Page 67 of King

Her breath caught, pulse kicking up.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, his touch surprisingly soft for someone so big. “Amara,” he said, her name a quiet rumble that sent warmth curling through her belly.

She swallowed hard, gripping the tongs tighter because if she didn’t hold onto something, she might melt into him.

“Yeah?” she managed, her voice a little unsteady.

King’s lips quirked slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw before he leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin.

“The chicken is burning,” he murmured, his voice edged with amusement.

Amara leaned into him, her body instinctively seeking his warmth, her eyes half-lidded as his words registered in her foggy mind.

“Huh?” she murmured, blinking sluggishly. Then reality slammed into her like a freight train. “Shit!” she yelped, snapping back to attention and flipping the chicken just in time.

King chuckled behind her, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest as he stepped closer. His large hands landed on her hips, and before she could react, he pulled her back flush against him. The heat of his body seeped into her, making her shiver. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, his strong arm snaked around her stomach, tugging her even tighter against him.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the chicken leg, grease spattering in all directions. “Ouch!” she yelped, jerking her hand back as the tongs clattered against the pan and then onto the floor, barely missing her bare feet.

King instantly grabbed her wrist, lifting it to inspect the burn. Before she could protest, he brought her hand to his mouth, his warm tongue flicking out to soothe the sting.

A ragged moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

And just like that, her mind was flooded with memories—memories of his mouth, his tongue, his body pressed against hers, soothing her soreness after he had completely wrecked her in bed. A fresh wave of heat pooled in her belly, her thighs clenching involuntarily.

Oh man, she was in so much trouble. This man had utterly ruined her for anyone else. No one could or would compare to King. She knew it with a terrifying certainty, and that realization sent a shiver of panic through her. Because what happened when all of this was over? Would he walk away and leave her behind?

Deep in her heart, she knew she would be absolutely gutted. She was half in love with this man. What in the hell was happening to her?

Slowly, she pulled her hand from his mouth, needing distance before she completely lost herself in him.

“Thanks,” she whispered, grateful he couldn’t see her face. She knew her expression would betray every chaotic emotion crashing inside her.

“Amara, what’s wrong?” King’s voice was gentle but firm, his grip still secure around her waist.

“Nothing,” she lied, focusing intently on the frying chicken.

“Don’t lie to me,” he ordered, his tone soft but unwavering. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, demanding the truth.

“I need tongs,” she blurted, latching onto the first excuse she could think of. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. She really did need clean tongs.

He didn’t move right away, as if debating whether to push further. Then, without a word, he reached over and grabbed another pair from the counter, placing them in her hand.

“Thanks,” she mumbled again, relieved when he finally stepped back.

The moment King stepped away, an ache settled deep in her chest, a hollowness so strong it made her want to turn around, crawl into his arms, and stay there. Yeah, she was getting way too attached.

She needed to be careful. Guard herself. Build walls before she got hurt. But what if… what if this was real? What if it wasn’t just the mind-blowing sex with this dangerously handsome Warrior clouding her judgment? What if King was the one?

Her stomach clenched at the thought, and panic flickered inside her. Before she could spiral further, Joey’s voice rang out from the living room.

“Hey! Where’s the food? I’m starving!”

Amara exhaled, rolling her eyes as she blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “That kid gets a pass right now, but he’s gonna learn real quick that I’m not his cook or maid,” she teased, grateful for the distraction.

Grabbing the platter, she turned, inhaling deeply to steady herself. But before she could get the chicken out of the pan, King was there again, spinning her back around with that unreadable intensity in his gaze.

“This conversation isn’t over, Amara,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Something’s bothering you, and you will tell me what it is.”

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