Chapter 5

Ella

Oh, my fucking God .

My knees weakened and my nipples hardened as his words sunk in. He was so close I could feel the heat from his body surrounding me, and I couldn't help the goosebumps that broke out as King's breath skated over the sensitive skin by my ear.

He leaned in a little closer, and I forgot how to breath as he skimmed his nose down the side of my face to lightly nuzzle the crook of my neck.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," he said in a deep, growly voice that made me want to climb him like a tree. I jolted as his lips pressed a light kiss on my neck, on the pulse point in the hollow right above my collarbone, then shivered as I felt the flick of his tongue in that very same spot.

For a split second I wondered if I'd eaten one too many cookies and was in some sort of sugar-induced coma. Was it possible to have a wet dream while in a coma? I didn't understand why this was happening, but I sure as hell wasn't going to question it right now.

I was abruptly pulled out of my musings as King brought one of his big hands up to cup the other side of my neck. His thumb grazed back and forth over my jaw as he lifted his head up to look at me. I had trouble meeting the intensity of his dark gaze, and he shifted his hand slightly, so that he could raise my chin and force me to look him in the eye. I had a fleeting moment of panic, then thanked every god in the universe that I had taken a moment to check for chin hairs this morning while getting ready. I would have just died if he'd felt one of those coarse little shits poking through my skin.

I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves, but it didn't help. I was almost overwhelmed by the scent of the food I'd baked overlayed with the smell of leather from his cut, and the faint traces of his woody cologne – cedar and maybe a hint of sandalwood? Whatever it was, the combination was enough to make me drool.

The fact that his eyes were laser-focused on my mouth didn't help, and I nervously flicked my tongue along my suddenly dry lips. He groaned huskily and dipped his head, and the sudden feel of his mouth settling over mine almost made my legs give out from under me.

I instinctively grabbed hold of him, clutching his broad shoulders so that I wouldn't fall. I barely registered the slight scrape of his beard against my face as his lips captured mine in a kiss that was unlike any I'd ever had. This was not a tentative first kiss, testing the waters, hesitantly seeking unspoken permission to deepen the connection. No, this was an invasion of the senses that left me almost whimpering with need as his mouth devoured mine.

He groaned again, and his free arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me flush against his hard body. His tongue slid past my lips and explored my mouth, tangling with mine as he deepened the kiss.

I lost all ability to think as I slid one arm from his shoulders up to the back of his neck, my fingers tunneling through the short, dark strands of his hair as I kissed him back with every ounce of repressed desire I had. He grunted and his hand tightened reflexively on my waist, then slid along the curve of my hip to clutch my ass. I silently cursed the apron I was wearing which kept me from feeling the full effect of his body pressing against mine. He obviously felt the same way, because a moment later, I felt him tug on the bow holding the apron closed.

He lifted his head and I had just enough time to draw in a much-needed breath as he ripped the apron over my head and tossed it on the floor, then swooped down and claimed my mouth again.

The hand that had been holding my chin moved to circle the base of my throat. I moaned as it tightened ever-so-briefly before he loosened his hold slightly and rubbed his thumb back and forth over my collarbone. Holy shit, he was hitting all the right notes as he played my body, and I wondered if he could feel my pulse pounding as he grazed over the spot again.

His tongue tangled with mine once more, before retreating. I followed, my own tongue licking along his bottom lip before sliding inside and doing some exploring of my own.

It was like I'd flipped some switch inside him, and he instantly dropped the hand from my neck and grabbed my butt. It joined his other hand, and he lifted me up onto the thankfully empty spot on the counter behind me without breaking the kiss. He nudged my knees apart and stepped between them, both hands now holding onto my hips as a low, growly sound rumbled up from his chest.

He released my mouth only to trail his lips along my jaw. I gasped and angled my head to give him better access as he flicked his tongue over my earlobe, then nibbled his way down my neck.

"Fuck, I knew you were sweet, but you taste like sugar." His husky voice in my ear made goosebumps break out over my skin again, and I shivered in his arms as he laughed softly.

"It's the sugar cookies," I whispered without thought, and he drew back to look at me questioningly. I flushed when I realized I'd said that out loud. "I ate some right before you got here," I confessed, "that's why you taste sugar."

