WET DESIRES WITH MY KINGS

Chapter One

​~ MIRA ~

​The world was beginning to tilt. I watched through a golden haze as I drained the second glass of champagne Freya had bought. I didn't care about the burn or the way the room hummed, I needed the numbness. I needed something, anything, to patch the broken parts of me. My father was deliberately tearing apart.

​I refilled the glass for a third time. I held it up like a trophy, watching the bubbles dance before pressing it to my lips. One small sip to tease myself, then I tilted my head back and let the rest burn its way down.

​"Arrgh..." I groaned, a loose, giddy laugh escaping me. "It feels like heaven. Oh my days, I love this!" I didn't care that the other patrons in the upscale bar were shooting me judgmental looks. For the first time in years, I felt light.

​"That's enough, Mira. Put the glass down," Freya snapped. She sounded irritated, which was strange considering she was the one who had dragged me here and convinced me that alcohol was the cure for a broken heart.

​"Come on, Freya! I'm having fun," I slurred, snorting as I reached for the bottle again. "You were right. The pain... it's going away. I feel different."

​I reached for a fourth pour, but a hand snatched the bottle away before I could touch it. It wasn't Freya's manicured hand.

Shocked, ​I whipped my head around, my vision swimming until Nora's face came into focus. She looked angry. She pulled out a chair and sat down with a heavy thud.

​"I didn't invite you here, you hungry cheap lizard!" Freya hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Who called you? Mira... did you call her?"

​I shook my head slowly, staring at the table as it seemed to vibrate.

​"You don't need to invite me," Nora shot back, her eyes fixed on Freya. "I don't wait for invitations from evil people like you."

​"Girls... please," I managed to mumble, blinking against the spinning room.

Nora and Freya had never liked each other. ​ Nora thought Freya was a dangerous friend in designer clothes, Freya believed Nora was a bitter bad influence dragging me down. I was caught in the middle, loving them both and losing myself in the process.

​"Sit and enjoy the view then," Freya sneered, leaning back. "I know a place this luxurious is a shock to your system. It's only thanks to Mira because if she weren't my friend, you'd never know that a bar like this exists." She shook her luxury handbag in Nora's face, a silent reminder of the gap between them.

​Freya started to stand, but Nora's hand shot out, clamping onto her arm.

I swallowed hard and ran my fingers through my hair. I hated seeing them fight because of me. And whenever they started, I could never stop them; and to be honest, I hadn't invited Nora. She showed up on her own. She consistently appears whenever I'm out with Freya.

​"Sit your damn ass down. I'm not done with you," Nora commanded, pushing Freya back into her seat. Her voice rang with authority that made the air feel thin.

​"Nora...." I tried to intervene, but she held up a hand, silencing me instantly.

​"Stay out of this, baby girl," Nora said before turning her fire back to Freya. "You and I both know who the real poverty-stricken one is here, you! But for now, enjoy the glitter while it lasts, Freya, because soon you'll be right back where you belong, begging for crumbs."

​My jaw dropped. The alcohol couldn't dull my shock. Nora came from an average home. Freya's family was one of the wealthiest in the city. My own father was a driver for Freya's mother, and it was a blessing that someone like her was even my friend. In this circle, I was the one at the bottom of the ladder.

​Freya's face turned a dangerous shade of anger. She stood up and shot me a furious look. I sprang to my feet instantly and tried to apologize, but she shoved me back into my seat and walked out.

I turned to Nora, my throat tight, and my fists clenched. Anger burned inside me like a wildfire. My alcohol-blurred gaze locked onto her.

​"Why do you do this? Why can't you just leave us alone? I didn't invite you!" I screamed. A few people at the next table whispered, but I didn't care.

​Nora stood and placed her hands on my shoulders. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm trying to save you, Mira. You haven't seen it yet, but you will."

​I shoved her back hard. She stumbled, losing her footing on the polished floor and landing painfully.

​"Stop saving me! I don't need it, and even if I did, it wouldn't be from you!" I roared, slamming my palm against the table. "She never looks for trouble with you, but you're always there, lurking! What are you even saving me from?"

