KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (40 page)

Dalton laughs
down at me, his chest rumbling. The vibrations transfer to other body parts and I nearly explode. “I can feel your fucking heartbeat,” I groan, amazed. “Is it always like this?”

“No,” Dalton
says, amused. His voice deepens, his accent more pronounced. “This is the most intimate thing you could have done for me- trusting me… Want to see a trick, I’ve thought long and hard about?”

“Did you just say long and hard?
” I tease. “By the way, are you all the way in?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Not
even close… Close your eyes,” Dalton commands. And I do.

“Holy Fuck!”
I jackknife off the mattress and all thoughts of stamina fade. Dalton’s hot lips encircle my cockhead and suck. The moist, wet heat of his mouth tightens by balls. The soft brush of his tongue has me erupting. A forceful geyser pours down Dalton’s throat. I thrash and spasm as the most potent orgasm of my life slams into me.

“What?” I breathlessly grunt.

“A very flexible small guy with a huge dick is what. Do you like me fucking your ass and sucking you off at the same time?”

“Christ, yes,” I groan, hips wildly bucking. “Don’t stop. I want all of you inside me. Fuck me. Suck me
… Dalton,” I shout when he takes me at my word. My cock slips free of his eager mouth as he deeply thrusts. My name echoes around our bedroom, a promise of what’s to come.

We christen our bed, our home, our new life. Writhing arms and legs, bodies thrashing on the mattress in ecstasy, we spend our first night joined as one.
Many times and in multiple ways.

As dawn threatens the horizon, filtering light in the large windows, it casts heated
rays on our well-sated bodies.

“One hell of a first night,” I drowsily murmur. “I don’t think I can move today. It’s a good thing I’m the boss.”

“And that it’s Saturday,” Dalton helpfully supplies. “Make your minion do the work today. Stay in bed with me,” he entices me, pouting his crimson lips.

“It’s Saturday,” I say pointedly.

“So?”

“Transcend? You know, your place of employment,” I jog his exhausted memory. “I could send one of my minions over. Have Niel and Whitney draw straws.”

“I don’t have to be there until this afternoon. We can lounge all morning. Call Niel and have him bring us some food.” His belly rumbles on cue.

A shit-eating grin flashes across my face. Dalton is never hungry. Less than twenty-four hours into our new life and he’s already starving. This is what I always wanted. Dalton sexually satisfied, lying in our bed, waiting to be fed. I want to be the one to fulfill all of his needs.

“If this was Misery Castle, we could call for room service. But this is reality, and the closest person we could manipulate into bringing us sustenance is your mom. Do you really trust Olivia not to poison our food?”

“Good point, let’s cook.”
Dalton starts to sit up and scowls. “I… um... I don’t know how to cook. I always ate sugar and caffeine. Any chance the King knows how to cook? Do we even have food in the house?”

“
Change of plans. Coffee shop, grocery store, and book store. We’re in desperate need of a cook book… and maybe a kitchen store. Plus we have two alarm clocks that will be whining for the park in about half an hour.”

“So much for luxuriating i
n our bed on a Saturday morning,” Dalton groans, stretching and rolling around the sheets.

“Christ, I love you,” I confess.
“You’re so damned gorgeous.”

“
Je t’aime, Daniel,” he vows. “Et merci.”

I’m struck with how perfect this moment is. A moment like this doesn’t come often during a lifetime. This… this life just feels right. Dalton feels right.

“
Dalton,” the seriousness of my tone draws his attention. I roll on my side and face him. He mirrors the movement, patiently waiting.

“What is it?” His happy smile wilts around the edges as his eye track across my face.

“I’m not asking you to marry me right now.” I begin. “But one day I will. When we finally know each other, completely trust each other, I’ll ask. This is the promise that I make to you. The day an indestructible home is built on the foundation of our lives, I would be honored to be your husband. That’s all I ask.”

Dalton is silent for a few moments, staring at me as I stare back. Silence can’t be good. My mind reels, thinking of where I screwed up. Suddenly he smiles and it brightens my world, more so than the rising sun outside of our happy home.

Dalton is my home.

“I look forward to the
day you ask and the journey that takes us to that moment.” Dalton cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lips. “But who said you get to be the one to ask. This would make a fantastic bet for the Masters of the Universe game. What are the odds that Dalton asks Daniel before Daniel can ask Dalton?” He smirks. “I’m willing to hedge my bets on this one.”

~Chapter Thirty-Six~

“You’re like a kid on Christmas morning,” I say to Dalton. He’s so
excited, he’s practically bouncing off the walls. It’s so cute.

“It’s because I’m a big kid on Christmas Eve. It’s the first time in my life that I’m happy. This is really my first Christmas. It wasn’t something we celebrated when I was growing up. Even Itsy Bitsy didn’t get to wake up on Christmas morning, where you pester your parents to let you open presents.”

I don’t pity him; instead I show him how it’s supposed to be. I show him how our life will always be. “I had some amazing Christmas mornings and a lifetime of lonely ones. I’d love to say I can relate, but I can’t. Only thing I can do is make sure that each year is better than the last,” I vow, sealing it with a soft kiss.

Knock… K
nock…

“Bets on which group this is?” I tease, walking towards the door.

This Christmas is filled with firsts: first Christmas together, first gathering of our families, first time our families eat food we’d prepared.

“It’s mine,” Dalton guesses with one hundred percent accuracy. I’ve learned never to bet against the man. Former mafia prodigy, who was raised in a whorehouse and a casino, he knows the odds.

“Itsy,” I say in delight as the opening door reveals her. “Don’t you look stunning?”

