Page 14 of Christmas With The Kings
KINSLEY:
We haven’t played in a week. You’re gone, remember?
The typing bubble disappeared. I tossed the phone face down onto the mattress. A moment later, the screen lit up with an incoming call. I stared at it. His name, front and center. Demanding.
I let it ring. And of course, because the universe enjoyed kicking me while I was down,Celineserenaded me. Our song. I considered changing it. Clearly, he didn’t love me anymore.The Power of Love. Yeah, more like The Power to Destroy.
As she wailed through it like she was mocking me in my current humiliation, I stared at the screen, motionless. What a cruel joke. I added my overly dramatic voice along with hers as it echoed loudly from the phone speaker. I sang the small clip, my emotions rising to the surface.
Blessed silence followed as it went to voicemail.
I took several deep breaths and then startled once more when she once again screamed at me. Then, because I was feeling epically tragic and petty—and maybe even a little unhinged, I opened my mouth and sang along. This time, I stripped the song of its magic, though.
“The harsh commands from the Reaper…Barking orders left and right…Are rolling like my stomach now…as I ignore your call.”
I snorted, grabbing my Blade Squishmallow and cradling it like it was the only man in my life who hadn’t disappointed me. The music swelled, and so did my voice.
‘Cause I was your lady…and you were my man…You stopped reaching for me…so ignoring you is the plan.
I stared at the ceiling and let it finish out once more. Because if he wanted to make grand gestures, he could start by listening to the silence he left behind. Instead of coal in his stocking, he was getting voicemail.
Lethimsit in silence for once. I needed to get out of my own head. Even if it was just to brush my teeth. Sliding off the edge of the bed, I padded barefoot across the thick carpet and into the en suite. Was I pathetic enough that I still bed-hopped each night? Yup. Like the desperate whore I was, in case they came home.
The light over the mirror flickered on, too bright, and I winced. My reflection stared back at me. I looked tired, my jaw was tense, and my hair was an absolute mess. I picked up the brush, dragging it through the tangles with a little more force than necessary, relishing the pain. Aglutton for sure—that was me.
I snorted. I was no longer a desperate whore. Call me a pathetic, unloved woman with a pain kink instead. Once I’d made headway and my scalp throbbed, I tossed that brush down and reached for a different one.
I squeezed out the minty paste in a pea-sized dot like the directions said—because, after all, I followed instructions. When I wanted to. I shoved it in my mouth, mumbling the new lyrics to our new song. Maybe if I scrubbed hard enough, I could erase the bitter taste of disappointment from the back of my throat.
God knows I hadn’t gagged in well…forever, it seemed.
Foam built around the edges of my lips as I leaned over the sink, rinsing my mouth.
Slam.
The bathroom door sprang open. I screamed, flinching so hard I nearly stabbed myself in the cheek with my toothbrush.
“Thehell—you scared the shit out of me!” I gasped, slapping a hand over my racing heart.
“Language, young lady,” came the familiar, maddeningly deep calm voice of Sebastian Caruso. “Where’s your phone?”
I blinked, still catching up, still half-foaming at the mouth like a feral raccoon. And there he was—standing in the doorway, come to do the Reaper’s dirty work and take me to task.
But why the hell was he wearing nothing but low-slung pajama bottoms that rode beneath the sharp cut of his hips? His dark hair was tousled, infuriatingly messy—and he looked like he’d rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered to fix it. Probably because he hadn’t needed to.
And his chest? Bare. Broad. Beautiful. Covered in smooth, tanned olive skin and marked with the tattoo I’d never admit to obsessing over. A woman—perfectly rendered in black and grey. She was bound in intricateshibari, ropes crossing over her body with the kind of care only someone truly wicked would take the time to tie.
She was beautiful, with one nipple exposed. What always drew me in was the blindfold and the way her mouth parted. Could have been a gasp or amoan, maybe both. Whatever it was, it was erotic. Disturbing. Arresting. My Reaper King’s artistic flair screamed from it.
And it made me want to scream again—for entirely different reasons.
When was the last time the Crow tied me to the bed?
Because if we were keeping score, it had been awhile. Alongwhile. And now I had the Torturer walking around looking like a goddamn limited-edition dark romance book cover. It wasn’t helping my current mood at all.
I scowled at him, toothbrush still clenched between my fingers like a weapon.
“Don’t make me ask again.” His voice dropped low. Controlled. The kind of tone that screamed, obey me now. Damned worst part was it wasn’t even raised. Dominant asshat.
