Page 58 of The Kingpin's Omega Lover
King was only half-awake when wet fingers rubbed against his hole. He stretched onto his stomach and spread his legs, more than happy to offer up his ass to Malori first thing, and he sighed happily when Malori slid his cock inside his willing body. They moved together slowly, Malori gently rocking his hips, seeming in no hurry to get there. Malori dropped hot kisses along his neck and spine, while his hands found King’s and trapped them above King’s head.
He was held down, impaled, being used so deliciously, and King had never been happier. When Malori came deep inside him, King came, too, soaking the sheet beneath him. He clenched, wanting Malori to stay, but they had a big day ahead of them. They could make love again later.
Junior was awake and babbling in his crib. Malori delighted in changing his stinky diaper, while King showered off and dressed for the day, delightfully still able to feel Malori’sthickness in his tender hole, after being fucked with zero prep. It had been so fucking hot, Malori taking what he wanted like that. King had never felt used, bullied, or trapped.
He felt loved.
It was only a little after seven, still early, but he and Malori found Davia awake in the kitchen with McFadden nearby. She was watching a simmering pot on the stove. “You have no baby food,” she said. “I am boiling carrots for mash. I will make grocery list.”
“There wasn’t baby food in the diaper bag?” King asked.
Davia blew a raspberry. “Dah, rubbish food. Home cook is better for growing boy. I cook. Jar food for dogs.”
Malori laughed and shifted Junior from one hip to the other. “I appreciate everything, Davia, I mean it. We didn’t get a chance to talk last night. I’m Malori Cann.”
“Aye, Mr. Connor spoke of you. Said you were criminal. Outside of law. I do not care. You are parent. You belong with boy.”
“Mr. Connor?”
“The name Davia was given was Augustus Connor,” King said.
Malori huffed. “How many aliases did that fucker have?”
“Hard to say. I texted Ziggy last night, so he’s got the name Augustus Connor on his radar, too. But I’ll bet you twenty bucks that name is tied somehow to Theta Delta Iota.”
“No bet.”
They didn’t have a highchair, so King held him on his lap, while Davia showed Malori how to feed Junior the mashed carrots. More seemed to end up on Malori’s hand and the baby’s bib than in his mouth, but those moments were beyond precious. By the time their mess was cleaned up, Bishop and Kensley had joined them. Kensley and Davia bickered over whatto fix for breakfast and, in the end, Kensley relaxed at the counter while Davia made everyone pancakes.
King had never thought to hire a cook, but with Kensley so pregnant, and more people in the house…maybe. He had to look deeper into Davia’s background first, before he trusted her in his home and with the health of his family.
At nine-thirty, King got a text that their guest was awake. Good. Bishop wasn’t happy about being asked to help babysit, but he acquiesced when King said Garvey and Hartford would accompany them. King didn’t want Bishop involved in this task, in case things went south. Bishop had his own family to worry about.
Malori gave Junior tons of hugs and kisses before finally handing the baby over to Kensley. Davia remained nearby, fussing around the kitchen, with McFadden her permanent shadow. King and Malori rode the elevator together, hand in hand, to the second level of the parking garage, where Garvey and Hartford waited with an SUV. They drove to the outskirts of the city, near the docks, and Malori didn’t protest when King asked him to wear a blindfold for the last five minutes of the trip. “Plausible deniability of location,” he said.
Not that he expected to get caught, but he hadn’t survived in this business for so long by being reckless. His precautions often had precautions.
Twenty years ago, this section of the docks had been popular with the younger crowd, full of underground clubs, bars, and cheap loft apartments. A chemical fire had razed two whole blocks to the ground, and the contaminated river water had chased away most of the residents. King’s people had located what had once been a hookah bar, with several private backrooms, that still had electricity. Their quartet went in through the rear, into a building that smelled like smoke, mildew and something faintly sweet, to one of the backrooms.
King was impressed by what his people had done with the place overnight. Three photography lights had been brought in and set up to face the middle of the room. A free-standing air cooler kept the temperature from being too stifling. A folding table was covered by a sheet, but the multitude of lumps beneath it hinted at the equipment King had requested.
And the center of attention was a St. Andrew’s cross, bolted to the floor, with Aleks Yovenko/Yovani Alexei/Augustus Connor strapped to it by his wrists, ankles, and neck. Completely naked, except for the molded plastic cage around his flaccid dick. Just one more collared monster whose expiration date was near.
One more devil to send back to hell.
Yovenko was awake, and he watched them with a steady glare, but didn’t demean himself by spewing profanities or empty threats. The only way he was getting off that cross was either as a corpse, or as a bargaining chip for a much greater prize. Like the location of Malori’s daughter.
Malori remained by King’s right arm, straight-backed, but he didn’t seem wholly convinced his enemy couldn’t leap out and attack him. The guards who’d been with Yovenko overnight left the room and shut the door with a solid thud.
“Four against one,” Yovenko said. “Those don’t seem like fair odds.”
“There are no odds here,” King replied. “No bets, no hedging, only a simple give and take. You give, or we take.”
“And what do I have to give? You’ve taken me, and I imagine you’ve also collected my son. You don’t want money. You must know I won’t beg.”
“You sound confident in that.” King pulled the sheet off the table, revealing a gleaming collection of knives, tools, medical instruments, and even a few sex toys. Not that King was into sexual torture, but he wanted the options open to Malori, if that’s the route he chose in enacting his revenge.
Yovenko’s upper lip curled back. Then he shifted his cold stare past King to Malori. “I have to admit, you’re better than I expected. I did underestimate you and your creativity. Don’t underestimate mine.”