He flashed me a slow, sexy grin that I was sure would have my panties melting completely off my body if I wasn't careful. "No, I think it's just you, sugar"

He dipped his head again, claiming my mouth in a ravenous kiss. His hands left my hips, and I shivered as one large palm slid up my spine to grasp the back of my neck while the other slipped up under the edge of my shirt to cup my lace-covered breast.

My body arched into his as his thumb grazed over my hard nipple, the thin lace providing absolutely no barrier against the sensation of his skin on mine. He did it again, followed up by lightly grasping my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and giving it a little tug. I bucked against him, and he chuckled as he tugged again, a little harder this time, making me moan into his mouth.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. My fingers delved into the short hair at the nape of his neck. Then it was his turn to moan in pleasure as I gently scraped my fingernails along his scalp, then tugged on the longer hair at his crown.

I was lost in his kisses, aware of only the incredible sensation his touch was wringing from my body. His tongue slid along mine, fucking my mouth and making my pussy clench in need. Jesus, Camille had been right. I needed to end my dry spell, and it looked like King might just be the man to do it.

"Fuck, you've got me hard enough to pound nails," he muttered, skimming his lips down the side of my neck again and then further down, until he was nuzzling my cleavage.

I nearly cried out at the loss of his hand on my breast, until I felt him sliding his fingers along the stretchy waistband of my leggings. He moved the hand holding the back of my neck, grasping my hair in his fist and using it to guide me backward just enough to give him better access to my body. I had a fleeting thought that it I leaned back any farther, I would squash the tray of muffins behind me. That thought flew from my mind when those questing fingers slipped under my waistband and then slid between my legs.

I gasped as he stroked his fingers over the gusset of my panties – panties that I was sure were soaked with my arousal by now. I spread my legs wider, giving him the room he needed to maneuver as he edged my panties aside to reach the soft skin below. I held my breath as he slipped one finger between my lower lips, and he groaned as he felt my slick heat.

"Jesus, you're so fuckin' wet for me. You want this just as much as I do, don't you?"

"Yes," I moaned, my breath hitching in my throat as that exploring finger slid inside me, stroking in and out in a gentle glide that stoked the flames building inside me. He nosed the V-neck of my shirt out of the way, then nipped at the upper curve of my breast that he exposed. The momentary flash of pain shot straight to my pussy, and I swore I got even wetter. Based on his groan and the way his finger sped up, I was right.

He slipped a second finger inside me, and I wrapped my leg around his hip to give him better access. I dropped my head back on my shoulders, raising my face to the ceiling and closing my eyes as I concentrated on the sensation building in my core. It had been almost nine months since I'd been touched like this, and I was barely hanging on to my control.

"That's it, sugar, ride my fingers. Come all over my hand, and then you can come on my cock."

His low, growly command, coupled with the thumb now pressing firmly as he rubbed my clit, sent me over the edge. I pulled myself up and buried my face in the leather of his cut as I moaned his name, my body shuddering with the intensity of my orgasm.

He wrapped his free arm around me, crushing his other hand between our bodies as I rode out my release. I smiled dreamily as he dropped a soft kiss on the top of my head, then shuddered again as he slowly slid his fingers from inside me.

Once I loosened my grip on his shoulders he took a half step back, grinning devilishly as he raised his left hand to his mouth and slowly – deliberately – licked his fingers clean.

I flushed to the roots of my hair as he grinned even wider. "You taste even sweeter than I could have dreamed. Now, hop down from there, sugar. I've spent the last twenty-four hours imagining you bent over, being able to grab on to the sweet ass of yours while I fuck you from behind."

Before I could move, he grabbed me and set me on my feet. He quickly unfastened his belt, opened the button on his jeans and lowered his zipper, then motioned for me to turn around. "I need to be inside you before I lose my damned mind."

I whipped around to face the island, reaching for the waistband on my leggings, only to freeze as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway could be heard through the open window above the kitchen sink.

"Shit, that's my kids!"

I whirled around and frantically pushed against his chest, and he groaned in frustration as he backed up enough to put some distance between us. As he quickly zipped up and fastened his belt, I ran my hands over my hair to smooth it down, then straightened my shirt and tried to slow my racing heartbeat as the car doors opened and then slammed closed.

I stared at King in horrified bemusement as he calmly reached for a sugar cookie and took a big bite, looking completely unfazed by the fact that those very fingers had just been inside me, and that my kids almost caught us fucking on my kitchen counter.

