King's Pleasure (6 page)

Leigh stood up, but then quickly dropped to the floor because all the blood had rushed to her head.

“Whoa,” her Big Daddy chuckled and rushed over to help. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she panted. In truth, her limbs had returned to their wet-noodle stage. “I just—just…”

“Need another break?” he suggested.

She smiled meekly. “Just a small one.”

He laughed, but headed back over to his wallet for another condom. “Tell you what,” he said, spotting the half-bath on the bottom floor. “You have one minute—and then you need to come and meet me in one of these bedrooms up here.” He held up a finger. “One minute.”

Leigh tried to nod, but all she could manage was just breathing. Through her lowered lashes, she watched him strut off with his well-defined muscles while his glazed cock swung like a pendulum between his thighs.

She picked one hell of a stallion to ride this night. And she was definitely satisfied. Leigh closed her eyes for a second, waiting to reboot.

“Time’s up!”

Leigh smiled, jumped up and raced to the bedroom.

L
eigh awoke from her dreams with a smile on her face and a tingling ache between her legs. When she arrived in Malibu yesterday it was more so to throw a pity party for herself than to be on the prowl for a one-night stand. But after a few glasses of wine, she heard the laughter and the music just a couple of houses away and she thought,
why not
. Before she knew it, she’d given herself permission to just let her hair down and to do things that she never even dared to do without having pyschoanalyzed it to death.

After all, she was entitled, especially after dealing with a man most people thought she would marry. But he happened to be the same guy who habitually broke her heart.

Now, after five years, it was over. She was pretty sure this time, given their history of boomeranging. It had gotten to the point that she wondered whether she stuck it out just because of the time she’d already invested in the relationship—not because of love. At least, she didn’t think it was love anymore.

It’s over.
The best way to ensure that was true was to stay the hell away from DeShawn Carter. He was too charming and persistent by half, especially when he wanted to be. He always had a way of convincing her that he was truly sorry and that somehow, his dick just happened to fall into the random chicks he met on the road. Hell, he might even pull out a stack of Bibles and swear on it.

Did she care anymore? Should she care?

Not right now. Right now she felt too good.

Leigh moaned as she stretched out of the spoon position. Her ass bumped into something hard. That was all it took for a night of memories to come flooding back to her, each one better than the next. She almost didn’t even trust that the cinematic frames running through her head were real—until she gathered the courage to turn around and peek over her shoulder.

The moment she did her heart stopped. Big Daddy was as gorgeous in the morning light as he was in moonlight.
Can a man be described as
gorgeous?

Just looking at his creamy milk-chocolate skin was enough to give her hunger pangs, but his handsome features themselves gave her the impression that God took his time creating a specimen like him. There was strength emanating everywhere—from his nicely chiseled jawline, boulder-size shoulders, mountainous chest and, she lifted up the sheet and took a peek at the view below.

That was real, too.

Leigh sucked in a deep breath, but it did nothing to reverse her accelerating heartbeat. “You were reeeaaally a bad girl.” A wicked smile touched her lips as she slowly pulled her eyes away from his morning erection and returned to his sleeping face. As much as she was attracted to this man’s strength, he had another quality that she couldn’t quite put her finger on that had her heart tripping inside her chest—something that pulled at her.

Leigh slammed her eyes shut, and then shook her head. What the hell was wrong with her?

She’d just gotten out of a relationship—and there she was weighing the possibility of starting another one—and with a man she’d just met?

This was why women couldn’t have no-strings-attached sex. They invariably open a sewing-kit and start stitching.

No. As nice a man as this guy seemed to be, what sort of relationship could they possibly have with this as their beginning? This was worse than sex on the first date. This was sex before knowing each other’s names.

Leigh pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to climb out of bed. As quietly as she could, she searched for some clothes to put on. The thought that she should stick around, perhaps cook him breakfast and return him to wherever it was he came from crossed her mind. But she had never done that sort of thing before and she didn’t know if she could deal with the awkwardness. Bottom line, she didn’t want him to see
her
in the light of day. It would make things
too
complicated and he would ask too many questions.

In the top drawer of the nightstand she pulled out a pad and paper and jotted down,
‘Thanks. I needed that.’

She stared at the short note and struggled for something else to add, but other than leaving money on the dresser, what else was there to say? Leigh placed the note on top of his clothes, certain that he would see it there and then creep out of the bedroom and out of his life.