​Nora got up, brushing off her clothes, her eyes blazing with a mix of pity and anger. "I'm trying to help you, Mira. Listen to me for once. You can move in with me if that's what it takes to keep you away from that man before he ruins what's left of you."

​She gave me one long, haunting look, then turned and walked out.

​I sank into the chair, my breath coming in ragged gasps, anger burning inside my chest as her words echoed in my mind.I grabbed the champagne bottle and took a long sip

That man. She meant my father. My instincts screamed that she knew something, some secret that could be my exit strategy.

Yes, I wanted to be saved. I wanted to escape my father, who was slowly killing my dreams without a thought for how I felt. But I didn't believe Nora could do that, not for me. I knew she cared and was only looking out for me, but her methods were wrong. What I did felt like the only way to make her realize I didn't appreciate her interference.

​I grabbed the bottle and took another long sip. The guilt of how I'd treated her twisted in my gut, but I pushed it down with more champagne. When I set the bottle back down on the table, a man was suddenly sitting across from me.

​"Who the hell are you?" I snapped, my words thick.

He smiled and reached out his hand politely. "My name is..."

​"Go to hell!" I barked, grabbed my worn-out handbag, and hurled it at his chest before stumbling toward the back of the bar. I needed a restroom. I needed to splash cold water on my face.

I staggered toward the restroom, my vision blurring, and my legs wobbling. I pushed open a door, and what I saw left me frozen in the doorway.

I had walked into the wrong room, and the right thing I should have done was to apologize and leave immediately, but my mouth stayed shut, and my feet refused to move. My hand clung to the doorknob, my eyes locked on the perfectly built man inside.

​He was a demi-god in the flesh. Tall, maybe six feet, standing in the centre of the restroom. He had his side to the door, and his front faced the closet. His big left hand wrapped around his huge erected veiny cock in his hand, head tilted back, eyes shut as he stroked himself slowly.

​I couldn't breathe as I watched him, mesmerized. My mouth parted, a bead of saliva slipping from the side.

"Yeah... fuck," he groaned, stroking his thick huge cock faster now, breath heavy and ragged as if he was about to cum.

​My heart jolted with waves of pleasure. The sound of his voice sent a violent jolt of electricity through me. My stomach tightened, and a heat that had nothing to do with the champagne flooded my lower belly. My legs, already weak from the drink, began to tremble uncontrollably.

​'Mira, move. He's a stranger. Run.' I told myself, forcing my body to move so I could walk out of the restroom but my knees buckled and I collapsed onto the floor with a thud, snapping him out of his actions.

Chapter Two

"Who the hell are you?" His deep, tenor-bass voice echoed through the room. I parted my lips to speak, but no words came out. Shame and fear crawled up my spine as I lowered my gaze, terrified of what this man might do to me.

He moved closer, took my jaw in his hand, and lifted my face toward him. My eyes met his, then dropped, widening at the sight of his hard dick pointing inches from me.

"You want a taste?" he asked with a smirk. But before I could react, he suddenly stepped back, like something inside me had shoved him away, his nostrils flaring as if catching an aweful smell or strange scent.

"You... you're..." he stuttered, breath catching as he inhaled sharply.

I managed to push myself up, and the moment I tried to run, he grabbed me and pulled me against him, breathing me in like I was the oxygen he needed to stay alive. His body shifted from cold to burning hot, so hot it felt inhuman, like I'd melt if I stayed pressed against him too long.

His hardness nudged my stomach, and no matter how much I tried to hide it, my body trembled with pleasure pulsing through me.

"Let go of me," I said, struggling against his grip, but he held me tighter.

I tried to look at his face, but the room was dim and my vision was blurred from the alcohol and the faint red light in the restroom.

My gaze dropped to my hands resting on his broad, solid chest. I bit my lower lip, embarrassed by how hungrily my body responded to him.

I opened my mouth to speak, but his next words stopped me cold.

"Please... be my girlfriend," he whispered, his deep voice brushing against my ear.

Girlfriend?

The word echoed in my head. I tried to convince myself I heard wrong.

