Micah's Bride (All the King's Men Book 9) Read online

  What lay beyond was something out of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A long, winding driveway led up to a behemoth of a home that looked more like a palace than a house in Chicago’s suburbs. Lights illuminated the windows, and giant columns bookended the double-doored entrance that looked big enough for the Jolly Green Giant to pass through with inches to spare.

  The grounds were just as impressive. A large fountain with a pair of stone angels on top rose opposite the house, and decorative crab apple trees covered in white and reddish-purple blossoms dotted the rolling landscape. Even at night, she could see the diagonal pattern in the freshly cut lawn.

  Whoever lived here probably employed an army of gardeners and landscapers, as well as a squadron of servants who cooked and cleaned twenty-four hours a day. Perhaps a butler with a perfect English accent who laid out his master’s clothes every morning and drew a bath in a tub the size of a small moon for the lady of the house every night.

  Did butlers have sex?

  It was an odd, random question, but Sam had been thinking a lot about sex lately. All kinds of sex. It seemed that now that she was pregnant, she could get turned on by something as insignificant as a display of cucumbers in the produce section of the grocery store.

  And now she was obsessively fascinated with how butlers sounded when they had sex.

  Might you spread your legs wider for me, my dear? That’s lovely. I do hope your groans mean you are enjoying yourself. Oh, yes, I am, too, thank you for asking. I do believe I’m about to come. I hope you’re prepared. Ah, here it is. Climaxing with you is always such a joy. Shall I fetch a warm towel and tidy you up?

  Sam grinned at her version of English-accent butler sex. It was pretty preposterous, but she just couldn’t imagine a butler going from the pinnacle of propriety to raunchy and debased, saying things like, “How do you like it, baby? How do you like my cock in your ass?” while rutting like a wild animal.

  Micah sighed and shook his head, casting her an exasperated glance as he took the final curve that led to the home’s entrance.

  Sam raised one eyebrow. “What?”

  “Butlers don’t talk like that during sex. All ‘might I fetch you a towel?’”

  “They don’t?” She was toying with him, but if he wasn’t going to tell her where they were or why, he deserved a little sassiness.

  “No.” He stopped the car in front of a set of wide, rounded granite steps that looked like they would have been right at home in front of the White House. Or Buckingham Palace.

  “Then how do they talk?”

  “Not like that.” Micah unfastened his seat belt and gave her a sultry look. “You’d be surprised how debased a ‘pinnacle of propriety’ can become when he—or she—is in the throes of passion.” He winked, then pushed open his door.

  “Oh? And you know this because . . .?” She unbuckled and started to open the passenger door when a male wearing a tuxedo with tails appeared out of nowhere and opened it for her.

  Startled by the unexpected assistance, she briefly hesitated. “Oh, uh, thank you.”

  The male held out a white-gloved hand. “Madame.” Obviously, he expected her to let him assist her out of the car.

  She was perfectly capable, but she let him help her anyway.

  Micah tossed his keys to a second overdressed male, who stepped out of a small valet house off to the side. Then he joined her and took her hand, leaning in close, continuing their conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “I know how butlers talk during sex, because I’ve seen it in their thoughts.”

  Of course he had. Micah probably knew every sordid secret of everyone he’d ever come in contact with, but you’d never know it. The male was like a vault, never divulging what he knew unless he had to. Which made Sam respect him that much more.

  “You have, have you?” She wrapped her free hand around his forearm, imagining herself on her knees in front of him, his cock in her mouth. “Tell me what I’m thinking right now.”

  Lust-filled shadows darkened his navy blue irises as his gaze swept her face, landing on her mouth. “Thoughts that are going to make us very late if you don’t stop thinking them.”

  She pressed closer and dropped her hand to his groin. He was hard. Just that fast, the thought of swallowing him down her throat had gotten him as hard as concrete. “I don’t mind being a little late.”

