Page 41 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
“Yes, you may,” Malori replied. He switched spots with King. Pressed his palms against the tile, spread his feet apart and bent forward. Felt moist air on his hole as his cheeks parted. He’d still be glistening, still soft, and so fucking tempting… “I trust you.”
He heard King spit on his palm, followed by the familiar smacking sounds of him jerking off. Malori’s neck prickled with awareness, with how close another man’s cock was to his vulnerable opening. And on the periphery, teasing behind a veil of fear, was the need for that cock to fill him up. A primal need he hadn’t felt in…ever. But Malori knew himself, and he knewKing, and they’d both be upset if they did that in the heat of the moment.
“Coming!”
Wet heat splattered against Malori’s hole and cheeks in a long, steady stream, punctuated by King’s breathy moans of completion. Malori focused on that warm, sticky sensation; on the mental image of King’s semen mixing with Malori’s slick. The first step toward a reverse claiming.
King pulled him up and around. Moved them backward so they could kiss under the hot spray, their softening cocks rubbing together between them. They finished cleaning up, dried off, and curled up in bed together. Malori had no idea what time it was, and he didn’t care. He drifted to sleep almost right away, exhausted and sated, and desperately clinging to the lovely, unfamiliar sensation of falling in love.
The DVD was clean. Not a fingerprint, not a tiny hair, or even a smear of DNA. Ziggy had gone above and beyond in having the disc tested. There was no way to track the brand or anything else about it. The DVD was as clean and generic as a blank piece of paper. Ziggy had even looked at the post office’s security footage for the entire day the box was postmarked. Spotted the person who brought the box in.
No good image. The postage had been paid in cash. Malori looked at grainy black-and-white photos of the sender, and he confirmed it wasn’t Yovenko. Too short, too skinny. Ziggy was still looking at traffic cam footage from the area, hoping to spot something, but so far, nothing useful. It didn’t surprise King, but it did worry him. Yovenko was smart. Too smart, whichmade him one of the most dangerous people King had come up against.
Malori wasn’t as upset about the dead-end as King expected. Not even resigned. He accepted the information, completely unsurprised by it. And during the few days it took Ziggy to collate this information, King was busy with the Lynn deal, which Bishop had been working on when the DVD arrived. Their percentage of the completed gem deal—hopefully by this coming Monday—would be a good nest egg that King planned on investing in some private property somewhere south.
He’d been eyeballing a few possible islands in the Caribbean. He wanted to take his family away from this cold, dreary northern city.
But beyond the financial windfall, the completed deal should provide enough good will with Lynn to get information on Marta. A location would be ideal, but even the name of a close ally was useful.
Monday was the deadline, which gave him the looming weekend to catch up on old contracts that needed to be finalized or sold; give references to employees he’d be letting go over the next few months as he untangled from his old life; unload private properties held by his shell corporations, like the warehouse where Landau had gasped his last breath. They obviously couldn’t flee to the Caribbean until Malori’s children were tracked down, but King wanted everything in place and prepared for that eventuality.
On Thursday afternoon, another DVD arrived. Same postmark, same kind of box, same brand of disc. Malori and King watched it alone in his office. The four new scenes were more graphic and, by Malori’s description, seemed to go in reverse order. The first was about eight seconds of Malori and Yovenko passionately…well, fucking, while Malori was heavily pregnant. It had taken all of King’s self-control not to throwthe damned computer monitor across his office. Rage rippled through him like spreading wildfire at the sight and sound of it, knowing Malori’s enjoyment was real, while Yovenko’s was a manipulation.
The next two were similar, with the size of Malori’s belly shrinking. No words, only grunts and moans. The expressions on Malori’s face were difficult to discern, but Malori described how he’d begun trusting Yovenko over the course of their interactions. Trusting in Yovenko’s promises of a life together, always made before and after the sex.
King abhorred the way his lover had been manipulated.
The final scene, though, seemed to be that same green-walled nursery from the first DVD. The outline of the baby was visible in the crib, but instead of focusing on him, it panned around the room, showing off a picture of cartoonish bear cubs, a closed brown door, a changing table, and a rocking chair. Bare bones, functional, not terribly stimulating for a one-year-old.
Not that King knew fuck all about children, but weren’t nurseries usually done up in bright colors to stimulate a kid’s brain? Or something?
“Now he’s fucking taunting us,” King snapped after the disc ended. “It’s as if he wants me to use a rusty steak knife to slowly carve his spine out of his back, one vertebrae at a time, while he’s strapped to a cold metal table with his dick and balls in a vise.”
“I hadn’t thought of that one.” Malori’s face was blotchy but dry of tears, and as furious as he’d been on Monday. “Although I’d probably use a paring knife. Shorter blade, better grip.”
“Your vengeful streak is a huge turn-on.”
“Good.” Malori twisted around on King’s lap, where he’d chosen to sit for this viewing. “Because I meant what I said about wanting to kill. It’s fair.”
“Yes, it is.” King didn’t like the idea of Malori killing, because causing a death by accident, or even killing in the heat of themoment like with Decker, were not the same as deliberately ending another person’s life. But Malori had suffered more than most, and it wasn’t King’s place to control Malori’s choices.
Inform them, yes, out of love. But not control them.
Malori searched his face. “Will you look at me differently after I kill him?”
“Of course, I will. I’ll see you as the brave, strong, and dare I say, ruthless man that you are. The way you want to go out of your way to protect your family, to proactively protect them, reminds me of me. Well, my better qualities.”
Malori smirked. “I’ve only known you for six months, but I’ve yet to see a bad quality in you.”
“Give it time. Eventually, you’ll discover something about me you hate.” King had done well controlling his temper around Malori. Around Kensley, too. But King had helped more than one man die a slow, painful, piece-by-piece death, with nothing but fury in his heart. He wasn’t a good person.
Maybe, deep down, Malori wasn’t a good person either—and that made them perfect for each other.
“I don’t worry about your flaws,” Malori said. “Because I know that sooner or later, you’ll find something you hate about me, too. But isn’t that part of getting to know someone? Learning the good, the bad, the ugly, and the unforgivable?”
King sifted his fingers through Malori’s blond curls. “Isn’t part of loving someone finding ways to forgive those unforgivable things?”
Malori sighed and rested his head on King’s shoulder. “I don’t know. But it sounds pretty fucking amazing.”