'Is this how people get into relationships?' I wondered silently, wishing somehow he could hear my thoughts and answer me.

I'd never had a boyfriend. My father made sure of that. He said I was too young to be with a man at twenty one years of age.

"Is that a yes?" His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Yes... sorry, I mean.."

"Accepted. You're my girlfriend now. Hello, girlfriend."

He cut me off instantly, like he already knew what I was about to say next.

He loosened his hold, cupped my face, and made me meet his eyes, even though I could barely see him clearly.

"You're my girlfriend now. Can I kiss you? Please. I promise I'll be gentle," he asked softly, taking both of my hands in his.

A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard and nodded without thinking.

He leaned in and kissed me, slow, gentle, his lips moving softly over mine. One hand rested at my waist, the other sliding through my hair.

I didn't know how to respond. It was my first kiss. Shame tugged at me for sharing it with a stranger... Oh sorry, my first boyfriend. But to my surprise, every part of my body wanted him, not only a kiss. Something deeper. I wanted more, his dick in my wet pussy.

I stood frozen, my hands hanging at my sides as he pulled me deeper into the kiss, licking the saliva at the corner of my mouth, sucking my tongue slowly.

"Girlfriend," he groaned, his breath warm against my ear as his lips left mine.

"I'm guessing it's your first time," he murmured, his voice rough with need.

"Yes..." I whispered, eyes closed, my body suddenly weak.

"I'll stop here tonight."

Those were the last words I heard before everything went black.

♧♧♧

I woke up the next morning in a room that wasn't mine. The scent of coffee filled the air. I knew immediately it was the stranger's room from last night.

I sat up fast and lifted the duvet to check my body. Relief washed over me when I realized he hadn't touched me. I climbed out of bed and grabbed my worn-out handbag lying beside me. I headed for the door but froze when a voice spoke behind me. My hand hovered in midair over the doorknob.

"Leaving already, girlfriend?"

I turned slowly. Bronze-gold eyes stared back at me, calm, intense, breathtaking. I swear for a five whole seconds, I forgot how to breathe.

There was no way this man was my boyfriend. I refused to believe it. He looked like someone straight out of a magazine. Part of me wanted to believe I was dreaming.

"Um... yeah. Home. Work. I..." my voice wavered, every word struggling to come out. I pressed a hand to my forehead and let out a low breath.

I stepped away from the door and took a better look at him. He looked like he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. His short dark wavy hair fell slightly over his forehead, still damp like he'd just left the shower, but he was already dressed in a sleek, custom-fitted suit, hands tucked in his pockets.

He stepped closer, close enough that the air between us suddenly felt warm. I've never considered myself short, but looking up at him here, the world seemed to shrink, and made me feel smaller.

"My name is Draven. Your new boyfriend," he said calmly.

He looked nothing like the man from last night. Last night he seemed carefree, almost playful. But the man in front of me now looked cold, powerful... dangerous. The kind of man who could destroy someone without hesitation.

I swallowed hard. "You don't have to remind me who you are. I know you're my... boyfriend," the word felt heavy on my tongue. I still couldn't believe I'd said yes to a stranger, a man I just met and let him kiss me.

"You were drunk last night. I thought maybe you forgot you agreed."

He reached out to brush a strand of hair from my face, but I quickly stepped back, staring at my fingers now.

His voice alone already had my body reacting. If he touched me again... I knew I'd melt. And I wasn't ready not to lose my virginity to someone I barely knew.

"I have to go. My dad's probably looking for me," I said quietly.

He stepped closer again and lifted my chin so I'd meet his eyes.

"I'll drive you," he said with a faint smile, then his eyes flashed gold.

I swear I wasn't imagining it. I saw it clearly. Gold.

I wanted to ask him what that was about, but he turned away and led me out.

He didn't speak again until we were in the car.

"You didn't tell me your name, girlfriend," he said, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh as he drove.

"Mira," I replied.

He nodded, and silence filled the car until he stopped in front of my house.

"When do I get to see you again?"

See me again?

That sounded impossible. Once my father found out I didn't come home last night, there was no way he'd let me out again.

