Page 98 of King of War

He kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re way cuter than a baby monkey.” Then he sucks his wet finger into his mouth and groans. “Fucking delicious too. Now get your ass on the back of this bike so I can take you to bed.”

There’s a promise in his words that makes my knees tremble. What the hell is wrong with me? He sees my reaction too, and smirks. “There’s no need to be an arrogant douche about it, Enzo,” I chastise him.

“Baby, you have me wandering this earth with a dick so permanently hard I could cut diamonds with it. The fact that you’re just as desperate for me as I am for you just makes us perfect for each other. That’s not arrogance, that’s kismet.”

“Smooth talker.” I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips.

He keeps hold of my hand while I climb off him with shaky legs, then helps me climb back onto the seat behind him. I hold on tight the whole way to the hotel, tighter than is necessary. Because he’s mine too, and I’m not sure I can ever let him go.

Chapter

Forty-Seven

ENZO

Ihustle her into our hotel suite, hands on her ass, mouth on her neck, my dick leaking so much precum I’m sure my boxers look like they’ve been used to clean up a frosting explosion in a cupcake factory.

God, I fucking love her, and her sexy body drives me wild.

I kick the door closed behind us and herd her toward the bed. And she’s into it, clawing at my neck and kissing me back. Until she’s not. She jerks away from me.

I freeze. Take a half step back so I can get a proper look at her. Fuck, her skin is gray. “Rayne, what is it, baby?”

She closes her eyes, sways on her feet. “I feel really sick.”

Shit! “You want to go the bathroom or lie down?”

“Bathroom,” she groans.

I slide a steadying arm around her waist. “No, the bed. The room is spinning.”

“Okay, I’ve got you.” I scoop her into my arms.

“No!” She shakes her head. “Bathroom.” Then she claps her hand over her mouth.

I rush her to the bathroom and place her next to the toilet—just in time. With her head in the toilet bowl, the sounds she makes are inhuman as she throws up what seems to be the entire contents of her stomach. She’s rarely ever sick, even after an epic vodka session. I sit on the tile floor beside her, holding her hair and rubbing her back.

“You should go,” she groans, resting her forehead on the porcelain. “I’m a mess.”

I rub circles over her back. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

She sniffs. “Thank you. I really didn’t want you to go.”

We spent another ten minutes on the bathroom floor, and Rayne wasn’t sick again, so I risked carrying her to bed and having her drink a little water. Then I helped her undress before wrapping in one of the hotel robes.

Now we’re lying on the bed, her snuggled against me and the TV on in the background.

“I’m sorry I ruined our night,” she says, sounding sad.

“Baby, how can lying here with you like this ruin anything? I’m having the time of my life here.”

She nudges me in the ribs. “Liar.”

“I am not lying.” I kiss the top of her head, ignore the faint smell of vomit because I really don’t care. “I love doing anything as long as it’s with you. Even holding back your hair while you puke.”

She hums. “I seem to remember you doing that once or twice before.”

“Yes. At your sixteenth birthday party, and then your seventeenth too.”