The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense (11 page)

He seems to sense it, and rises with me in his arms.

Chet turns me against the wall, and my back lands against the cool tiles, his hand behind me and the other cupping my ass. He pounds inside me. Once, twice, and the third time's the charm.

The man is a cum-factory, exploding inside me.

“Kandace,” he groans, still moving

I love the way he says my name. It makes me want to cry. Not because I'm sad, but because I don't want it to end.

He braces against me, the two of us pulsing together. A minute passes, the water still hot at our backs. The hiss of it falling is the only sound other than our slowing heartbeats.

Very gently, as if I'm made of the finest crystal, Chet lowers me.

I look into his face and see raw emotion there. He scoops my soaking hair and puts it behind my back. His face dips, and he kisses me again, as if he'd eat my lips, my mouth... my soul.

“Kandace,” he repeats. “You undo me.”

I laugh, and his face jerks back.

I smile at his mildly insulted expression. “Listen here, bucking bronco.” That gets a smile. “I'm pretty undone myself. As in—mondo tired. You've worn me out.” I run my hands from his shoulders to his heavily muscled biceps and twist my fingers over forearms that are so heavily striated, they look like ropes of flesh. We lace our fingers when I reach his hands.

“And that's saying something.”

Chet chuckles.

We step out of the shower, and I hand him a towel.

“Wait,” he says. He wraps my hair in the towel meant for his body. When I have a turban on top of my head, Chet dries me with another towel.

“I'm serious, Chet, I can't screw anymore.”

He looks up at me, his eyes at half-mast. “Who said anything about screwing?”

Still, the press of the terrycloth is an erotic breath of softness over my body, catching each drop of water as it falls.

Chet reaches my toes, and I squeal when he gets between them.

His grin transforms his face. Easy and free, he looks utterly different.

Unguarded.

“I like this Chet.” My finger touches the tip of his nose.

His expression freezes.

“What Chet?” he asks neutrally.

“This one,” I say softly, touching his arm lightly as he stands.

He doesn't respond, quickly drying himself.

I blush at his flaccid penis. That his tube of love did those things to me... seems inconceivable, but Chet has the moves. Boy, does he.

He strides around my small condo, picking up trousers, socks, underwear, and the cufflinks he'd left behind.

“Ah,” he says when he plucks them off the entrance table. “I wondered where they'd gone off to.” He lifts them with his fingers then loosely closes his fist around them.

“You put them there when we were christening the wall,” I say, my voice as droll as they come.

My cell dings between us on the kitchen table. I don't move to answer, but Chet does.

I go to intercept, but I’m too late.

Chet scoops it up, frowning at whatever he sees on the screen.

Shit.

But why should I feel bad? I mean, he's got Chloe for shit's sake. And Ax and I—we're nothing.

Though it could be something.

I bite my lip, and Chet's eyes zero in on my mauling of the soft flesh. I let it plop out.

“Who is Ax?”

I lift a naked shoulder, my boob jiggling a little from the motion. Chet's eyes flick to my breast then back to my eyes.

“A guy.”

His eyebrow cocks. “Clearly.”

The silence has words.

“He's a guy I was friends with in the projects,” I say.

Chet pulls a face. “Projects?”

Right, rich boy doesn't know the term. “Yʼknow, slums.” I sound a little more harsh than I mean to. Try as I might, I can't wash the dirt off the word.

“I see.” Chet's gaze doesn't hold the condemnation I think it will. It's neutral.

I try not to be defensive about my past. I can't help my birthing circumstance, my old hood, my stripping to pay for school at Udub—none of it. It's my past. But knowing all that shit doesn't make me feel any less self-conscious.

I inhale deeply, poised to speak, but Chet holds up a hand. “I'm not interested in an explanation of your background.”

I see red, literally. He gets a load of my pissed off expression, no doubt.

Chet rakes his longish hair back from his forehead. “What I mean is that I do want to know you, were you come from. However, I don't want you to feel you're lesser for it.”

I don't cry, but my throat feels as if a fist is crammed inside it. Something tells me I've misunderstood Chet. Not that he's the easiest dude to get a bead on.

“There are a hundred Chloes, but only one Kandace.”

Still.
I have to pick at it. Like a scab. “We don't match.” My insecurity of being with a trust fund billionaire doesn't want to go away, even though he's the first man I've ever chosen.

“No, we don't,” he agrees.

My lungs feel tight, my heart slowing. Vertigo sinks its claws into me.

“That is
why
we fit,” Chet says.

I suck in a starved breath.

“I'm not some whore to screw.”

I'm falling for Chet Sinclair. I'm so full of fear at the revelation that I'm trying to relearn how to breathe.

Chet stands wearing his trousers and one sock, cufflinks fisted in his left hand. My eyes steal over his broad shoulders, delectable pecs, flat stomach so cut it's ice cubes of muscle under a coat of skin. I swallow.

“I don't want a whore.”

I gulp again, gathering myself. “Then what do you want?”

His hand falls to his side, balled around the glittering accessories. “I don't know.”

I cross my arms. “I don't know if that's enough.”

Chet sits on the couch. He puts on his other sock, his shoes, and ties them mechanically.