"I... don't know," I said quickly as I opened the door. He asked for my number, and I gave it to him before hurrying inside, my heart racing.

Inside the house, my father stood in the living room with his back to me, talking on the phone. The call was on speaker, so I could hear the girl on the other end clearly.

"I think she knows too much. We need to act fast before this gets worse. Please...do something now," the girl pleaded, panicking in her voice.

The voice sounded familiar. But I convinced myself I heard wrong so I moved closer to be sure.

"Relax. It's been twenty one years. I'll deal with anyone who tries anything," my father replied coldly.

"Kill them. All of them. And bury them immediately!" she snapped.

My stomach twisted. I knew that voice. I knew it. For years she claimed she hated my father; and he told me to stay away from her but I refused. Or was I dreaming?

That was my best friend's voice.

'No it is not, you're wrong Freya,' I told myself, pushing the negative thoughts out of my head. There was no way it was her. She hated my father. She only cared about me.

"Fre..." My father paused then turned and froze when he saw me standing behind him before he could finish saying her name.

​Chapter Three

​~ MIRA ~

​'Freya. No, she couldn't be the one.' I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat. My father hated her. She loathed him. I was probably just imagining things, or my brain was still clouded by the lingering haze of last night's alcohol.

I tried to convince myself I had misheard as my father's hand fisted in my hair, dragging me toward my room while he let out a low groan of fury.

​"How long were you standing there!" he roared and shoved me hard, sending me sprawling across the bed, and in one fluid, terrifying motion, he unbuckled his belt.

​"Daddy, please! I just walked in when you saw me!" I lied, my voice trembling. I prayed the lie would be enough to shield me from the coming storm.

​"You cheap whore!" He growled, the words sharp as glass. Then, the belt landed a heavy, stinging lash against my skin.

​I screamed, begging for mercy, but he was a man possessed by cold rage. He must achieve what he wants when he's angry.

He didn't stop until his arm grew tired and then he backed out, locked the door, and left me in the dark.

​Hours later, a heavy thud against the wood startled me. Before I could speak, the door swung open. My father walked in silently, the aggression from earlier replaced by a terrifying, calm look. He sat on the edge of my bed.

​"You have to stop eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern you, Mira," he said softly. "If you don't want to be punished again."

​I remained silent, staring down at my bruised fingers as they twiddled nervously in my lap.

​"Mia is sick. You know that," he continued, his voice dropping to a manipulative simmer. "The hospital is demanding we clear the bills before they perform the surgery. We don't have the money. We need to raise it together to save her."

​'We.' That word hit me like a physical blow.

​He was doing it again. Another scheme to derail my life. Three years ago, the moment I finished high school, he had packed me off to work for a family to 'save for my education' . Two days in, I was framed for a theft I didn't commit and forced into three years of indentured labour to pay it off. While I was slaving away, my father bought a new house and took Mia on vacations.

​I had only been home for twenty-four hours. My 'freedom' had lasted exactly one day before he told me there was no money for my college tuition.

​"We?" I asked, finally lifting my teary eyes to meet his. "What do you mean, we?"

​I wanted to be a surgeon. I wanted to be a woman of greatness, a career professional who owned her own life. But looking at my father, I felt that dream slipping through my fingers like sand.

​"You're moving in with my best friend tonight," he said, standing up with an air of finality. "You'll work as his secretary. Your five-year salary will cover everything Mia needs."

​The room seemed to shrink. I sprang to my feet, anger finally overriding my fear. My throat tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.

​"No! I want to go to school! It is your job to save your daughter, not mine!" I screamed, my hands clenching so tight my nails drew blood from my palms.

​"You're leaving now. Get your bag," he said, his voice cold and flat. He walked out without looking back.

​I slammed my fist against the locked door, a silent growl tearing through my chest. I couldn't do this again. I had to run. I scrambled for my handbag and found my phone. The first person who came to mind, the only person I trusted was Freya.

​She answered on the first ring.

​"Freya, I need your help. My father is forcing me into another contract for Mia's bills. I need to get out of here. Please."