He winked at me right as the sound of the front door opening registered, then bent his head to whisper, "These are fucking delicious, but the sweetness I tasted was definitely you, sugar." He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth, then turned to wash his hands at my kitchen sink as if he didn't have a care in the world.

My mouth dropped open in shock at his brazenness, then snapped shut as I heard the two voices guaranteed to kill my libido. I panicked as I spotted my apron on the floor and managed to kick it out of sight behind the island just in time.

"Mom, that smells soooooo good . I'm starving." I whirled around to face my daughter, who came to a halt so quickly that Hunter almost ran into her as he asked whose truck was in the driveway. They both looked at King – now calmly drying his hands on a paper towel – with almost identical expressions of wariness for a split-second before recognition kicked in. They probably remembered seeing him in the photos at Pop's house.

King squeezed my shoulder as he stepped around me to greet them, only to stop short at the sight of my ex-husband waltzing into my kitchen like he owned the damned place. Clayton rarely bothered to get out of his precious Mercedes G-wagon – that he only bought because he thought it made him look rugged and manly – when he dropped the kids off, so he was clearly just being nosy after seeing the strange truck parked at my house.

King glanced over his shoulder at me, catching me as I tried to hide my discomfort at seeing Clayton in my home, especially after what King and I had just been doing. Judging by the amused quirk of his lips, I failed in that mission.

Before I could say a word, Clayton decided to spread his very own brand of supercilious bullshit all over everyone in the room.

"Ella, are you OK, darling?" I didn't bother trying to hide my indignation at his faux concern, or the implication that I must be in danger because there was a big, bad biker standing in my kitchen. Clayton had made his reservations about Pop and the MC quite clear shortly after I moved in, letting me know that he didn't approve of his children "consorting with such riffraff". Yeah, he really was that pompous. He hadn't always been like that, and I'd long given up wondering what had triggered such a change in him.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I arched a brow at him, just daring him to voice his ridiculous concerns, but knowing he was too much of a coward to outright insult a man like King.

As predicted, Clayton ignored my question, his eyes narrowing on my lips in suspicion before his jaw tightened in anger. Judging by the way my lips were slightly throbbing, I was sure they were red and swollen, leaving no doubt that I'd just been thoroughly kissed. Hopefully, it wasn't obvious that it had gone much further than that.

He glared at me, then drew his shoulders back as he tried – and failed - to make himself look more imposing before introducing himself to King. My ex-husband was just a smidge over six-feet tall, although he claimed to be six-one. King topped him by at least two inches and probably forty pounds of pure muscled yumminess. Clayton was an attractive man and kept himself in shape with endless rounds of golf and racquetball at the club, but his slim build and narrower chest and shoulders – which he hated with a passion – were no match for King.

"Dr. Clayton Chadwick," he told King with an imperious nod, and I didn't miss the fact that he didn't offer a handshake, the stupid chickenshit.

King snorted and glanced at me again, clearly questioning my taste in men if the look on his face was any indication. I just shrugged, because I couldn't exactly refute the notion that my ex-husband was a twat of the highest order.

"King Morgan," he returned the introduction, his voice a low, deep rumble that made my knees weak just listening to it. He didn't bother to offer his hand either.

Clayton eyed King's cut with distaste, his mouth tightening as he spied the " President " patch. "I see," he sniffed disdainfully. King stiffened slightly but didn't give any other indication that he noticed Clayton's condescending attitude and general asshattery.

"Hunter, I've heard a lot about you. Thank you for helping my dad out with his yardwork." King totally ignored Clayton's presence as he held out his hand to my son, and I watched with pride as Hunter didn't hesitate to return the handshake.

"It's the least I can do since he lets me borrow his lawnmower, Mr. Morgan."

King shook his head with a chuckle. "No need to be so formal, King is fine." Hunter flashed him a grin, and King turned to Mia, offering his hand to her as well. She wasn't quite as confident with a handshake as Hunter was, but she gave it her best shot. I made a mental note to practice that skill with her, so she was comfortable with it in the future.

"Mia, my son Rome mentioned you babysitting for my grandkids a couple of times. I appreciate it."

"Ethan and Everly are so cute. I just love watching them," she gushed, and I knew it was true. I enjoyed having them around, too. I missed my kids being that little, so I got my fix by hanging out with Rome's kids.

"Yeah, I think they're pretty special, but I'm a little biased," King admitted with a proud smile, and Mia grinned back at him just as Clayton cleared his throat in an obnoxious attempt to interrupt.

