against mine ignites a sense of longing in me.
I underestimated how torturous the whole “no kissing” rule would be.
He squeezes my ass. “Are you going to take me up on my offer from earlier?”
“Fuck yes.”
Rip’s lips move to my neck, sucking and pulling on the skin like it’s chewy candy. “Okay, but not in the toilet—out there. On the rooftop.”
I look at him, dumbfounded. The rooftop, as in the open spot with all the buildings surrounding it, bright lights, and a crowd watching karaoke? Did we not just chase down a man for taking pictures of us? Now he wants us to put on a naked show for everyone to see.
“Yeah, let’s give everyone a live porno. It’s not like anyone would want to post a video of that,” I say sarcastically as I bite back a groan.
He pulls away, biting his lip and gripping the back of my head. “Imagine it, Kingsley. Out in the open, and the stars shining down on us. Me, balls deep inside of you, fucking you so hard you’re screaming my name loud enough for the entire city to hear. Isn’t that romantic?”
My dick twitches, and I think my pants have shrunk three sizes. I know he’s teasing me, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not considering it.
We’re the tallest building in the area, high enough that no pedestrian walking below could see us by looking up. Technically, the only way to get a photo would be to be up on the roof itself, given the surrounding walls and structure. So, if the area is closed, then we’ll have privacy.
Only because of Rip am I even thinking about this. This going sideways means a lot more problems than Aralynn’s arrest and the mole in the organization.
I’d say I’ll blame it on the alcohol, but in this case, Rip is the alcohol.
“There is something about you, Rip. Here I am ready to make shit happen that could destroy my name and make my life hell because you asked me to.”
His smile falters. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It might be,” I state, our eyes locked. “But I’ll do it over and over, even if it ruins me, if it keeps me yours.”
Rip comes with me to the front desk, since I’m pretty sure that’s the person who manages the rooftop. Part of why I come here is because they, for the most part, have no clue who I am. Tonight, that will change. I guess that means I’ll need to find a new spot to retreat to.
The dude at the counter is scrolling on his phone when I approach him. “Are you looking for the bar?”
I flick my eyes to the elevator behind me, then back to him. “I just came from there.”
“Then what do you need?” he asks dryly.
I can sense Rip’s getting ticked off at the guy’s attitude. He’s always ready to lose his head, as if he doesn’t realize things can get done without threatening violence. How did I end up so smitten with someone with the temper of a rabid dog?
“You need to close the rooftop,” I state.
The man finally looks up. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I want private access.”
He laughs out of pure disbelief. “Get out of here with that, man.”
He truly has no idea who he’s speaking to. I wish I didn’t have to burst his little bubble to make this work. It’s nice not being recognized.
“Are you the owner?” I ask.
Still scrolling on his phone, he nods once.
I lean over the counter, lips pulled into a smug grin.
“Listen, man. There are only twenty minutes left before you close; you’ve had drunk people torturing our ears for hours, and I’m sure you want to go home.
So, do us all a favor and close up shop.
Or, my family can pay you a visit, and you won’t have a building to hold your rooftop bar at all. ”
That gets his full attention. He folds his arms across his chest in full defense mode. “Really? And who’s your family?”
“I’m Kingsley Beaumont,” I answer smoothly.
His hands fall by his sides, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Fuck, seriously? I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry. We’re closing early.”
“Thanks…” I read his name tag, “Holden.”