The Kings - Chapter 1

Panting.

Sweating.

Lips collide as my back hits the mirrored wardrobe door behind me.

My head's spinning a bit too much from the champagne.

The hot stranger with inked skin and a scar that's just begging for questions I don't have time to ask, runs his hands up my outer thighs and under my short skirt.

"Fuck," I gasp.

His hands are rough as they hike up my skirt, with no pretence of gentleness, just raw need, as he wastes no time and shoves my panties aside. It's all kinds of wrong, this guy I don't know, in my dad's bedroom, but fuck me, he's hot. Dark hair, clear blue eyes, muscles for days. It feels totally right when he unzips his black combat pants and drags his cock out, lifting me up so I can sink down on his cock without a second thought.

It's all the permission I need to wrap my legs tight around him and meet each of his thrusts with my own.

The rhythm we fall into is primal, unmistakable.

He fucks me hard against the wardrobe; each slam of our bodies sends ripples through my blood that spikes quickly, quicker than any fuck has given me since I lost my V-card two years ago.

I can feel every inch of his cock, filling me up, stretching me wide, and God, the heat. We're creating our own inferno, burning away any semblance of the confident, bordering on arrogant, mafia princess I'm supposed to be. Right now, I'm just Elizabeth "Eliza" Hughes, and he's just the guy making my head spin faster than any alcohol ever could.

"More," I urge, nails digging into his shoulders.

By the way he groans, slamming into me with a pace that's both punishing and perfect, he's right there with me, ready to burn it all to the ground.

He's dark and dangerous, much like the ink that swirls over his arms, under his tight black tee, designs that dance with each forceful movement. Ancient symbols of power and seduction, etched into his skin as though claiming him for their own.

I'm lost to this feeling, lost to him, my inhibitions dissolving faster than sugar in hot tea. There's a freedom in this moment, in allowing myself this wild abandon, and I cling to it with everything I've got as I clamp my thighs tighter around his rock-hard body.

I have no idea who he is, but judging by his casual outfit, he's one of my dad's lackeys. There's enough of them, and they come and go frequently.

As he takes me to poundtown that rocks my ordered world, there's no room for any more thoughts, only sensation, as he fucks me harder and deeper as my pussy coats his length with juice.

I meet each of his thrusts powerfully. Our bodies are completely the opposite, me small and slender, him big and muscular, but we fit together as if we were made for each other. The electric chemistry between us crackles, igniting sparks that lick at my insides, promising an explosion of ecstasy.

"Harder," I demand, and there's a smirk on his lips as he complies, pounding into me with a ferocity that leaves me breathless, teetering on the edge of oblivion, only spurred on by the fact that since I met him on the stairs and dragged him in here to fuck me, he hasn't uttered a single word.

The pleasure builds, coiling tight, and I can feel every fibre of my being straining for release.

It comes suddenly, crashing over me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path. I cry out, my sharp, pointed black nails digging into his back, marking him for whoever gets him next. I'm under no delusions that he is mine. I don't want him to be. He is for tonight, a last hurrah before I start my final year at a brand new university where I will be the rank outsider until I can prove myself.

Feeling my cunt clench around his enormous dick, his movements become erratic, desperate. His mouth devours mine as he pumps his cum into me, a hot rush with a grunting soundtrack that makes my nipples ache.

Fuck. I want to take him to bed and ride him all night, but Dad is waiting for me, and no one keeps Damon Hughes waiting.

Not even me.

He pulls out slowly, eyes narrowed as he groans softly, leaving me empty and craving more of his cock. With a slow, sinister smile, he steps back and puts his cum-covered cock back in his pants and zips up, watching me pant and struggle to catch my breath.

Then, he's gone. Striding out of the bedroom like he hasn't got a care in the world.

Moaning softly, I fling my head back momentarily before I turn, forehead pressed to the cool mirror. Adjusting my clothes, I fix my panties, feeling his cum dampen them, and smooth down my skirt with shaky hands. Wiping my lips with a slow smile, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. My green eyes are bright, alive with a fire that hadn't been there before. My chestnut hair is a wild cascade, framing my flushed cheeks. I look powerful and in control.

Just the way I should.

