Just My Luck (The Kings)

I’d kissed the fuck out of Abel, and my body was screaming to do it again. I’d wanted to do that ever since this morning when I’d awoken to find his rock-hard cock pressed against my ass as he cuddled me.

Did I pretend to be sleeping and ever so slightly rock my hips back to feel more of it?

You’re goddamned right I did.

Bracing my hands against the counter, I hung my head and tried to breathe.

What in the actual hell?

Sure, I had been tempted and grabbed him for a kiss, but damn. Abel made no qualms about taking control and absolutely owning me with that kiss. My clit thrummed and my nipples ached with unmet need.

My legs scissored, and I internally groaned once I realized I would definitely be needing a new pair of panties after that kiss. I glanced out the window to see Abel hunched over the garden bed and violently pulling weeds. He sat back with a sigh and raked his fingers through his tousled hair.

I giggled and pulled his hat from my head to fan myself. It was his own damn fault. How was I supposed to resist a sweaty, well-built man gardening in a backward hat? I was given zero choice and certainly did not regret that kiss.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

My only hesitation was that, given the fucked-up state of my life, sleeping with Abel was for sure a terrible idea.

But oh my god it would be fun to roll around in the dirt with him.

I glanced at the kitchen clock and sighed. The twins would be finished with day camp in less than an hour, and the last thing they needed was to be confused about what was happening between Abel and me. As far as they knew, Abel and I were just friends.

I toyed with my lip and let myself daydream about his using all that masculine energy to thrust inside me while calling me his wife. My pussy fluttered and I gripped the counter.

Seriously. Get your shit together, Sloane.

I grabbed a glass from the cabinet before moving to the sink and guzzling lukewarm tap water. It did nothing to quell the fire that was building in my gut. I wanted Abel. Like, really wanted him.

Logically, I knew sex would only complicate and confuse things, but it had been so long, and living in his home was harder than I could have imagined. It was torture enough that he was quietly domestic and kind to my kids, but he smelled so damn good to boot.

When movement caught my eye, I jumped into action. Before Abel could enter the house, I set my glass into the sink and headed down the hall toward the primary bedroom.

I waved and called over my shoulder. “I need to get the kids in a bit. I’m taking a quick shower to clean up.”

Hurrying, I escaped behind the bedroom door and tucked myself away in the en suite bathroom. Beyond the french doors, the garden mocked me. I pulled the drapes closed and turned on the water in the steam shower.

Stripping off my shorts and tee, I then pulled my hair free from its ponytail. With the water barely warm, I stepped under the spray and sighed.

In the safety of the shower, I let myself wonder what kind of lover Abel might be. Tender or rough? Demanding or slow and teasing? What would it feel like to have a man his size hover over me? I knew he was a good kisser and could only imagine what it would feel like to have his hands on me.

My nipples pinched into sharp points as I closed my eyes and pretended my touch was his.

God, I bet his dick is huge.

My fingertips brushed across my breasts and down my belly. I imagined Abel on his knees before me, licking his way up my leg to my thigh. His calloused hands would spread me open before his mouth teased and sampled. My breath came out in sharp pants as my fingers slipped between my legs, wishing they were his. I had no doubts Abel King would be a steadfast and thorough lover.

I bit back a moan as I brought myself to the edge with thoughts of his mouth and hands all over me. The moment I imagined how my pussy would stretch around his dick, I was done for.

Water flowed over my shoulders in rivulets as I came to the memory of our kiss and the picture of him easing his cock deep inside me.

Despite the steam and heat from the shower, I was more keyed up than ever. Pushing aside all thoughts of Abel, I made quick work of washing up and slipping into a fresh pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt.

Quietly, I slipped out of the house and into my car. I had the time it took to make a quick trip to and from town to figure out how the hell I was going to maintain a responsible, working friendship with Abel when every cell in my body wanted to be reckless.

“This is . . . not my favorite.” Tillie pushed the roasted broccoli to the side as my eyes went wide.

“Tillie . . .” I attempted to employ my best mom look as I stared at her.

She shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s not okay. I just don’t like this dinner. It’s not my favorite.”

Beside me, Abel had his elbows on the table, hunched over his plate. I noticed that he ate quickly and without looking up. I wondered if his hunched shoulders were a protective way he’d learned to eat in a prison hall.

My heart ached for him.