Jeremy stirred from the best sleep he’d ever had with a smile on his face. Sure, he was sore in a few places from twisting in ways he didn’t have any business twisting. But he was sure that it was nothing a good massage couldn’t work out. Moaning and stretching, he still didn’t quite have enough strength to open his eyes. That is until the smell of bacon wafted under his nose and got his stomach growling like Cujo.

Food was the second best way to wake a man in the morning.
The first…
Jeremy finally peeled open his eyes to see his morning hard-on standing straight as a flagpole. He groaned, wishing that Baby Girl was lying next to him instead of in the kitchen, but he appreciated her trying to feed a brother after the grueling workout she put him through.

With one last groan, he finally sat up and noticed for the first time that the top mattress was actually on the floor. Assessing the room while he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, a smile traveled up the corner of his lips. The place was wrecked: overturned lamps and nightstands—and were those his drawers hanging on the doorknob?

He snickered as he propelled himself from off the floor. His first stop was to the adjoining bathroom where he opted for a quick shower. Though he was tempted to work the edge off his erection, he was more interested to see if he could get Baby Girl to do a few instant-replay moves like she put on him the night before. Hell, there were a few moves that even he had never tried before.

Stepping out of the shower, Jeremy smiled as the old-school Jacksons’ hit “Blame it on the Boogie” filled the beach house. He bobbed his head and tucked his towel around his hips as he closed in on the kitchen. When he heard Baby Girl singing, he was a little surprised to hear that she was an alto. Given how high he had her crying out to the Almighty, her versatile range was impressive.
Now, if this girl is as bad in the kitchen as she is in the bedroom, I might have to keep her around a little longer.

“Whatcha got cookin’ up in here?” he asked, rounding the corner, but then quickly stopping in his tracks, when a blond-haired white woman jerked around, took one look at him and then proceeded to scream her head off.

“Whoa, whoa—what the hell!” His brain scrambled and he was unable to make sense of what was going on. “George!”

“Wait! I can explain,” he shouted. However, the woman’s scream edged closer toward hysteria.

“Cathy? Are you all right?”

Behind him, Jeremy heard the mad rush of something—or someone—heavy heading toward him. “No. It’s okay,” he said, turning with his hands up in a defensive maneuver.

Unfortunately, his towel wasn’t tucked too securely and the sucker picked the moment when this big sumo wrestler-looking brother, rounded the corner. All explanations flew right out of Jeremy’s head about the same time his jaw had the misfortune to be in the direct line of this angry brother’s fist.

After that, he blacked out.

“All right. Here you go,” a bored Los Angeles police officer said, pushing Jeremy’s wallet and car keys toward him. “Sign here and here.” He pointed to the X’s on a clipboard form. “And you’re free to go.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy mumbled and then was punished by his swollen jaw. He quickly scrawled his name twice. Turning, he was then escorted out of the precinct by another officer. Once he was directed to the department’s crowded lobby, his cousin Quentin climbed to his feet with a Cheshire-size grin from ear to ear.

“Damn,” Q said, wincing at the sight of him. “What the hell happened to the side of your face?”

“Zip it, Q. I’m not in the mood,” Jeremy groaned as he marched past his cousin and out of the precinct’s glass doors.

“I wouldn’t be in the mood either if I looked like I’d just been run over by a Mack truck.” Quentin laughed as he struggled to keep up with his cousin. “Did you at least get the license-plate number?”

“Yeah. K-S-S-M-Y-A-Z-Z!”

Quentin threw his head back and laughed.

Jeremy reached the parking lot and then glanced around. “Where did you park?”

“This way, convict.” Quentin pointed in the direction of a Mercedes rental. “Let me hurry up and get you off the streets before you break into someone else’s house butt-naked and flash your junk.”

“I didn’t break in,” Jeremy said, jerking open the passenger door and throwing his body onto the leather interior. “I was invited.”

“By the hysterical woman that’s telling every news camera in a fifty-mile radius that she feared for her life when a strange naked black man just popped up behind her in the kitchen?”

Jeremy’s head fell back against the headrest. “It’s all over the news?”

“Local news—I haven’t seen anything on the CNN ticker yet.”

“Great. Juuusssst great.” Jeremy closed his eyes and for at least the millionth time prayed that when he opened them back up this whole thing would’ve just been some horrible nightmare.