Stepping out of the room, the buzz from the grand party downstairs pulls at my senses like gravity. I run my hands through my hair and descend the staircase, my heels clicking on the marble stairs as I take them slowly, my hand trailing down the walnut rail.

The sight that greets me is one of decadence here in my dad's mansion. My mum died fifteen years ago, so it's been me and Dad for as long as I can remember, rattling around this huge mansion like the ghosts of Christmas Past. My Dad has never moved on from mum's death. Always alone. Although, I'm sure he isn't ‘always alone' if you get my drift, but no woman has ever made it to breakfast with me on the other side of the table the following morning.

This party is like a who's who in the English Mafia, as my eyes scan the guests, drinking expensive champagne and talking in groups. Men in sharp tuxedos and women draped in jewels and silk glide across the marble floor of the Entrance Hall from one room to another as they mingle, their laughter joining with the clink of crystal glasses. The chandeliers above cast a golden glow over it all, making the diamonds at the throats of the guests glint as they indulge in the luxury.

Sonot my style.

Give me a wicked hunting knife over a diamond necklace any day, and I'll show you what to do with it.

But tonight, my family's power is on full display. It's in the way the guests speak in hushed tones about deals and turf, in the slight nods that are exchanged more often than pleasantries. There's an undercurrent of danger beneath the elegance—a coiled snake ready to strike.

I'm almost to the bottom of the stairs when the buzz of my phone, stuffed into my bra for my sexy encounter with the hot stranger, rips through my high. I pull it out and glance at the screen.

An anonymous message flashes across it: "Trust no one. Betrayal comes wearing familiar faces."

It's not the first threatening text I've ever received, and it won't be the last. Fuck knows, I've had worst said to my face. So, I ignore it and shove my phone back in my bra. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but in this nest of vipers, it's hard to tell the difference. But the Hughes family is one of the strongest in the country, and we play for keeps.

Ruthless, relentless, and always on top.

Hitting the bottom of the stairs, I cross over to my dad's office near the front door.

I push open the heavy oak door without knocking—a move that could get anyone else killed on a good day. But I'm not anyone else, and the blood in my veins commands as much respect as the man standing in the middle of the office, his tailored black suit impeccable even under the current circumstances. My father, with his cold blue eyes and iron grip on the underworld, doesn't even look up as I enter.

"Elizabeth," he acknowledges, his voice void of surprise. He knew I was coming. He asked me to be here.

"Dad," I reply, standing just inside the room. My eyes fixate on the man kneeling in front of him.

Sweat glistens on his forehead, his suit dishevelled, eyes wild with fear. He pleads for mercy, but I know there's none to be had.

"Please... I have a family," he gasps.

Rolling my eyes, I stifle the urge to make a noise of disgust. Pathetic. They always say that, but they didn't think of their family when they backstabbed my dad, so… I shrug.

"And yet you chose betrayal," my dad answers coolly.

There's no more begging as my father raises a silenced gun, steady as he signs another death warrant and pulls the trigger. A soft thump, a flash of movement, and the man collapses, blood blooming underneath his head like a crimson rose to unfurl all over the expensive Aubusson rug.

Tilting my head, I step closer as I study the body. No guilt stirs in my black soul, only fascination and an appreciation for the order of our world—our rules.

"Clean this up," my father instructs someone in the shadows, not looking at the dead man again. Power clings to him, and I feel it ignite something dark and eager within me.

I want to be just like him. It's what he is grooming me to be, after all.

"Will there be anything else?" I ask.

"Always be careful, Elizabeth. Trust is a luxury we can't afford," he says without emotion, only another piece of advice from the king to his heir.

"Always am," I throw back over my shoulder as I turn to leave, feeling the weight of his gaze on me as I exit into the corridor.

A shudder slowly creeps over the back of my neck. Does he know what I was doing before I came here? It gives me a massive ick, but it also wouldn't surprise me. Dad knows everything. But that's the game. Using his room to wrap my legs around a total stranger while he railed me so hard, my body exploded in an orgasm around his cock, creaming him until he couldn't hold on any longer…

I bite my lip and feel my clit twitch. But there's no time for distractions. I've got a legacy to claim, an empire to protect, and, if tonight's any indication, enemies to crush.