King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 21

Murphy

I STOMP DOWN the hall, leaving Stella alone to brood and sulk and sob over her circumstances. She’d let me fuck her. Her body practically begged me to make her come, and then she cried and yelled at me, giving me mental whiplash and a screaming headache.

Fuck.

I’m so angry with her I could punch a goddamn hole in the wall. The fact that she’d let me fuck her when she was still so goddamn angry with me was a tease. I thought we were coming to some sort of understanding, letting the growing tension between us release so explosively, but clearly, I was wrong.

She cried.

I took advantage of her.

I rub my temple as I march past the party. I have no desire to return to it alone, and I’m starting to feel like shit from the alcohol and excessive movement. The movement, the touching, the aggressive fucking…

My skin still burns from the heat of her passion.

I don’t know if I’ll ever understand how one woman can make me so angry and so hard all at once. She and I are fire meeting fire, and the way I come for her would be ill-defined as explosive—there isn’t a word strong enough to describe it.

I make my way upstairs to our bedroom—where I’ve graciously allowed her to sleep alone as she adjusts—and head inside. I consider taking a quick shower, but this night has me drained. I remove my clothes, strip naked, and turn off the lights before climbing into bed.

I huff out an agitated breath to rid myself of the fire inside my belly, but it’s no use. I’m knackered, but I’m wired. I lay on my back and put my hands behind my head, staring up at the dark ceiling and hoping sleep will come soon. The last thing I want is to lie awake all night wondering whether Stella will join me in bed or find another room.

A wave of nausea rolls through my gut, and it’s not the alcohol. I’d be insulted if she chose to sleep in any one of our guest bedrooms. She’s been locking herself in here at night, so if she chose to sleep in an unlocked, unsecured bedroom, it would be a slap in the face. It would tell me she’d rather sleep without security than sleep with me—and that would fucking gut me.

My nights have been hell since I brought her home because I’ve had to sleep without her. It’s not exactly how I pictured our life together starting, though I knew this would be a process for her. What she doesn’t realize is that it’s a process for me, too—a process I feel excluded from.

I stare at the ceiling until my eyelids start to feel heavy, until they begin to droop over my eyes. My body begins to release some of the stress it holds in favor of finding a good night’s sleep in my own bed. I couldn’t say if minutes or hours have passed.

Just as my eyes flutter shut, just as sleep creeps in to take me away, I hear her at the door, and it jolts me back to awareness. I look toward the door as I hear the failure beep on the locking mechanism, indicating she’s entered the pin incorrectly on the keypad. Part of me is pissed at her enough to let her keep failing, but some gentler part of me forces my muscles to twitch, aching to run for the door and help her.

Before I can decide, it beeps its acceptance and the door clicks open. I see her outline in the dark room and I don’t make a sound as she stumbles inside. My heart flutters that she’s here. She came. She made the choice to sleep here, knowing that I’d be here, too.

Maybe we are making some progress, even if she’d be loath to admit it.

I watch her outline as she disappears into the bathroom, flipping on the light. A minute or two later, she lets out an agitated breath. “Where the fuck are my glasses? Fuck it.” The light goes out and her shadowed form returns to the bedroom.

I wonder how bad her vision is without her contacts in. It doesn’t matter, she’ll find her glasses in the morning where I saw them when I came in, sitting on the bedside table. She only ever wears them at night, anyway.

She rounds the bed, and I feel the mattress jostle as she plops down awkwardly. The sliver of moonlight peeking in through the window casts an angled glow across her midsection.

I turn my head and watch as she bends, probably removing her shoes. Then she stands before bending again, and when she straightens, she slips her gown up her body, slowly revealing the shape of her perfect arse in the moon’s glow as she pulls it off over her head.

Quickly, she grabs the covers and slips into bed, the mattress shifting with her weight. It sends a rush of desire through my veins to feel her here with me in my bed. I’ve dreamed about having her here for so goddamn long.

My fingers itch to touch her.

My arms beg to wrap around her.

