Page 45 of King of Deception

He rumbles in a way I don’t understand. Does he agree, not agree? He stands back up, and for a second, I think he’s going to leave, that I’ve pushed him away.

Which was my intent.

But it still stings. He reaches a hand down, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I slip my fingers into his. He helps me from my chair and reaches into my bag, pulling out my cover-up.

I cock my head to the side in question.

“Put it on,” he growls out in response.

“But I’m not done tanning.”

“First, you don’t need to tan. Your skin is gorgeous. And secondly, soldier or no, I’m taking you upstairs and bending you over the bed until you scream my name. Licking your pussy is my new favorite pastime and I’ve gone too long already.”

I’m absolutely drenched in a second as he yanks the little strapless dress over my head, settling it over my bathing suit.

I barely have time to grab my flip flops and bag before he’s yanking me toward the doors.

“Gris,” I give a breathless giggle. “At least let me get my shoes on.”

His response is to put an arm around my shoulder blades and then, in an arching stoop, hook another under my knees, pulling me into his arms so that he’s carrying me. “Good lord, man, I can walk.”

“I like carrying you,” he says, like that’s an explanation, and pushes the door open while still holding onto me.

The moment the elevator door closes, his lips find mine, his tongue sliding between my lips as he devours my mouth.

This is my apartment building. Any resident could step into this elevator with us, but I’m not sure I care as he tips my head back a little further, our tongues tangling.

The elevator dings and I yank my mouth away, gasping for breath.

I must look like I’ve been ravaged, but no one enters. We’re on my floor.

Striding down the hall, he only sets me down so I can fish out my keys from my bag.

That’s when Mrs. Gillette yanks open the door. Gris is turned toward me, mostly blocking her from my view, but I catch her gaze over his shoulder. “How many times is someone going to bang on your door, young lady?”

But she stops the moment her eyes land on Gris’s back. His very broad back.

Subtly, he shifts his cock and then, slides a hand in his pocket, before he turns to face her. “You must be Mrs. Gillette.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding like a smitten schoolgirl the way her voice gets all breathless and her eyes turn glassy. “Why, yes.”

“I’m so sorry for the noise.” Gris must flash her a smile the way she grins back. “That Preston is proving to be a real thorn.” Then he pulls out a business card. “This is my personal number. If he shows up here making noise, you call me. Any time. Day or night and I will come take care of him.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Gillette says again, and this time, she clutches her pearls. She. Clutches. Her. Pearls. “I will.”

I unlock the door and step inside, Gris giving Mrs. Gillette a warm goodbye before he follows.

“That is why I can’t trust you. You’re too Hugh Grant.”

“Hugh Grant is not titled,” he grouses back. “And I did that for you. If Preston shows his face around here, I want to know.”

I drop my bag and my flip flops and then pull down the cover up, letting it fall on the kitchen floor.

Then I pull out the elastic holding my hair as I start for the bedroom. I let my hair fall down as walk and then I give it a little fluff. “You’re a giver, Gris Smith.”

“Damn right I am.”

My back to him, I untie my bikini top and let it drop too. “Come give some more to me.”

---