​I waited for her to tell me it would be okay, to give me a plan. I always listened to Freya, even when my gut told me not to.

​"Your sister's life is on the line and you want to run away?" Freya's voice wasn't comforting. It was irritating. "What are you even thinking, Mira?"

​The flame of my anger flickered and died, replaced by a cold confusion. "I want a life, Freya. Five years? I'm twenty one already. I can't waste my entire youth achieving nothing. I already gave up three years for a crime I didn't commit, and now..."

​"We are talking about Mia's life!" she yelled, cutting me off. "Why are you being so selfish? Would you really just watch her die?"

​"Mia doesn't even like me!" I cried, the tears finally breaking through. "She treats me like trash."

​"Mia says you don't treat her right either," Freya snapped. "Now is the time to prove her wrong. Trust me, once she makes it out of surgery, she'll never treat you badly again."

​Click... The line went dead. My head spun. Mia says I don't treat her right? How would Freya know that? They had never met; they supposedly hated each other.

I tried to shake the suspicion, telling myself I must have vented to Freya about it and forgotten.

​I scrolled through my contacts for Nora. Freya's words stung, but I needed a second opinion. I needed one person to tell me I wasn't crazy for wanting a life of my own.

​The phone rang once. Twice. On the third ring, Nora picked up, but before I could utter a word, a hand snatched the phone from my grip.

​I spun around. My father stood there, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with a dark, manic energy.

​"Get your things. They're waiting outside."

​'They?'

​I moved like a ghost, hurriedly folding my few belongings into a box while my father watched me like a hawk. 'I have to save Mia, I whispered to myself', trying to find a reason to survive this. I'll show her I love her.

​Outside, a sleek, black luxury car sat idling at the curb. It looked like danger crouching in the street. As I approached, the door swung open. The interior was shrouded in darkness. I couldn't see the driver's face, only the silhouette of a man who remained as silent as a tomb.

​We drove in total silence until we pulled into a massive, gated compound.

​"We're here, Miss Mira," the driver said, finally speaking as he stepped out to open my door.

​I stepped onto the gravel, my breath catching. The mansion screamed wealth, the kind of wealth that bought silence and power. A servant appeared out of the gloom to take my bag.

​"My name is Vick," he said. "Call me if you need anything."

​He led me into a large living room and left. A moment later, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It felt as if the air itself grew heavier, bowing to an invisible pressure. A man stepped into the living room.

​He was huge , tall and built like a heavyweight boxer. His face was a map of jagged scars, silver lines that spoke of a violent past. He looked like a nightmare dressed in a perfectly cut suit.

​"You're welcome, Miss Mira Femriss," his baritone voice vibrated in my chest. "I imagine you know who I am, even if we haven't been properly introduced."

​"I don't know you," I whispered, trying to stand my ground, but my legs instinctively shuffled backwards.

​"My name is Blade Silas. Your boss," he said. A smile flickered across his lips, a brief, chilling movement that held no warmth. Suddenly, his eyes flashed deadly gold.

​I blinked, certain it was a trick of the light, but I knew it was his eyes. Before I could look again, he turned and left.

​I took another step back, trembling, and slammed into something solid. I shrieked and spun around. A man stood directly behind me, masked his presence just as intimidating as Blade's. The only thing I could see were his eyes, the same haunting bronze-gold as the Draven's.

A surge of suspicion washed over me.

​"Nice to have you here, Mira," the masked man said, but his voice was different from Draven's, smoother, but no less dangerous. He didn't wait for a reply before walking away.

​"Let me show you to your room, Miss Mira," a third voice spoke.

​I jumped, nearly losing my footing, but the servant caught my arm with startling speed before letting go just as quickly.

​"No," I gasped, feeling the walls of the mansion closing in on me. The air here felt strange, as if it were sucking the very little peace left in my soul. "Show me the garden. Anywhere but inside."

​"As you wish."

​He led me out to a sprawling, moonlit garden. I walked deep into the greenery, desperate for the scent of fresh air to clear the terror from my lungs. I was halfway down a stone path when my heart stopped.