He stands, looking perfectly put together except for his naked chest. He picks up his cell phone, and his fingers fly over the screen. After a single tap, he slides the cell in his front pocket.

“It's what I have right now.”

“That's what I'm afraid of, that you're like ʻwhateverʼ and I want more.”

Chet smiles, striding to me. I haven't bothered to get dressed. I stand before him nude, my hair drying in, I'm sure, a frizzy ʼfro, towel in a damp pile at my feet.

“Listen to me, Kandace. I will say it only once.” He cups my chin, stroking his thumb down my throat.

I swallow convulsively underneath his sensuous touch.

“Okay.” My voice is breathy.

“I don't want other men in your life. I will fuck you. You will fuck only me. I will date you when I can break from fucking you. The relationship will progress in a yet-unknown direction.”

I must make a little sound because his hand leaves my face and lands on my nape. He gives me a little shake.

“I have
never
dated. I never thought to. You have made me reassess things, and I'm not an introspective man, Kandace.”

I laugh. Understatement of the century.

He doesn't join me in laughter. His fingers tighten.

“I am willing to try with you. But you must follow the rules of my ownership.”

What, like a new toy? I shake my head.

His hand falls away, and he lifts my cell. “No other men. Especially this Ax.”

My hands fall to my naked hips. “Why? I don't dig him.”

Not completely true. I trust Damon Axton, so it's almost the same. He knew Thorn. We all grew up together, though I never met Thorn then—my half-brother was just that much older.

I swear Chet's eyes look into my soul.

“I think where
you
give your loyalty, strong emotion is intertwined. I don't like this
Ax
,” he says, biting off the nickname like a guillotine.

“I'm not
fucking
Ax,” I point out.

Chet jerks me to him faster than I can react. “You fuck me, Kandace—only me.”

My eyes widen. I'm scared, titillated, aroused—and ashamed that I like his dirty speak, his manipulation. I can't confuse sex with feelings. Great humping and scorching chemistry doesn't equal love. It doesn't even mean he cares about me.

And there's Chloe the Ho.

His fingers loosen, and I step back. His hand caresses my breast. I close my eyes against the sensation, and he pinches my nipple just exactly shy of true pain. A gasp squeaks out of me.

“Chet.”

“Hmm,” he says, working my breast.

Moisture pools between my thighs and I ignore it.

He's insatiable.

But then, so am I.

“Don't fuck Chloe.”

He grunts, his other hand latching onto my other breast. “Chloe is nothing to me. She is a convenience, a necessary evil.”

I move back from his warm palms. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, his hands dropping. “When I must attend the necessary drivel, she accompanies me. If not her, a dozen others are happy to throw themselves in front of a bus to be seen on the arm of Chet Sinclair.”

This news makes me feel somehow worse, not better. “So where do I fit in?”

Chet palms his cock, and I smirk. “Wonderful. But
so
not what I'm asking.”

“Deal with my social engagement necessity. I will see you because I wish to, not because something outside of us dictates it.”

I nod. Maybe... but... “And what if we get serious? Where do I go then?”

Chet grabs my hand and brings it to his face. He rubs his cheek against it like a cat seeking a pet. When the side of my hand lays against the swell of his cheekbone, the motion ceases.

He says, “With me.”

Kiki

I
close the door softly behind Chet. My forehead touches the solid wood.

I don't slam my head into it but its a thought.

After a few seconds I pivot, walking away from the door as naked as the day I was born. Making my way to my bedroom, I throw on my comfort wardrobe. My body has never felt so relaxed, beaten, used and sublime in one fell swoop.

Chet did this to me.

And I let him.

I sigh, walking back into my small living room. I grab my cell and head to the couch. It’s set against the only wall without floor-to-ceiling windows so I can catch the view of Pudget Sound. I gaze out at the water.

Ferries travel from Pier 52 to Bainbridge Island. Their wake mesmerizes me. Eventually, my eyes travel back to my cell.

The text from Ax that got Chet's attention.

Ax:
Can't wait to see you.

From Faren:
Are you okay?

That
one I answer.

ME:
Yes.

She pings back immediately.

Faren:
Are you... did you and Chet figure it out?

Me:
Oh yeah we did.

Faren:
Oh... well shit.

Me:
Right?

Faren:
Are you okay with it though?

I nod, realize she can't see it and tap out:
Yes. For now.

I can almost see Faren shrug. I'm shrugging too. Big time.

Me:
I see Ax tomorrow. If it's more than a social call I'll have to let Ax know the deets.

Faren:
You mean the guy that—helped—back in the day.

I swallow the pain of a million pieces of jagged memories. I mentally cringing as they cut me.

Me:
Yes.

Faren:
Okay, if you think it's safe. I don't like you seeing anyone from back then unless it's Thorn, for obvious reasons.

Me:
He's busy with Juliette, playing house in NYC.

Faren:
But he's never too busy to talk to you, Kiki.

Me:
Thorn doesn't dig Chet.

A half-minute ticks by.

Faren:
Maybe there's a reason.

Me:
Maybe.

Faren:
Just—be careful. K?

Me:
Yeah!

Faren:
Love ya, Kik.

Me:
You too.

*