Up in Smoke (King #8)

I freeze. My movements. My breathing. My thoughts.

Because, there, standing in the doorway, is Smoke.





Chapter Thirty-Six





I’d taken off after seeing Nine put his mouth on Frankie. I was pissed. She was mine. Not his. My job. My problem. My everything. I was pissed at myself for being so fucking pissed. It’s a good thing Nine had parked in the other direction because I wanted to tear his arms off with my bare hands and beat him to death with his own useless limbs, and if he would have come close enough I probably would’ve.

I growl. I know I would’ve.

I’m on my bike not two miles down the road when I slam on the brakes and set my foot to the pavement, making a sharp U-turn. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I holding back? Frankie is mine to do with what I please.

An instrument of revenge.

Nothing more.

I shouldn’t be running from her; she should be running from me.

I speed back to the cottage. I barely had the kickstand down, before hopping off my bike and hurrying into the house with long determined strides.

Frankie doesn’t understand the extent of my anger. She asked me why when I cuffed her to the bed.

Why? I’ll show you why.

I’m about to step inside the bedroom when I stop like I’ve got a hand pressed to my chest.

This has got to be another one of her tricks.

My breath hitches at the sight before me. My cock hardens.

But what a fucking trick it is.

Frankie. Cuffed to the bed. That much I expected to find. It’s what I didn’t expect that has my throat dry and my fingers twitching by my side.

She’s naked.

She’s naked, and she’s touching herself.

It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. It’s both pleasure and pain. Heaven and Hell. Disturbing and delightful and fucking luring me in like a siren from the deep.

Which sums up everything when it comes to how I feel about Frankie Helburn.

I can’t look away. I can’t fucking swallow.

Not now. Not fucking ever.

She screams my name as she comes.

MY. NAME.

I can’t hold back.

Her eyes lock on mine.

Not anymore.

“You’re back,” she whispers, her cheeks are pink. Her eyes look like she’s just shot up heroin. She’s unfocused. High on lust. My cock throbs painfully behind my jeans, and I can’t take it any longer.

“I’m back,” I say. It sounds like a warning, and I meant it to. I shrug off my cut and reach behind to pull my shirt up over my head, setting both my shirt and cut on the dresser.

I stalk over to the bed and place a hand on her knee. Her skin is soft and warm. I roughly push it down until it meets mattress, spreading her legs wide. She’s glistening and dripping and perfect and pink.

“Fucking beautiful,” I groan. Her thighs are slick. “You were thinking about me,” I say, on a rasp, hearing the hunger in my own voice. I don’t attempt to hide it. I’m past that now. So fucking far past it.

Frankie nods, her fingers trailing from her lips to her breasts where she lazily pinches her nipple, never taking her eyes from mine as her back arches slightly off the bed.

“Fuck, Frankie.” I take off my boots, kicking them to the floor. “I can’t stop this anymore,” I say. I mean it. I’m powerless against this slight little thing. “No more fucking games. Just fucking. Just me and you.”

She lifts her hips off the bed, silently begging. She whimpers, and the sound is like a stroke to my cock. My balls tighten.

“You left,” she says on a breathy whisper, her eyes raking over my naked chest then dipping lower as I take off my jeans and kick them aside.

“I was pissed,” I say growing angry all over again at the thought of Nine touching her.

Frankie doesn’t react to my anger. Instead, she smiles and bites her bottom lip.

There’s no way this was a show meant for me to walk in on. I parked my bike at Zelda’s then walked back through the field. She couldn’t have heard me coming, and there was no faking an orgasm like that.

“Why?” she asks.

Because I’m stupid. Because I’m losing sight of what’s important. Because I can’t make decisions or think of anything else when you’re walking around in that little black bikini that barely fits you. When someone else’s hands are on you. Hands that ain’t mine. When I’d take a bullet if it meant I could be inside you shortly after.

The same little black bikini Nine couldn’t take his eyes off earlier is now pushed up over her tits, her nipples hard.

When she came with my name on her lips, I had to hold on to the fucking doorway for support. It was fucking beautiful.

She is fucking beautiful.

I want her. I’ve wanted her since the second I saw her face for the first time. But now, coming with my name screamed from her lips, I know she wants me. I’m not waiting. Not anymore. Fuck the consequences; I can’t focus on anything else. Fuck everything and everyone.

Nothing is coming between us now except for Frankie, who WILL be coming.

Over and over again.



Frankie

Smoke’s eyes are so heavily hooded with lust they’re reduced to slits with his dark gleaming orbs shining underneath.

He places a knee on the bed and then the other, spreading my knees to the mattress as wide as they will go and covering my body with his, positioning himself between my legs. He pushes down his black boxer briefs over his perfectly rounded ass cheeks. They look like something from a sculpture. Tattoos cover his legs and continue all the way up to his neck but his ass is surprisingly tattoo free.

His cock is enormous. I’ve felt it against me, but I’d yet to see it. It’s not just long enough to reach his belly button, but it’s much thicker than I imagined. The tip glistening with need.

I blush. Heat rising in my neck and face as he places his hands on both sides of my head. I lift my hips again, and when my clit brushes up against his hardness covered in softer than soft skin, we both moan.

I was pretending to want him before. That my reaction to him was just nature. Biology. It was the biggest lie I’ve ever told even if it was only to myself. Because this thing between us, this electrical charge that sparks every time we’re in the same room, there isn’t anything usual about it.

There sure as shit isn’t anything natural about it either.

I want Smoke. There’s no denying it. Not when it’s him I imagined touching me when I came. Not when I can’t fucking breathe. Not when he possesses the ability to hurt me as badly as he did.

Not when I possess that same power.

If Smoke was holding back from me before, he isn’t anymore.

The look in his eyes is downright wicked. His biceps and shoulders flex as he holds his arms on both sides of me, bracing himself, hovering just above me.