Samara’s path led in a different direction.
She guided his cock into her and sank onto him until he was sheathed to the hilt. The fullness drew her breath from her lungs and she had to brace her hands on his chest for a few moments to get accustomed to the feeling. “You feel good, Beckett.”
His only answer was to run his hands from her thighs up over her hips and waist to cup her breasts. He teased her nipples with his fingers the same way he’d done with his mouth earlier. “You get this orgasm, Samara.” He met her gaze, his brown eyes so dark in the shadows they might as well have been as black as hers. “But as soon as you come on my cock, you’re mine for the rest of the night. I’m dying for a taste of that pretty pussy.”
“I’m in charge,” she whispered as she started to move over him.
“You can be in charge while I fuck you with my tongue.” He bent up and took her mouth, sliding his tongue against hers even as his cock slid in and out of her. She should argue on principle, but the tension of the last few days left her too tightly wound to do anything but pursue her own pleasure.
Or that was what she told herself as she came on his cock and he ate the sound.
She barely had a chance to relish the orgasm before Beckett flipped them, and then the delicious fullness of his cock was gone and he descended between her thighs. His first lick arched her back and drew a cry from her lips. By all reason, she should be sated and done with the whole experience, but as he thrust his tongue into her, Samara forgot everything but the need for more.
Tonight, she’d enjoy everything he had to give her.
Tomorrow, she’d go back to hating Beckett King.
Chapter One
Six months later
Beckett King was a monumental pain in the ass.
The man was a force of nature, and he never did what Samara expected, which made it impossible to counter his moves.
Probably shouldn’t have slept with him, then.
Shut up.
There was no point in stalling further. Samara had a job to do, and the longer she took to do it, the later her night would run. She smoothed down her pencil skirt, bolstered her defenses, and marched through his office door before she could talk herself out of it.
Beckett himself sat on a small couch rather than behind the shiny desk, his head in his hands. His dark hair was longer than she’d seen it last, and he wore a faded gray T-shirt and jeans, looking completely out of place in the sleek, pristine office. His broad shoulders rose and fell in what must have been a deep sigh.
If Samara didn’t dislike him so much, she might almost feel sorry for him.
She shifted, her heel clicking against the marble floor, and Beckett raised his head. He caught sight of her and stood, his expression guarded, his mouth tight.
“Are you here on behalf of my aunt?” he asked. “She really hates my father so much she sends someone else for the reading of his will?”
Samara considered half a dozen responses and discarded all of them. Tonight, at least, she could keep control of her tongue. “I’m sorry about your father.”
He snorted. “It was no secret there wasn’t a whole lot of love lost between us.” And yet the exhausted lines of his face showed that no matter what he said, he cared that his father was dead. It was there in the permanent frown pulling down the edges of his lips, and in the barely banked fury of his chocolate brown eyes.
He sighed again. “If Lydia doesn’t want to be here herself, fine. We might as well get this started.” He stalked to his desk and pushed a button. “Walter, Lydia’s…” He glanced up at her with smoldering eyes. “…representative is here.”
A few seconds later, a thin man opened the door she’d just walked through and shuffled his way to the desk. He wore an ill-fitting suit and looked about thirty seconds from passing out right where he stood. His pale blue gaze landed on her, his eyes too large in his narrow face. “Ms. Mallick. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but the circumstances are hardly that.”
“Mr. Trissel. It’s nice to see you again.” Empty, meaningless words. So much of her job required her to spill white lies and smooth ruffled feathers, and Samara was usually damn good at figuring out what a person needed and leveraging it to get what she wanted.
Or what her boss, Lydia King, wanted.
That skill had abandoned her the second she walked through the doors of Morningstar Enterprise. Her movements lost their normal grace, and words she had no business saying crowded her throat. Beckett always made her feel like an amateur, and they’d been going head-to-head for years, his aunt’s company against his father’s. But right now, he looked like the walking wounded and she didn’t know how to process it. Samara wasn’t a nurturer. Even if she was, she wouldn’t comfort him.
Beckett doesn’t matter. The will does.
The reminder kept her steady as Walter separated two folders from the stack and looked at each of them in turn. He passed one folder to Beckett. “It’s a lot of legalese, but the bottom line is that Mr. King left you nearly everything. Morningstar and all his shares are yours, which puts you firmly in the role as majority shareholder. As of the moment you sign this, you are acting CEO.”
No surprise showed on his face. Why would it? For all his tumultuous relationship with his father, Beckett was the only King suitable to take over once Nathaniel was gone. Of course he’d been named CEO.
Beckett leafed through the file but didn’t appear to read any of it. “You said almost everything.”
“Yes, well…” The lawyer fidgeted. “There was a change in the most recent version of the will.”
He