I smothered my smile as my kids both rolled their eyes, then almost lost it as King turned to my ex-husband and said, "You OK there, Clay?"

Clayton narrowed his eyes at King. "I prefer Clayton ," he stressed. My ex hated having his name shortened, and always had. Maybe that should have been my first clue that he would morph into an insufferable prig over the years.

That had been a favorite insult of my late, British grandmother, although she would have been appalled had she lived long enough to witness Clayton transform into one. She'd actually liked him. Of course so had I, back then.

Hunter and Mia cringed, and I snorted in disgust as I rolled my eyes again. King eyed him up and down, and the look on his face made it clear that he wasn't impressed. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as he copied Clayton's disdainful tone from earlier, when he merely responded, "Of course you do."

"What's for dinner, Mom? I'm starving." I glanced at Hunter as he swiped a blueberry muffin off the counter and shoved half of it into his mouth at once.

"Yeah, me too," Mia said, grabbing a muffin for herself. It was a good thing I'd made extra.

Clayton made a show of looking at his watch, a Rolex he'd bought shortly before I'd caught him boinking his receptionist. He shook his head at the kids as he reminded them that they'd just finished lunch at the club two hours ago.

"That's why we're starving," Hunter told him, then polished the rest of the muffin.

"They served veal, Mom." Mia shuddered in disgust. She was not a fan.

"With steamed asparagus," Hunter chimed in with his complaint as he reached across the counter for a cookie.

"It was a deliciously prepared meal. You're both almost adults. It's time you expand your palate beyond cheeseburgers," Clayton protested.

"Sugar, do you have anything planned for dinner, or should we order some pizzas?" King asked me with a shit-eating grin, and I swear that Clayton's blood pressure shot up forty points – either at the endearment or the offer of pizza, I wasn't sure which.

"I have a big pan of lasagna in the refrigerator, ready to go in the oven," I answered, not even trying to hide my amusement. I'd prepared it earlier, knowing the kids would likely be hungry when they came home. They usually were on days they ate at the club.

"Oh, thank God. King, you've got to taste Mom's lasagna. It's the best." King smiled at Mia's invitation, then glanced at me for approval. I nodded, and his smile grew.

"Are you making your cheesy garlic bread with it?" I laughed at Hunter as he gave me his best " pretty please " look. He'd perfected it as a little boy, and it usually worked on me.

"Don't I always?"

Hunter pumped his fist in the air, causing me to laugh again. I had a feeling he was trying to piss off his father with his over-the-top reaction, and I couldn't find it in me to give one single shit.

I started to turn around to get the lasagna out of the refrigerator, but King stepped up behind me and placed both hands firmly on my waist to stop me. I jumped, startled, then looked at him over my shoulder as he bent down to whisper in my ear.

"Stay where you are. You have my handprints on your ass." At my look of horrified confusion, he added, "The flour."

Oh fuck . That was not something I wanted to have to explain to my kids, especially not with Dr. Douchebag in the room.

"Ella? Ella ?" I jumped again as I realized that Clayton had been calling my name. By the pinched look on his face, he was either constipated, or pissed off that King was touching me. I suppose it was petty of me to hope that it was a mixture of both.

"Yes, Clayton?" I managed to keep my voice calm, as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a gorgeous silver fox plastered against my back in the middle of my kitchen.

"I need to get home to Sabrina, but I would like to speak with you for a moment. Privately ," he added, glaring over my head at King.

Oh hell, no. We weren't playing that game.

"I don't want to be rude to my guest. Just call me later, or better yet, send me a text," I said dismissively. "Kids, why don't you walk your dad out?" I wasn't above using my kids as a buffer, especially since I needed them out of the room so I could wipe the flour off the seat of my pants.

"But –"

Damn, he was a persistent asshole sometimes.

"Goodbye, Clayton. See you on Wednesday." My tone was civil, but I made it clear that he needed to leave. Now.

In addition to Sunday afternoons, he had the kids overnight on Wednesdays, per the custody arrangement. He hadn't requested any more time with them than that, which bothered me far more than it did either of my kids. They were incredible human beings, and I was saddened that Clayton couldn't see beyond his own inflated sense of self-importance to spend more time with his own children.

I knew Sabrina factored heavily into the equation, too, as she considered the kids and me a threat to her relationship with him for some strange reason. I was of the opinion that she should be far more worried about the other women that he was cheating on her with, at least according to the gossip that I caught wind of from time to time. It seemed Clayton still had a wandering dick, and I couldn't say I was surprised one little bit.