“Too much?”
She self-consciously asks, pulling on the skirt of her red party dress. The coloring is fabulous with the Snow White image she has going on: pale skin, black hair, ruby-red lips, and vibrant green eyes. The gorgeous creature is a perfect melding of her parents. She has Olivia’s curves and attributes, and Marc’s tight ringlets and facial features that are softened by Spyder’s femininity.

“You’re heart-stopping gorgeous- flaunt it,” I encourage the nineteen-year-old.

“Merci,” she says, flashing me a brilliant smile. “Mon frère,” her voice rises the second she spots her brother. With a squeal, she runs up to him. “Font!”

“Daniel,” Olivia says in greeting. “It’s a pleasure, as always.” What the black widow means is that we have to deal with each other for Dalton’s sake. I see her practically every day- neighbor from hell.

“Olivia, welcome, please make yourself at home.” I motion to the open living room, where her kids are giddily snooping at packages under the tree.

“You look like shit,” I grumble to
Marcus. Spyder isn’t allowed to be alone with her mother. If Dalton is unavailable, Marcus is the reluctant escort/chaperone.

“I can’t sleep,” he growls, striding into the living room and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Mom’s snoring keeping you awake?” I grab a few beers from the fridge. The look in Marc’s amber eyes screams that virgin punch isn’t going to cut it. Beer’s the strongest thing we have in this house.

“
Knock that shit off,” Marc snarls, opening a cabinet drawer and grabbing the bottle opener. He hates that I call Regina Mom. At first I just used the word around Niel and Ella because it was easier:
Mom said this or do that. Tell Mom I said hi.
But as soon as I saw how much it annoyed Marcus… well, I do it constantly now.

Marc
drains half his beer, eyeing me. “Regina doesn’t snore, as you well know.” His tone calls me a
motherfucker
in the purest form possible. As in, I actually fucked my self-appointed mother.

Marcus
was murderous over the Maze. He didn’t touch me. But Ezra was brutally beaten in the dungeon. It was a fist fight between father and son- Marcus won. Then Ezra was frozen out by his dad for six weeks. I felt horrible that I was the cause.

“I’m not pissed at you,” Marc’s
pissy tone contradicts the claim. “Ezra used you as an excuse to exercise his bad side. I warned Regina, I warned you, and Ezra knew fucking better than to start that shit up again. Your
mom
is… let’s just say that it’s not her snoring that keeps me up. It doesn’t help that I’m unemployed, living in your damned castle, and I can’t find a thread to follow on the game. I’m such a loser,” he self-deprecatingly bashes himself.

“I reached a dead end, too. Bianca won’t talk. She wouldn’t even tell Olivia.” I slump against the counter and open a beer. I push the bottle to Marc. He drains half of it. “Go easy on Ezra. He really did help me. He helped me in so
many ways. Look at us-” I motion to my home and Dalton and his family chatting in the other room. “Dalton’s even gained fifteen pounds- he’s working out. We’re happy and I owe that in part to Ezra.”

“
I think the pair of you has thanked Ezra enough.” Marc stares at me over the top of his bottle and takes another swig. “And often.”

I try to ignore the furious blush that turns my pale skin bright red.
“Where are my people?”

“Girls… lots of girls…
that’s where they are. It took me months, but Spyder learned Daddy didn’t tolerate lateness. It’s inconceivable, but the girl just pulls on a dress and she’s done- instant gorgeous. Now your clan… they seem to think they need ten layers of makeup on their pretty faces. Late… always late,” Marc growls. Evidently estrogen is not his friend. I’m used to it after a lifetime of girls shoved up my ass. Poor Niel.

“
Not everyone can be like Mom,” I say of Regina’s
not giving a shit about what anyone thinks
attitude. “You lucked out that your kid is low maintenance. Now, Ava…”

“J
ust say her name, just once.” Marc’s suffering and I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I’m making him earn the right to marry my mom. “I beg of you, say
REGINA
!”

“They better get here soon or we won’
t have time to snack and open gifts before Mass,” I say, completely ignoring Marc’s silent snarl.

Regina. Regina. Regina
. I’m not saying it aloud, though.

“
This is one fucked up family,” Marcus growls. “When I was growing up, I thought I’d marry a nice Jewish girl and make lots of kids. Instead, I’m stuck in the land of Catholicism on Christmas Eve. I will not be attending your Mass this year,” he warns.

Every year Marc
gets this way- completely unhinged. Upset that he has to join in practices that go against his beliefs. He has new recruits, so this year he’s abstaining from our celebrations.

“I thought you and your
posse were doing your own thing until brunch tomorrow.” Marcus and Ezra tempted a pair of siblings that had no faith. Dalton and Spyder are in the process of converting to Judaism. It’s odd for us as a couple to have a huge divide in our faiths, but we’re making it work. I’m just happy that Dalton has something to believe in.

“
While you all are at Mass, we’re going back home and watching movies all night in the theatre. Nothing too exciting, but I’m happy that I’m not alone this year or forced to sit in a church.”

“I’m glad, Marcus. I really am. I know exactly how it feels to be alone in a crowd
, to be swallowed up inside your family. I know Dalton isn’t your son, but it must be nice to have your daughter, her brother, and your adopted son all together with you. You have people who love you. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Marcus
slumps to the counter, expelling a long sigh. “You’re right, Daniel, as always. I’ve been miserable after working my whole life toward a certain career and having it ripped away. I thought I was protecting my loved ones, and I wasn’t. Right now my life is in transition and I feel out of control.”

“Not something any of us want
s to feel. I was there, Marc, and it wasn’t long ago. Have faith,” I say in comfort as a knock rumbles at the front door.

“Thank you for that,” Marc
breathes in relief. “Now, if you’d just stop calling Regina Mom, I might not have a stroke at the age of thirty-nine.”

“I’ll think about it,” I taunt. “They’re here… all those girls- three generations of Whittenhowers
are in my house!”