  She didn’t even know why they were there anyway, so who cared if they didn’t arrive on time? They could duck around the side of the house, find a nice dark shadow, unbutton and strip out of a few clothes and—

  He nudged her away with a soft moan. “All of that sounds nice, but trust me, baby, you don’t want to be late for this.”

  Really? He was putting whatever waited behind the skyscraper-tall double doors at the top of the steps over sex? This was a first.

  “Raincheck then?” She took a small step back, a little disappointed that she couldn’t cash in some of the pregnancy hormones playing with her arousal like it was their own personal petting zoo.

  She was rapidly becoming obsessed with sex. She’d read that pregnancy could affect the libido, but she hadn’t been prepared for this. She was like a guy, thinking about sex every five minutes. Exhibit one: butler-sex fantasy. Exhibit two: her current fantasy of accosting Micah like he were an ice cream cone she wanted to lick and suck all night.

  “Jesus, Sam . . .” Micah briefly tipped his head back as he gripped her hips and pulled her against him. When his head came forward again, he clenched his jaw and issued a long, low growl as he rested his forehead against hers. “You’ve got to stop thinking those thoughts.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “It’s not that.” Another growl, this one more abrupt. “I fucking love them. It’s just that”—he glanced toward the front doors as if he were having second thoughts—”we can’t. Not yet. Trust me, you really do not want to be late. And when you find out why we’re here, if I let you molest me right now—which I’m really fucking tempted to do, by the way—you’ll be pissed at me for making you late. So, no.” He gave her a nudge in the direction of the door. “We are not going to get it on in the dark shadows of the side yard.”

  She bit back a coy smile. “Fine, you win.” But it sounded like what lay inside this very fine, very impressive home would be worth putting off her hungry-for-sex pregnancy hormones a little longer. “But after we leave here, you’re mine, Black.” She trailed the tip of her index finger down the center of his full lips, his chin, his neck, to his chest. “All mine. To do with as I please.” Brushing her thumb over his nipple, she placed a soft but smoldering kiss on his mouth. “Have you got a problem with that?”

  His gaze burned into hers. “Hell, no. Bring it, female.”

  “Good. Then take me in there”—she bobbed her head toward the house—”show me what you need to show me, and let’s get this over with so I can take you home and fuck the hell out of you.”

  He licked his lips, then folded the bottom one between his teeth as his nostrils flared on an inhale. “God, I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She backed away and held her hand out to his. “Now let’s do this. I’m horny.”

  He chuckled darkly as he took her hand and started up the steps. “Have I ever told you you’re my kind of female.”

  “Every day.”

  The towering home seemed to loom larger the closer she got.

  “Who lives here anyway?” she asked. “Jay-Z and Beyoncé?”

  Micah let out an amused snort but didn’t answer.

  The word house didn’t even seem appropriate for this place. Grand architectural wonder meant to be stared at in awe? Yes, that was a more fitting description.

  “Well . . .?” Sam eyed him.

  He grinned. “This isn’t Jay-Z’s crib.”

  There was something playful about Micah tonight. Different but playful. And he was quieter than usual, as if he didn’t want to say too much for fear of ruining the surprise. The question was, what
surprise?

  “Then whose crib is it?”

  They stepped up to the door—God, it looked even taller from up close—and Micah rang the bell. “So impatient,” he gently admonished.

  Loud, musical chiming came from inside, reminding her of church bells in the distance. You knew you were wealthy when your doorbell sounded like the bells of Notre Dame.

  A moment later the doors opened in unison, pulled inward by twin servants dressed much the same as the valets. Tuxes and tails, white gloves, and black loafers that shined like polished ebony.

  “Ah, Micah. There you are.”

  Sam’s mouth fell open as King Bain walked toward them, arms outstretched in greeting, followed by a tall, elegant female dressed in a dark-blue, floor-length gown. Long, loosely spiraled strands fell from her dark, upswept hair and tumbled past her shoulders.

  This image of grace and poise could only be the queen.