He quietly chuckled and shook his head at Tillie’s assessment of his cooking as I gritted through my teeth. “Thank you, Till, for that unsolicited opinion. Please remember that Abel took his time to make this dinner for us, and we should be appreciative of that fact.”

She pushed a forkful of Rice-A-Roni around her plate as her face soured. “Sorry.” She looked glumly at her plate.

“It’s all right,” Abel said, dismissing her blunt assessment of his cooking. “I’ve never really cooked for other people, so I’m still learning.”

Abel sat back and looked around the dinner table.

I went to touch his arm, to reassure him, but he moved it. Instead of making contact, I dropped my hand and fiddled with the hem of my shorts.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” Ben finally asked.

“Um . . .” Abel shifted in his seat as his eyes flicked to mine. “Actually I learned when I was . . .”

Both children looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. It was clear to me Abel was avoiding having to say where he learned to cook, when it dawned on me.

Prison.

My brain scrambled to cover for him when he cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “This guy named Willie Hampton taught me. He was an incredible cook. He could make really good food from the worst ingredients.”

“I think I’d like to know how to cook one day.” Ben looked hopefully at Abel, and my heart squeezed.

Abel nodded once, and my heart tripped over itself. “I can show you sometime.”

Clearing the emotion from my throat, I saw my daughter’s eyes brighten, and she looked at Abel. “What’s the best part of your day, Abel?”

He looked between her and me.

I smiled and explained, “This is something we do at the dinner table. We all share one bright spot in our day. If you don’t want to or⁠—”

His jaw flexed, and he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got one.” His attention was on my daughter. “Uh, I guess the best part of my day was gardening with your mom.”

A prickly thrill danced up my back. The “best part of the day” conversation was something I’d done since the kids could talk. It was my way of forcing myself to remain positive and think about all the good in our lives. It wasn’t easy sharing that with an outsider.

“Now you have to ask someone.” Tillie beamed at Abel with an encouraging nod.

“Ben, what was the best part of your day?” Abel looked at my son and patiently waited for him to answer.

Ben pushed around the breaded pork chop before dunking it into apple sauce and stuffing it into his mouth. Around the food, he answered, “Probably that my friend Drew from library camp also likes the same video game and said he would friend me on there. What’s the best part of your day, Mom?”

“That’s exciting.” I smiled. “The best part of my day was . . .”

Waking up next to Abel.

Watching him walk to the bathroom with a monster dangling between his legs.

Seeing him with a backward hat.

Kissing him.

Thinking of him while I was in the shower.

“Probably having this dinner with the four of us. This is so peaceful, and it makes me really happy.”

Abel’s dark eyes assessed me as though he was searching for the lie. He wouldn’t find it. I’d always dreamed of a cozy home where family dinners were the norm. It may be Abel’s home, but for now it was a sanctuary where I had quickly found myself at ease.

I smiled at my daughter. “What’s the best part of your day, Tillie?”

“Abbey from camp and I decided that we’re going to put on a play about space dinosaurs, and I am going to make the costumes!”

“Space dinosaurs.” I laughed. “I love that idea.”

The rest of dinner ebbed and flowed with a comfortable familiarity. Abel mostly stayed quiet and allowed my rambunctious twins to talk over him—and each other—as they shared about their friends, camp, and the rest of their day.

Once supper was over and the kids cleared their plates, I shooed them out of the kitchen and to the backyard with a promise of ice-cream sandwiches later if they got along.

Abel’s knuckles gently tapped on the table before he rose and started clearing his plate.

I noted the misplaced gesture, curious if that was something meaningful, when I went to stop him from cleaning up. “Don’t you dare.” I swatted my hand toward him. “You cooked . . . again. I can do dishes.”

He picked up his plate. “I don’t mind.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “Well, I do. I already feel like a little bit of a freeloader living in your house, sleeping in your bed. I won’t have you cooking and cleaning.”

Abel stepped forward, his chest brushing against my arm as he towered over me. His large hand grabbed the plate in mine. “I said I’ve got it.”

The deep timbre of his voice rumbled over me, sending sparks frolicking down to my core.

I swallowed hard. “Yes, boss.”

Though I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound quite so breathy, I reveled in the way his body reacted. His deep eyes moved over my face and down to my mouth. I knew he was thinking about the kiss we had shared, and I loved that I wasn’t the only one completely upended by it.

With a twirl, I extracted myself from his magnetic pull and moved toward the cupboard. “Wine?”

Hands full, he gestured toward the pantry. “There’s some in there.”

