Reign of a King: Chapter 15

Second thoughts.

A vile way in which your brain plants the seed so you’ll suspect everything you do.

Last night, I was so sure I could take on Jonathan’s offer and unveil the truth behind Alicia’s death.

Then he lay me on his lap, spanked me, and thrust his fingers into me.

I orgasmed.

I fucking orgasmed.

Not being able to feel for such a long time has made me sure and even smug about my defectiveness. And yet, it happened. I felt. And it was in the most brutal way possible.

Leaning back against my chair, I close my eyes and try not to think about his hand, his fingers and how, when I finally got off his lap, I stumbled and nearly fell to my face.

Jonathan’s lips set in a line as he watched me with those steel eyes that I’m now sure know no emotions whatsoever. The man is a blank board. He’s a tyrant, and like any tyrant, only his benefit matters.

‘I expect you here when I return from work.’

His parting words kept playing on repeat at the back of my mind during the entire drive home, then when I climbed under the covers and absentmindedly looked at the occasional memes Layla sent me.

I wasn’t able to sleep.

I couldn’t.

It’s more than the soreness in my arse or the dark foreboding that comes every time I recall the ferocity of his slaps or how disastrously I reacted to them.

The moment I close my eyes, all I think about is the feel of his strong hand on my arse, or the sound my arousal made when he savagely pounded into me. To my horror, it’s not feelings of humiliation or vulnerability, it’s the acute lust, the flooding pleasure, the —

“Mate!”

I startle, and when my eyes open, I find Layla perching over me and waving her hands in front of my face. “There you are. Were you napping? And why do your cheeks look as red as a football player after playing the championship game?”

Standing up, I take her hand in mine.

Layla’s eyes turn as wide as saucers. “No, nope. You already used your hug for the week.”

“I need to talk to you.” I lead her to the sofa and sit her so we’re facing each other.

“Damn straight you do. I need deets. Did you throw Johnny’s offer back at his face? What did it look like? Did his arrogant nose commit suicide? Ugh. I wish you’d caught it on camera.”

“I accepted it, Lay.”

“Wait — and I mean this in the most buggered off way — what?”

Yesterday, when I remained silent, Layla assumed we’d go with her plan and flip Jonathan the bird.

“I want to do it. It’s the only peaceful and uncomplicated way to get the ownership back.”

“Mate…” Aurora’s eyes fill with tears. My best friend doesn’t cry. She thinks it’s beneath her ‘street-made’ status. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself like that.”

“I’m not.” I tell her my suspicions about Alicia’s death and how I plan to find out the truth behind it.

After I returned to my building, I asked Paul about the sender of that box in which I found the flash drive, and he said he found it in front of the building during his morning check-ups.

“I get that, I do. And I’m all for bringing your sister justice, but you have to be careful, Aurora. It’s Jonathan King.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. Sometimes, it seems like you underestimate him because you knew him when you were a kid, but in this world, men like Jonathan King crush and move on. They start wars and end them without being hurt. It’s his world, his territory, and his subjects. Just because he’s playing this game doesn’t mean he’ll take it easy on you. He might choose to destroy you any time he wishes to do so.”

I swallow, her words hitting me at my core. Despite my apprehension about Jonathan, the fact that I was immune to him — and every other man — gave me a false sense of power that crumbled to pieces last night.

“I know you’re taking this risk because of your sister, but I don’t want you to let your guard down in front of a man like Jonathan.”

“What if it’s too late, Lay?”

A line forms between her brows. “What do you mean?”

“He…he brought me to orgasm.”

“What the F?” She holds up a hand like she needs to catch her breath. “He took your first O?”

More like wrenched it out of me, unapologetically and without a sliver of doubt.

“What happened to ‘I never get wet’?” she whispers as if someone is eavesdropping. “Did he use lube?”

I shake my head, shame gnawing at my chest. “But that’s not the worst part, Lay. He brought me to orgasm and I felt empty when he let me go. I need help, don’t I?”

“No, you don’t. Granted, I don’t know what it feels like for someone else to give you an orgasm, but orgasms, in general, are a darn good feeling. You probably just wanted more of that.”

Why do I feel like that’s not the case? But I don’t say that out loud in case Layla starts to think I’m sick in the head or something.

“And, mate, if that man gives you anything to enjoy, don’t hesitate to take it. At least he has that whole hot daddy look going on for him. Just…”

“What?”

“Don’t lose yourself to him. Men like Jonathan King have enough intensity to make you forget about who you are when in their company.”

She’s right.

But it’s not like I’ll ever let Jonathan consume me. I might have had second thoughts, but I’ve never strayed away from my initial goal.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t have majored in psychology?” I poke Layla.

“I kind of did. They teach us a lot of psychology in marketing. We have to understand people in order to sell to them.”

I rub her arm. “Thank you for being here for me, Lay. I would’ve gone crazy without you.”

“Anytime. Remember, I don’t care how much Johnny is daddy material. If he bothers you, I’ll kick his arrogant nose.”

We both laugh at the mental image, and for a moment, I pretend everything will be fine.

Six months.

I can survive six months.

After all, I survived sixteen years in the company of a monster.

Problem is, Jonathan is an entirely different monster altogether.