  Sam glanced at Micah. Back at the king and queen. Down at her less-than-appropriate attire. Back at Micah.

  “This is the king’s home?” she whispered sharply. “You didn’t tell me . . .? You should have told me.” Her face felt like the business end of a frying pan on a hot stove.

  Bain laughed as Micah released her hand and placed his on the small of her back, as if he were presenting her.

  “Welcome to my home, Samantha,” King Bain said, lifting his thick arm to indicate the opulent foyer with its gold accents, two-foot-diameter floral arrangements, and a pair of chandeliers so sparkly they had to be made of diamonds. Then he turned devoted eyes to the magnificently appointed female at his side. “This is my mate—my queen—Cara.” The way he said “my queen” made it clear he thought the sun revolved around her.

  Cara stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, Samantha. Or do you prefer Sam?”

  The queen’s grip was strong and firm, contrasting her demurely regal appearance.

  “Sam, please.”

  Sam wasn’t sure if she should bow, curtsy, or what, so she did a little of both, bobbing awkwardly down and back up before releasing the queen’s hand.

  Bain grinned politely at her clumsy effort. “Cordray will take you back to get ready and—” He frowned, glancing back and forth. “Wait. Where’s Cordray? She was just here a moment ago.” He took a step to the side, craning his neck to see into the depths of an adjoining room, then asked Cara, “Did you see where she went?”

  “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.” She swiveled her head around, but there was no sign of life other than the four of them standing in the foyer like rootless trees.

  Then the chandeliers flickered, and everyone looked up. The tiny shards of crystal trembled, and the lights flickered again. A pulse of energy beat through the open space, and the small crystal pieces clinked angrily against one another. Within seconds, the whole room began to shake.

  Cara gasped and reached for Bain’s hand. “What’s happening?”

  Sam clutched Micah’s forearm. “Are we having an earthquake?”

  For a few tense moments, the foursome appeared ready to bolt out the front door before the whole house crashed down on top of them.

  Then the knocking began.

  Hard knocking.

  Hard and fast knocking.

  Coming from inside what Sam assumed was the coatroom on the other side of the foyer.

  Something—or someone—was urgently pounding against the wall like they were trying to break through the expensive plaster.

  Oh . . . God.

  Sam exchanged knowing glances with Micah. Trace’s calling had started the day after she found out she was pregnant, which meant if Cordray was here, Trace was here, and if Cordray was missing, it didn’t take being a social engineer to figure out where she was and who she was with.

  Micah fought back a grin, turning and ducking his head.

  “Jesus Christ . . .” Bain said under his breath. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward Cara and closed his eyes. “It’s them. They’re at it again.”

  All the color drained from Cara’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Sam. “I’m so, so sorry about this. It’s his calling. He’s . . .” She blanched and closed her eyes as she turned toward Bain, head down. “This is mortifying.”

  Bain pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “It can’t be helped. You know how the calling is, love.”

  As if to prove his point, guttural grunts—both Trace’s and Cordray’s—and a few muted expletives about “MORE, HARDER, NOW!” joined the pounding.

  The crystal shards above them shuddered, and one of the massive vases full of flowers vibrated toward the edge of the table. Cara rushed to catch it before it crashed to the floor, then clutched the table to balance herself as the shaking reached a fever pitch.

  Cordray had confided in Sam that Trace couldn’t control his power during sex. That having sex with him was like fucking a hurricane and an earthquake at the same time. Apparently, he’d damn near destroyed the second floor in her house at Asylum the first time they had sex. Tables shattered, pictures fell off the walls, the legs snapped under the bed, the frame cracked in half, and wind blew around them like they were inside a tornado. Even the atmosphere seemed to bend and warp.

  Which was why she and Trace had fallen off the grid when his calling officially started. They hadn’t wanted to risk hurting anyone, especially since calling sex was more intense than regular sex.

  But for all the description Cordray had given her of the damage Trace could do when they fucked, Sam had never witnessed the phenomenon firsthand.

  Cross that off her bucket list.