Clayton narrowed his eyes at me, then nodded, clearly unwilling to do something as plebian as making a scene, especially in front of King. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed to the door, with Hunter and Mia trailing after him. I heard them telling him goodbye as I frantically tried to brush the flour from the seat of my pants.

"Let me help you with that, sugar."

I glared at King, who just flashed me a wicked grin as he rubbed his big hands over my butt, giving each cheek a little squeeze in the process. Yeah, that really helped.

"I've gotta tell you, I like the look of my handprints on your ass. They'd look even better against your bare skin, after I've –"

"Mom, that lunch was soooo gross. What time will the lasagna be ready?" King immediately dropped his hands from my ass and took a step back, putting a fairly respectable distance between us as Mia interrupted us. She didn't even notice. She dropped down into a chair at the table, pulling her phone out of her back pocket as she did so. Without even waiting for an answer, she started tapping away, her thumbs flying back and forth over the screen at an awe-inspiring speed.

Hunter ambled into the kitchen and swiped another muffin, before announcing that he was late for an online gaming session with Andrew.

"Let me know when dinner is ready, Mom," he called over his shoulder as he thundered up the stairs two at a time. King grinned at the noise.

"Reminds me of Jag and Rome at that age."

"He's a good kid, but he's about to eat me out of house and home."

Mia gasped as she looked up from her phone. "Oh my God! I have to go call Corinne. Miguel just broke up with her." She jumped up and ran from the room, making almost as much noise as Hunter had as she ran up the stairs. I winced as I heard her bedroom door slam behind her, and I knew she'd be on her phone for the rest of the night, coming up for air only long enough to eat.

King looked at me in concern. "Corinne is one of her three best friends. She and Miguel have been dating for two or three days now, so the resulting heartbreak and drama will last for at least a month," I told him dryly.

King's eyebrows hit his hairline and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Be thankful you only had boys."

He laughed as he shook his head. "Yeah, I wouldn't have had the first damn clue how to raise girls."

I knew from a few things Pop had said that King had raised his sons alone, but I wasn't sure what had happened to their mom.

"I'm sorry about Clayton. He's a jackass."

King laughed and nodded his head. "Yeah, I could tell. Don't worry about it. It takes more than that to offend me. Does he ever unclench enough to get that stick out of his ass?"

I couldn't help the unladylike snort that passed my lips at his question. "Not in a few years, no." At his questioning look, I elaborated. "He wasn't always like this. Believe it or not, when we first met, he was planning to volunteer with a program that offers dental care in third-world countries once he got his degree. But, by that time we had Hunter, so he took a job at a small general dentistry practice. After only a year, he decided to move to a larger, high-end place, which offered cosmetic dentistry as well as the general stuff. He moved over to the cosmetic end of things, and that's when he really began to change. By the time I filed for divorce, there was no trace of the man I'd first met, and in his place was Dr. Douchebag, as my friends and I now call him."

King gave me a sympathetic smile, and there was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. My eyes landed on the baked goods on the island, and I remembered that I had planned to give some to him.

"I was going to give Pop some of this stuff to pass on to you, as an apology for, you know…threatening you with a knife."

"You don't owe me any kind of apology, but I'll gladly accept anything you want to give me," he assured me, and I didn't miss the sexy smirk on his face that warned me he wasn't just talking about food.

I tried to ignore the effect his deep, throaty voice had on me, busying myself with reaching for a container to put some muffins and cookies in. I stretched up on my tiptoes to try to grasp the edge of the large cookie tin, inhaling sharply as I felt King's body against my back. He raised his arm above me, his height giving him a clear advantage on reaching the upper shelf in the cabinet.

If I had to guess, he was about six-foot-two or so, a good nine inches taller than my own five-foot-five. I'd rarely felt dainty in my life, always considering myself a fairly average-sized woman, but King's height and impressive wall of muscles managed to make me feel petite and almost delicate next to him. The feminist in me told me to get over myself. The red-blooded woman in me told me to get under him. After what had just happened on my kitchen counter, I was pretty sure the red-blooded woman would be more fun to listen to.

As his body pressed against mine, I held my breath, not sure if I wanted him to touch me again or not. Actually, that wasn't true. I knew I wanted him to; I just wasn't sure it was a good idea.