Page 55 of King

“You should be getting some rest, Amara.”

How he said, her name sent a slow, delicious shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just a command—it was something deeper, something that wrapped around her like a whisper in the dark.

If only rest were possible.

Her pulse pounded as she forced herself to hold his gaze, even though every part of her screamed to look away and break free from the intensity that pulled her in like gravity. But she couldn’t.

“I’m not tired.” The words came out softer than she intended, almost breathless. Plus she didn’t want to dream, but she kept that to herself.

King studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable, but there was tension in his body, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“Is that so?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

She swallowed hard, nodding. She should leave and go back upstairs before she did something reckless. But her body refused to move.

The silence between them stretched thick with unspoken words.

King’s gaze flickered over her face, lingering on her lips for half a second before he exhaled sharply and pushed off the heavy bag. He ran a hand through his damp hair, his jaw clenching as if he were fighting some inner battle.

“You shouldn’t be down here.” His voice was still calm, but there was something raw underneath, something barely contained.

“Why not?” she asked, barely recognizing the boldness in her own voice.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Because watching me like that, looking at me the way you are… it’s dangerous.”

Her breath caught, her heart hammering against her ribs. He wasn’t just talking about her being in the basement. He was talking about the fire building between them—the heat neither of them wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t seem to ignore.

“Dangerous for who?” she whispered.

His lips parted slightly, his nostrils flaring as if he were holding himself back. For the first time since she met him, King looked unsure, as if he was on the edge of something he wasn’t sure heshould step into. And God help her, but she wanted to push him over it.

King’s eyes narrowed as he moved toward her, reached up the steps, and pulled her to him. “I’m trying to be a respectful man, Amara.” He hissed against her neck. “And you are not making it easy.”

“No man in my life has ever respected me like you have, King.” She whispered, then moaned as he nipped her neck.

Growling, King grabbed her hair and tilted her face toward his as he took her mouth in a kiss that sent a shockwave through her entire body. It wasn’t a tentative kiss, nor was it soft. It was possessive, raw, and filled with all the tension that had been simmering between them from the moment they met. His lips claimed hers, his tongue sweeping in, demanding a response she didn’t deny.

Amara clung to him, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. His grip on her hair tightened, angling her head to deepen the kiss, his other hand gripping her ass, holding her in place as if he was afraid she’d disappear.

She whimpered into his mouth, the sound spurring him on. King growled again, a deep, primal sound vibrating through his chest as he backed her against the wall. The cold concrete was a stark contrast to the fire raging inside her.

Amara was completely lost in him, in the way his muscles flexed and tensed under her fingertips. She had never felt this powerful, this wanted. She knew he was holding back. She could feel it in the rigid way he kept himself in check, in the way his hands gripped her hips with barely contained restraint.

King growled low in his throat, his fingers digging into her skin as she ran her tongue along his neck. His breathing grew heavier.

"Amara," he rasped, his voice laced with a warning, his body a coiled spring ready to snap.

Still, she didn’t stop. She didn’t want to. She wanted him to lose control, let go, and take what they both desperately needed.

His big hands suddenly gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him making her gasp. He was hot, burning against her, his restraint hanging by a thread. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged.

"You keep this up, and I won’t be able to stop," he admitted, his voice rough, his fingers tightening their hold on her.

"Then don’t," she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I want you, King? Please, don’t make me beg.”

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “You will never have to beg me for anything, Amara. All I am—all I have is yours.”

Something dark and heated flashed in his eyes before he kissed her again, this time slower but no less intense. It was a promise, a claim, and a surrender. And Amara knew, in that moment, she was lost to him.

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