  Because the power that was Trace getting his rocks off was putting on quite the show for everyone in the foyer.

  Their cries turned more desperate, more urgent, and then their shouts crescendoed into one long, keening growl as the rapid thumping turned into harsh, punctuated knocks.

  Then silence.

  The floor became stable again. The flower vases were no longer in peril of falling off the table. The only evidence that anything had happened came from the swaying chandeliers.

  No one said a word. Awkward silence stretched around them.

  Sam wanted to laugh. She could tell Micah did, too, so she refused to look at him. If she did, she’d burst. And that just didn’t seem appropriate given how red Queen Cara’s face was.

  Bain was the first to speak, although quietly and a bit sheepishly. “His calling obviously isn’t over yet.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and glanced toward the closed door.

  Micah cleared his throat to keep from chuckling. “Obviously.”

  A few seconds later, the door opened, and Trace and Cordray tumbled out, adjusting their clothes. Cordray’s long black-and-blue hair looked like she’d just exited the set of Twister, and Trace’s light-blue T-shirt had been stretched and ripped in two places, most likely where Cordray had been gripping it. Trace was still trying to squeeze his dick back in his jeans when they both looked up and froze, realizing they had an audience.

  A quick stuff, zip, and ball shift later, Trace gestured toward the closet. “Uh . . . we were just . . . um . . . yeah.” He turned toward Cordray as if she could come up with a better excuse for what they’d been doing in there.

  Her mouth flapped open, then shut. She blew a stray strand of royal blue hair off her face and tried to act nonchalant. “We were just—”

  “Save it,” King Bain said with a roll of his eyes. “We all heard you anyway.” He tipped his head toward Sam. “Cordray, could you please take Sam and get her ready.”

  Cordray fought to straighten her hair. “Of course.” She tossed Trace a playfully accusatory glance, gave him a sharp love slap on the cheek, then crossed the foyer and took Sam’s hand.

  “Wait.” Sam resisted as what King Bain had said registered. “What do you mean, get me ready? Get me ready for what?”

  She still had no idea why Micah had brought her here, and now Cordray was going to “get her ready?”

  Cord
ray tugged her away from the others, smiling from ear to ear. Then again, she’d just had what sounded like the best orgasm she’d ever experienced. “Don’t be a pussy, Sam.” She looked over her shoulder at Micah. “Don’t worry, Mikey, your bride is in good hands.”

  Bride?

  Sam pulled her hand from Cordray’s and spun around, walking backward as Cordray snagged her wrist and dragged her in the opposite direction again. “Bride?”

  Micah’s adoring eyes latched onto hers, but he didn’t say a word.

  “What did you do, Micah Black?” Her heart fluttered at the possibility that tonight was about to become the most glorious night of her life.

  A smile the size of Montana and as cocky as a lone rooster in a henhouse spread over Micah’s face. “Let’s just say that after tonight, you won’t be able to tell me not to call you Mrs. Black anymore.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  She’d teased him about getting married for months, but she’d had no idea he’d been planning this.

  A wedding.

  Her wedding.

  Theirs.

  He was going to marry her.

  And from the look and sound of it, he was going to marry her tonight!

  Chapter 2

  Micah gazed after his Sam until Cordray dragged her around the corner and out of sight.

  “Thank you for this,” he said to Bain and Cara.

  Bain rested his hand on Micah’s shoulder. “The gratitude is all mine, Micah. If planning a wedding was what I needed to do to get you to accept my offer, then I was happy to do it.”

  “You mean I was happy to do it, don’t you?” Cara said with a good-natured but scornful smile.

  Bain took a step back and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Only because you were so eager to do it.”

  She laughed. “I was. And it was so much fun. A lot of work—and who knew humans went through so much just to get married? My goodness, it makes no sense why so many get divorced after going through all that. I guess I’ll never understand human behavior.”

  “We don’t have to understand it,” Bain said. “We just have to pretend we do to fit into their society.”