MY AFFAIR WITH A DEADLY SOLDIER

6

KINGSLEY POV

The moment I walked in, my eyes went straight to Phoebe.

She was sitting on the edge of the sofa with a book in front of her face, trying hard to act like she had been reading all day. But the tiny shake in her hands gave her away.

When her eyes moved past my shoulder and landed on Trixie—the expensive woman trailing behind me—all the color drained from Phoebe's face.

Shock. Hurt. A deep sting she tried desperately to hide.

Good, I thought, pushing down a sudden surge of satisfaction. Let her see how this world works, so she will learn not to mess around.

I had spent the whole day trying to get that innocent face out of my head. Ever since last night, when I caught her watching me through the bathroom door, I couldn't stop thinking about her. It annoyed the hell out of me.

And worst of all was the fact that last night, I had stood outside her bedroom door in the dark, listening to her soft moans while she fingered herself. My whole body had set on fire hearing those soft sounds through the door. I had stood right there, gripping my own hard c**k through my pants, wanting so badly to kick the door open and take what she was begging for.

But I stopped myself. Phoebe was just a scared witness. If she got carried away by the sight of me, that was her business. Women always got carried away before they even had a taste of my d**k. But I was in control. I didn't break my own rules for anyone.

So I left. I made sure I woke up early to leave the house, handled my business in the city, and on the way back, I called Trixie, my favorite call girl. I needed a warm body. I needed to f**k the memory of Phoebe right out of my mind.

"Kingsley, babe," Trixie purred, resting her hand on my shoulder, her heavy perfume filling the air. "You didn't tell me we had company."

Phoebe stood up fast, pulling the long shirt down over her thighs. Her face was bright red, but she tried to keep her voice steady.

"Welcome back," she said softly, looking between me and Trixie. She forced a polite smile. "I... I was just going to bed."

"Wait," I said flatly.

I pulled out the brown paper bag of hot takeout I had bought for her on the way home and set it on the kitchen counter. My voice was completely cold.

"Eat before you go to bed," I ordered. "I have business to handle."

Phoebe looked at the food, then at Trixie, who was already sliding her red nails down my chest. A look of humiliation passed across Phoebe's face before she quickly covered it up.

"I'm not hungry," she murmured, taking a step back toward her room. "Goodnight."

A tight knot formed in my stomach as I watched her walk away. For a quick second, a small voice in my head asked if bringing Trixie here was a mistake.

But I crushed the thought down instantly. Why the f**k would I think that way? This was my penthouse. This was how I lived. I wasn't going to change my life for a girl who happened to see something she shouldn't have.

Without saying another word, I grabbed Trixie by the waist and led her down the hallway toward the guest suite—the room I always used when I brought women home.

I never brought anyone into my master bedroom. That space was mine alone.

As soon as I closed the door behind us, Trixie wrapped her arms around my neck, tilting her head toward the hallway. "Who is she anyway? Didn't you see how weird she looked seeing me?"

I didn't answer her. I unbuckled my belt, my jaw set tight as I pulled it from the loops.

Trixie chuckled softly, sitting back on the edge of the mattress. "It looks like your little guest is hurt, Kingsley. Honestly, she looks like someone who’s—"

"Just shut the f**k up and get down to business, slut," I growled.

I threw Trixie onto the bed. The b***h just giggled, leaning back on her elbows as she kicked off her high heels. I reached down, delivering a sharp, stinging spank to her ass that echoed through the quiet room.

She gasped, pulling me down by my shirt collar. But when I leaned down to kiss her, her heavy perfume felt all wrong. The image of the girl down the hall—staring at me with wide, hurt eyes while wearing my shirt—refused to leave my head.