My legs tense to tangle with hers.

My mind longs for the peace of falling asleep in her embrace.

I roll onto my side to face her, and she snaps at me, “Don’t fucking touch me. Stay on your side and leave me alone.”

“Please make this clear for me, Stella.” I keep my voice low and steady. “I can fuck you like an animal and make you come, but I can’t hold you to sleep in our bed?”

“It’s not our bed.”

I scoot a little closer toward her back, which she has turned to me. “Then who’s bed is it? Is it your bed? Or is it mine? It seems to me that we’re both in it now.”

“It’s your bed. I just don’t want to sleep alone in a room with an unlocked door with your vile family around.”

“I suppose that’s fair. But then that must mean I’m the person you feel safest with since you’re willing to fall asleep beside me.”

“Shut your mouth and go to sleep. I don’t want to talk.”

I reach forward and trail the backs of my fingers down the side of her arm. She jumps at my touch, and I feel goosebumps forming along her cool skin. “You’re cold.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking cold in this room at night.”

All at once, I move against her, molding my front to her back, as I throw my arm around her to lock her into my hold. “That’s why you want me here.”

“I don’t want you here.” She bucks her arse against me while pushing at my arm, trying to throw me off. “I don’t want to sleep with you.”

I grip her tighter. “We could always fuck again if you don’t want to sleep.”

She struggles against me, somehow managing to flip around and face me. She swats me with her hand, hitting my arm, her palms shoving my chest.

“Let go.”

“Calm down. I just want to keep you warm.”

She fights. “I want to be cold.”

“Bullshit.” She kicks at my legs, and I’m stunned when her foot touches me, freezing cold skin shocking mine. “Your feet are freezing.”

“I like them that way.”

“Liar.”

She shoves and kicks and fights as I wrestle her arms between us and lock my leg over hers. I could give this up and let her go, but the fight in her just takes hold of me. She’s stubborn. She’s fucking freezing, and I just want to keep her warm…but she just won’t let go.

Maybe she’ll let go if I surprise her.

I take her off-guard in her struggle by planting a soft kiss to her forehead, and thankfully, the shock of it makes her stop.

“Don’t,” she whispers, and pain fills her soft voice, carrying through the darkness of the room. “Don’t be sweet.”

“I can be much sweeter than you give me credit for.”

“You’re not sweet; you’re not kind. You kidnapped me.”

I pull her tighter against me, wrapping my arms fully around her body to hug her close. Miraculously, she lets me, but she’s tense in my hold. Her stillness begs my body, like a silent challenge to push her just a little more, to see if I can take just a little more from her.

I always want to take from her, but I want to give back even more…she just won’t let me.

My hips slide forward, and she gasps when she feels my cock touch her leg. I’m not even hard after that fucking explosive orgasm with her, I just need to touch her. My body wants every inch of hers.

I kiss her forehead again, softly, gently. I kiss again, then again, my lips naturally finding a gentle rhythm to press kisses to her face, drawing a line down the side of her cheek, all the way to the corner of her lips.

She lets out a long, slow breath. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Go to sleep.” I release my vice-like grip on her to pull my arm back and I brush my hand down the side of her head, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Stop it. I don’t want you to take care of me.”

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“I hate you.”

“You keep singing that song.” I continue to stroke her hair and she continues to relax in my grip.

“I just want to go home.”

“You are home.”

“You keep singing that song,” she repeats me.

I chuckle.

An oddly comfortable silence falls and I’m happy to let it swirl around us. Stella’s breathing gradually slows and deepens as I stroke her hair, and before long, she’s fallen asleep…in my arms.

I swallow, feeling strangely sentimental and deeply unworthy. Odd thoughts that I don’t deserve to hold her in her peaceful slumber scramble through my brain, building a deep sense of shame in my gut.

No.

I deserve her. I deserve to have her here, in my bed. I did the work to make our future possible and she’s mine.

I draw her closer and match my breaths to hers until the guilt subsides and I drift into a peaceful sleep.