The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(56)

If she let him, he’d play prince to her damsel in distress, shutting her away while he rode off to fight the dragon.

She couldn’t let him do it. She wouldn’t let him endanger himself while she sat safe and secure somewhere else.

Not going to solve any problems staring at this half-made potpie.

She threw together some homemade crust and had just popped the whole thing into the oven when a floorboard creaked behind her. Journey rose and turned around to find Frank standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked just like he had the night before, a little tired, and almost…Hesitant wasn’t the right word. Worried definitely wasn’t, either.

Cautious.

As if by stepping into the kitchen—into her space—he might be doing something he couldn’t take back. He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her. “If you could see yourself right now, Duchess.”

She glanced down and winced. Flour streaked the black leggings, and the frilly apron looked absolutely ridiculous. “As difficult as it is to believe, this wasn’t yet another sad attempt at seducing you, Frank. Promise.” Her joke fell flat into the new awareness in the room. She smoothed a hand along the embroidered picture on the apron—bright multicolor flowers. “I’m just going to…go change into something clean.”

She made it to the doorway, but unless he moved, she’d have to drag her body against his to leave the room, and that just didn’t seem like the best of ideas if she wanted to keep from throwing herself at him yet again. Journey waited…and waited some more. She managed to dredge her gaze up and froze when she caught him staring at her mouth. “Frank?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. That I wouldn’t go down this path.” He reached out and tugged her apron, loosening the ties around her waist and causing the fabric to sag. He hooked his big hands into the fabric of her tank top. “Tell me to stop.”

There was only one of them capable of putting the brakes on this situation—and it wasn’t her. She licked her lips, and he cursed when he noticed the movement. Journey lifted her arms and held her breath as he tugged her shirt off. She shimmied out of her leggings and kicked them in the opposite direction of the oven. The move left her naked but for the apron tied around her waist. So much for playing hard to get.

All the while, he watched her without moving. Waiting for permission. God, didn’t he know by now that she was a sure thing where he was concerned? Journey caught his wrist and pulled him toward her as she backed into the counter. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He was on her instantly, claiming her mouth as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Frank took three steps and set her on the counter, sending up a cloud of flour. He shoved her apron up, twisting it around her body so it covered absolutely nothing, but he didn’t take it off. “You look like a wet dream, Duchess. I never figured I’d go for the Betty Crocker bullshit, but waking up and coming downstairs to see you bending over, that tight little ass framed by the apron’s bow?” He pushed two fingers into her and grasped the back of her neck with his free hand, bending her over the counter. His kissed the curve of first one breast and then the other. “How’s a man supposed to keep his head with you looking like this? Feeling like this.” He pushed a third finger into her as if demonstrating his point.

It took two tries to get her voice under control. “Is that a trick question?”

He circled her clit with his thumb, his dark eyes stormy. “Does it sound like a fucking trick question?”

Got you riled, didn’t I? His earlier words came back to her. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. If Journey had a little more pride, she’d shove him away and tell him to come back around when he actually chose this. Chose her.

It would never happen. She knew Frank well enough now to know that.

She should tell him that she didn’t want scraps at his table. That she deserved better than that.

Instead, she gripped his shoulders and gave herself over to everything he did to her. The rough rasp of his stubble against her breasts, his fingers working her, his muttered curses against her skin…It washed away everything except the here and now. Nothing else mattered but the pressure already building inside her, a pleasure Frank seemed to draw out without even trying. If she let him, he’d bring her to orgasm several times and then he’d take his pleasure.

No.

No fucking way.

If she was going over this edge, they were going over it together. She reached blindly into the drawer to her left, scrambling until her fingers grazed a familiar foil packet. Journey yanked it out and tore it open.

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Did you just pull a condom out of your kitchen drawer?”

“Yes.” She shoved his pants down and gave his cock a single stroke before she rolled it on.

“I’m going to need you to explain that magic trick.”

“No magic.” She kissed his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. “My family hasn’t come out here for a ‘family’ vacation in about a decade, and Mother prefers Europe to something so pedestrian as the Hamptons. So in the past, we’ve partied here, and it pays to have protection within easy reach because alcohol is killer on self-control.”

He might as well have been a statue for all he moved, his fingers still speared deep within her. “Did you fuck a lot of boys here, Duchess? Let them lift you onto the kitchen counter like I am now?” The growl in his voice made her nipples pebble almost painfully.