Up in Smoke (King #8)

He’s watching me as he swipes his thumb over my lip. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. He growls deep within his throat, then covers my lips and my body with his.

Smoke doesn’t bother uncuffing me. There isn’t time. The need between us sizzles in the air. Igniting the friction between us like a flint causing a spark. His kiss is hard and brutal, and I return it with all that I have. Our tongues aren’t dancing. They’re fighting a battle both of us know we are destined to lose yet neither of us will be the first to give up the fight.

His hand travels down between my legs while his tongue strokes mine, he circles my already sensitive clit over and over again, bringing me right back to the brink then stopping. He does this again and again while never taking his lips from mine. I’m dizzy. My heart’s slamming in my chest. My stomach is so tight it’s about to burst at any moment.

Our kiss is passionately chaotic. “Please,” I beg against his mouth between kisses and nips. I’m terrified and anxious but above all else is the pulsing need to have him inside of me.

His lips move to my neck, and he sucks and licks the skin behind my ear. I feel it everywhere. Wetness has pooled between my legs. The sheets underneath me are soaked. “I think you need to be taught a lesson,” Smoke growls. “When I said you were mine, I meant it.”

“Yes. Please,” I beg again as he goes lower and sucks a nipple into his mouth. I cry out, loudly, not caring who hears or what happens. “I need to. I need to…” I trail off, not remembering anything I was saying when one long finger enters me, stroking my inner wall. I’m shaking. Trembling. I’m on the verge of full on convulsing when he stops.

“When you come again, it will be wrapped around my cock and when I say so. You may think you have some control here, hellion. But you don’t.”

I buck my hips in response, both in frustration and retaliation.

He chuckles against my skin. “That’s it, hellion. Fight me. Just be warned,” he grips my hips so tightly I see stars. “I fight back.”

He releases my hips and rocks against me, rubbing his shaft over my clit again and again until I’m seeing stars. It’s pure fucking amazing torture. A pleasurable agony.

I look down between us at his massive erection and a thought occurs to me.

“You’re going to break me,” I say, against his lips, feeling a sudden shock of panic take hold.

He smirks. “Yes, I am.”

Smoke kisses me again. It’s deeper, more frantic this time. Our tongues start the tortuous dance once more when his shaft leaves my clit long enough to line himself up with my entrance. He lifts my hips up off the mattress.

“I’ve never—” I begin to say.

“I know. That’s about to change.” Smoke surges into me with a strangled roar. His face tight. His neck chorded.

I grimace. The pain is like breaking glass and scratching. I’m breaking from the inside out. I’m being split in half.

“It’s only fair that I break you,” Smoke groans, seating himself fully inside me. He looks me in the eyes. “Since you’ve already broken me.”

He reaches between us and rubs my clit while he thrusts into me again, ignoring my cries of pain until they slowly turn into cries of pleasure. He moves his lips from my neck to my ear back to my lips and down to my nipple. He uses his hands to guide my hips up to meet his thrusts allowing him to go deeper each time until I’m so full of Smoke he’s all I can feel. All I can see. All I can smell. All I can think about.

I don’t know if it’s the room shaking or me when the eruption begins low within my stomach, spreading like fallout from a nuclear bomb. I’m screaming and crying, clawing at his back, tearing his skin.

This only urges him to thrust harder. Faster.

I want to hurt him. Mark him. I want his flesh under my nails and blood running down his back. I need to scar him. Remind him of me and this and us for as long as he lives.

Nothing outside the sound of the slapping of his skin against mine or the way he moans my name matters. Not now. Not while his lips are on my skin and he’s deep inside my body.

The orgasm is so hard and rough and painful that I’m crying. Genuine tears are rolling down my face as Smoke’s pace quickens and he slams into me. The thickening of his cock inside me causes another wave of pleasure crashing into this one like two hurricanes meeting in the ocean.

“Smoke!” I cry out.

“God damn this fucking tight pussy of yours,” Smoke rasps sounding turned on and pissed off. “Open your fucking eyes,” he demands.

His voice is a distant echo in my lust-riddled mind, but I hear him, and it calls me back. And because I’m all out of challenge when it comes to my body and Smoke’s control over it.

I do as I’m told and open my fucking eyes.

Smoke holds my face, dropping his forehead to mine. He keeps his eyes on mine. His thrusts become wild. We breathe each other’s air as Smoke’s hips pound against mine over and over again.

It’s rough and hard and everything I never knew I wanted it to be.

“Frankie. Oh Fuck. Frankie!” Smoke cries out. His muscles tensing, his cock twitching before releasing everything he has inside me. Warm spurts fill me, coating my insides, dripping out onto my thighs.

I’m still convulsing around him, tightening my internal grip like a vise until he sags against me. We’re both panting for air. Smoke wraps an arm around me as he catches his breath.

My brain is muddled. I’m high on lust and Smoke.

“You were right,” I say, unspilled tears in my eyes. I stare up at the ceiling.

Smoke answers wordlessly by gripping me tighter.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “You broke me.”





Chapter Thirty-Seven





I wake up alone. Immediately, I feel three things.

Rejection, dread, and an aching soreness between my legs.

I throw on one of Smoke’s t-shirts and my Converse, and when I’m sure Smoke isn’t in the house, I go search outside.

I’m worried about him. The thought is laughable, but it’s true nonetheless.

At first, I don’t see anything until I spot a light in the far end of the yard up by the main prison. I walk toward it, and I find Smoke, staring down at the ground. He doesn’t look up as I approach.

My eyes follow to where Smoke’s staring blankly down at two large stones atop an overgrown mound of dirt on the otherwise flat land.

Those aren’t rocks.

They’re headstones.

“You can ask,” Smoke says, reading my mind.

I think for a second it could be a trap of some sort, but I ask anyway. My curiosity getting the better of me. “Who is buried here?”

“My parents.”

“Who…who buried them here?” I ask, dreading the answer.

He looks up slowly. Our eyes meet.

“I did.”



“My parents were really young. Too fucking young. Teenagers. Runaways. They were both stuck in the cycle of partying and drugs when I came along. We’d move around from couch to garage to abandoned building. We were homeless, for the most part. They were good parents when they weren’t fucked up. From what I can remember, anyway.”