The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,69

keep her safe from Popov because he’ll be gone. You won’t be in danger of her being taken by him and singing like a little yellow canary, correct?”

“Yeah?” I say warily.

“But she still knows too much. About you. About me. Our business. So you can’t just let her go.”

Where is he going with this? “You think I should keep her forever?”

“No,” he says with a snorted laugh. “Of course not. You must kill her.”

Then he downs the rest of his vodka and leaves the room without another word.

You must kill her.

It’s what I should do. I haven’t killed any women outside of war, but I’m not Andrius. It’s not a line I won’t cross if needs be to protect myself and my business. But this is Cassie. Cassie who reads Russian literature and wants a Golden Retriever one day. Cassie whose smile makes me smile. Cassie with her love of iced peach tea and all things sugary.

I don’t think I can kill Cassie. So what am I going to do with her?

Keep her, a dark voice whispers.

I think back to her in that swimsuit. She’s got a much better body than I imagined, and I imagined a lot. The reality, though? Better.

Her tits are big, natural, and full. Her skin is soft, pale tan, with freckles on her collarbone and shoulders. She’s probably about five-foot-four or five in bare feet, but has the length of limb and grace of a taller woman. Her waist is tiny, her stomach flat, her hips curvy, and I haven’t seen enough of her ass yet, but after the rest of her, I’d put money on it being spectacular.

I’m hard. Horny as fuck and frustrated, I stalk to the study door and lock it. Then I close the blinds. I open my desk drawer and take out the folder on Cassie that I’ve been putting together and look at the pictures of her. One of them, taken from her sparse Facebook page, is a photo of her in a sundress.

You can see the promise of those epic tits if you look closely, but the dress is a size or so too big. Like a lot of her clothes. Why does she hide herself in baggy, shapeless sacks? Her body is better than Liza’s, better than most of the models I’ve dated because it’s lush, curvy, and so damn ripe.

Very few women have a body like Cassie’s naturally. Most women are athletic, or pear shaped, few are a perfect, natural hourglass. If anything, she’s a little top heavy but only because of her tits; her shoulders are small, petite. Dainty almost. She’s got slim wrists and small hands.

I stare at the picture of her in the sundress and imagine pulling it down, revealing those amazing breasts. I wonder what color her nipples are and whether she’s got large areola or not. I imagine sucking her nipples into my mouth and her moaning as I do.

I bet she’s responsive. The way she reacted in the pool says she is.

My mind wanders, and I further the fantasy, ripping her dress right down the front. As I think about this, I take my aching cock out of my pants, undoing the zip and freeing myself with a groan. I’m so hard and already leaking at the head. I come a lot, it’s one of the things my girlfriends have loved about me. They take it as a compliment. I’d love to come for Cassie. To cover her tits and throat. Then I’d fuck her, come inside her, and make her walk around with no underwear on, so I run down her thighs.

It doesn’t take more than a few strokes before I’m right on the edge.

The image of my cum leaking down Cassie’s legs, and I’m done for. I finish with a harsh groan and aim at my desk, coating the top and sides with thick white ropes. Shit, I’ll need to wipe it clean.

I’m just done pulling my zipper up when there’s a knock at the door. “Yeah?”

I take out my handkerchief and hastily wipe at the mess I’ve made on my desk before I go and unlock the door.

It’s Cassie. I stare at her and swallow down the sudden urge to stuff my handkerchief in her mouth and make her suck the cum from it.

Instead, I smile as if I’m all civilized and shit, and pocket it. “Yes?”

“Erm, I’ve just remembered that I was meant to be going clubbing with Suzy and Vanessa this weekend.” She smiles at