“Chill out. Don’t get your panties in a wad, I’ve been in your position numerous times myself,” Quentin continued his style of consoling. “You go to a party, toss back one or two too many drinks and then next thing you know someone has called the damn law. Trust me. You called the right man for the job on this one.”

“I called you because Eamon is still on his extended honeymoon and Xavier didn’t answer his phone.”

“Well, at least I was third in line,” Quentin said, with a wink. “I already got you lined up with some of the best lawyers money can buy. You were robbed.”

“I had my wallet and clothes,” he reminded him.

“You were disoriented—you have a medical condition,” Quentin amended. “It doesn’t matter. My lawyer, Ernest Files, got you covered like Allstate. This whole thing will get swept under the rug. No problem.”

Jeremy continued to just shake his head. “Look, I’m telling you the truth, Baby Girl took me over to her crib during Dylan Freedman’s bachelor party…and—”

“Say what? Dylan Freedman got hitched?”

Jeremy huffed at being interrupted. “Yeah. The Dollhouse threw him this cool party. I met this one chick— I mean, damn!” He shook his head, remembering some of her moves both on the dance floor and then a few other ones that answered how that mattress ended up on the floor.

“That fine, huh?”

Despite the soreness, a smile crept onto Jeremy’s face. “Baby Girl was a whole ’nother level,” he said. Hell, there were still parts on his body that were aching that had absolutely nothing to do with the sucker punch that knocked his butt out.

“Damn, playa.” Q laughed. “Are you daydreaming over there?”

“What?” Jeremy jerked. “Nah. Nah. I’m just trying to figure out what the hell happened.”

“Well, first off, does this Baby Girl happen to have a
real
name?” At his cousin’s silence, Quentin pulled his eyes from off the road to catch the embarrassed look ripple across Jeremy’s face. “Ah, playa, please tell me you didn’t just get played.”

Jeremy turned defensive. “She said that she didn’t want to exchange names.”

“Why? Is she in the Secret Service or something? Is the Navy SEALs looking for her ass?”

“Nah. I mean, I don’t think so.” He struggled with the possibility of having been played. “Look. You had to have been there. The no names just added to the whole mystique. It was hot.”

“Uh-huh,” Q shook his head and then turned his attention back to the road. “Well, while you were burning up the sheets in somebody
else’s
crib, did you at least remember to wrap it up?”

Jeremy blanched.

“Aww, nah. Playa, are you for real?”

“What are you, hood now?”

“Are you stupid now?” Q counterattacked. “You’re out drilling in mysterious and nameless pussy and you didn’t even bother to protect yourself? Cuz, just hand over your black book and playa card. You’re out here making it dangerous for everybody.” He suddenly swerved over three lanes to make the next exit.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Taking you to the nearest clinic. You definitely need to get yourself checked out before I let you out back on the streets.”

“Man, I used condoms. It’s just that one of them broke near the end.”

Quentin eyeballed him dubiously. “Broke? What the hell were you doing?”

“Uh, none of your damn business, cuz. I done told you that your old-school moves can’t keep up.”

“Junior, stop all that noise. All you toddlers out here think y’all invented sex. How in the hell do you think y’all got here? Plus, I’m not that much older than you.”

Jeremy smirked because age jokes always got under Quentin’s skin.

“Anyway, a real professional playa’s condoms don’t break.”

“Look, just because you got all that
extra
room in your condoms, don’t be hatin’ on us snug-fit brothas. Hell, I hear some chicks think that nice things come in
small
packages.”

“You’re not funny.”

Jeremy’s laugh deepened and then rumbled the rest of the way to The Dollhouse.

“Get the hell up out of my car,” Q barked, throwing the car into Park and then exiting the vehicle in almost the same fluid motion.

“C’mon, Quentin,” Jeremy continued laughing as he climbed out of the car. “You know I got nothing but love for you, baby.”

Quentin tossed up his middle finger while he strolled faster toward the back door, where he quickly produced a key and jetted inside.

Jeremy just barely caught the door before it slammed shut in his face. “Aww. Did I hurt somebody’s
itty-bitty
feelings?”

“There you are, Jeremy,” said Thomas, the club’s head chef, glancing up from his inventory accounting. “We’ve been wondering where you’ve been.” His expression twisted. “What the hell happened to your face?”