I laughed. “I know. I bought it. Would you like a glass?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really drink.”

Holding the bottle, I paused. “You own a brewery.”

Quietly, he walked toward me. In the drawer he dug out a wine bottle opener and pulled the bottle from my hands. Without a word, he opened it and set it aside before moving back to the sink.

Abel began rinsing and stacking the dishes, the ring on his left hand glinting in the water. “I like the process of making beer and figuring out new ways to incorporate ingredients, but outside of the occasional drink, I just . . . don’t, usually.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “Is that why you didn’t want to drink the Wedded Bliss?”

He nodded, and a tiny hit of relief surged through me—at least it wasn’t the fact he was with me that had him avoiding the aphrodisiac-laced beverage.

I eyed him as he moved through the space. His frame was bulky and commanding, but he moved with the ease of a jungle cat. Every move was calculated and graceful.

Once I sipped the wine, I closed my eyes and let its flavors wash over my tongue. I thought back to our last few days together. The stress of meeting his father seemed to melt away, and despite the awkward fake honeymoon, we’d survived and had a little fun. I had zero intention of mentioning the kiss we’d shared, especially when he didn’t seem to want to talk about it either.

The evening morphed into a cozy family dinner with my kids, and I didn’t need to mess it up by talking about how I’d practically jumped him in the garden. “I know family dinners weren’t really your thing growing up. Thanks for humoring me.”

He stopped to look up at me. “I enjoy it. Kids are simple. Pure. I like hearing about their day.”

I swirled my wine in the glass. “It’s funny, Sylvie has told me a lot about your dad, but being in his office the other day was . . .” I allowed a dramatic shiver to shake my shoulders. “Gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

Abel huffed a laugh through his nose. “Heebie-jeebies? Is that a technical term?” For a moment he stared down at the counter. “You’re safer keeping your distance.”

My brows furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean? Safer?”

Abel sighed and leaned against the smooth quartz of the countertop. “Has Sylvie told you much about our mother?”

I kept my eyes on him and only offered the tiniest shake of my head. Sylvie was very private and kept a lot to herself. She hadn’t ever seemed like she wanted to talk about it, so I let it be. Now curiosity was eating me alive.

“My mother left my father and us when I was eleven. I was the oldest, so I have a lot of memories of her. JP and MJ hardly knew her.”

It was hard to find my voice. The dim lighting in the kitchen felt as though we were in a cocoon of trust, and I didn’t want to break it. “What was she like?”

I expected him to share that she was callous. Detached. How else could a mother get up and leave her six children like that? It was unfathomable to me.

“She was everything.” The pain was evident in his voice as he stared at the ground. “My mother had the best laugh. She tried to find the good in every situation—even when my father was home and . . .” His eyes lifted to meet mine, and he shrugged. “Somehow it was always harder when he was home.”

I pressed my lips together, unable to find the words to comfort him. “I understand.”

Abel dragged a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

I smiled at him and took a sip of wine. “Because I’m your wife.”

He nodded slowly and sucked in a breath. “Then I should probably tell you I have a private investigator looking into the disappearance of my mother.”

I straightened. “Disappearance? I thought she chose to leave.”

Tension clenched in his jaw. “My father said she left—that was always the story he told everyone. We have no proof she did it on her own accord.”

My stomach whooshed, dread pooling in my gut. “Do you think something happened to her?”

“I do.” He wrung his hands together. “Bug found a box of some of her things tucked away in the basement—things she wouldn’t have left without—and none of it adds up. I’ve got a PI doing some digging.”

Disappearing mothers and frightening exes and fake husbands. It was a lot to process, but standing in front of me was a man being open and vulnerable.

It was as though logic was irrelevant and everything inside of me was unraveling while Abel held that string and tugged.

I stepped forward and tipped my chin to look at him. “Thank you.”

He frowned and looked down at me. “For what?”

My hand slid up his stomach to rest over his heart. It clunked beneath my palm. “Being open. Honest.”

His fingers curled around my hip, and I melted into him. Before I could talk myself out of it, I raised onto my tiptoes. My hand found the side of his face, and I brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth.

“Is this a bad idea?” I whispered in the soft glow of the kitchen.

His fingers flexed on my hip. “I⁠—”

A shrill shriek from the backyard broke the spell, and I quickly retreated to see that the kids were okay. Electricity and tension were at an all-time high, and I struggled to get my breath under control as I left Abel standing in the kitchen.

This is going to be a very long night.