Reign of a King: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 1)

The past week has been…different.

Ever since I came up with that plan that indirectly pushed Jonathan’s buttons, he’s been shedding some of his façade.

Not all of it. He still punishes so thoroughly for every night I spend in his bed, but it’s a start.

Besides, is it really punishment if I get off on it? The jury is still out on that one.

All I know is that with every night I sleep atop of him, I get closer to the man everyone is afraid to talk to, let alone come within his vicinity.

I haven’t stopped thinking about the words he told me the other day. The fact that I’m the first person to share his bed.

Surely Alicia used to? But then again, they did have separate rooms. Just like he and I did in those first couple of months.

Maybe Alicia never demanded to enter his room in the first place.

A man like Jonathan doesn’t give in without being coerced into something, or at least being given all the right reasons to go through with it.

That’s why I decided to go one step further today. In the morning, he laid me on his thighs and spanked my arse red for what I asked of him. My behind still burns and is marked with his handprint, but it was worth it.

I demanded we eat out. Not in the confinement of the house, where he sits me on his lap.

And I get to choose the place, so no fancy restaurants either. Those are his playground, not mine, and I need all the power I can get tonight.

“Going out for a kebab is your grand plan?” He glares down his nose at the place with that irritating conceit of his.

“Hey! This place is world-famous. Tourists come over here for Layla’s parents’ kebab. You’re lucky I put in a word for us.”

“Fascinating.”

It’s his snobbish ‘fascinating’. He can be the most infuriating snob sometimes.

With his black suit and sharp features, he appears like he belongs on a GQ magazine cover, not in a commoners’ restaurant.

I’m wearing a simple blue dress that stops a little above my knees. Layla bought it for me without a reason last month, saying it brings out my eye colour, and I haven’t had a chance to wear it until today.

My hair falls down my back and I’ve put on red lipstick. Something that had Jonathan stare at my lips when I descended the stairs earlier.

I consider that a job well done.

I grab him by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him to a corner so we don’t block the entrance. “Listen, Layla’s family is the only family I have. I will not forgive you if you offend them in any way.”

“If you want me to do something, ask nicely.”

“Please.”

His lips tilt in a small smile. “Good girl.”

I try to ignore the flush that covers my skin under the dress and clear my throat. “Is that a yes?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Finally!” Layla peeks her head from the entrance, an apron wrapped around her waist. They must be really busy if she’s helping out. “Why are you guys lurking in the corner? I had to kick Sam from next door out to protect your table.”

“Sorry, Lay.” I straighten.

“Black Belt,” Jonathan greets blankly.

“Johnny,” she mimics his tone.

“A business owner, a karate belt, and now a waitress. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Strangling billionaires. But I’m thinking about adding that to my resume.”

I burst out laughing and she does, too. Jonathan merely narrows his eyes as we follow her.

The Hussaini restaurant has gotten a lot of renovations during the years I’ve known Layla. It’s a traditional one that serves North African and Pakistani recipes. Their speciality is the kebab and couscous, which I love to death and always bug Kenza to give me takeouts, even though she says it needs to be ‘decorated’ right.

There’s a homey feel to the restaurant and its cosy decor with Moroccan cushions and traditional colourful Tunisian carpets. Each table is half-obscured from the other with thin curtains. There are spaces fit for sitting on the floor and the others have tables with cushions instead of chairs surrounding them. The soft white lights add a certain type of ambience, a peaceful one.

The word ‘Halal’ is written in both English and Arabic at the top of the reception area.

I lower my head to avoid getting caught in the curtains, whereas Jonathan simply pushes them out of his way. He’s such a tyrant who doesn’t appreciate beauty.

“Aurora.” We’re stopped by the voice of Malik, Layla’s lawyer brother and the only other Hussaini sibling currently living in England.

He’s a lot taller than his sister, has brown skin like his father, and inherited the striking hazel eye colour of his mother. His body is fit and muscular, and I always thought he was hot as sin.

Only from afar, though. Because he’s my best friend’s brother and I didn’t want to lose her, which I would’ve if her brother had ever found out how much of a mess I actually am.

So I usually just settle with harmless flirting.

“Malik, how are you doing?” I smile.

“I’m brilliant. How about you?”

“Great. Is it just me or did you gain some muscles?”

“Totes, mate,” Layla offers on his behalf. “He’s been slaving at the gym.”

“Stop talking like a gangster, Layla,” he tells her.

She makes a face at him, but he ignores her and focuses back on me. “How have you been, Aurora? You haven’t come around in a while.”

“I’ve been kind of busy.”

“With what?”

“With me.” Jonathan wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side in one firm grip that offers no room for movement. He then offers his hand to Malik. “Jonathan King.”

“Malik Hussaini.” He shakes Jonathan’s hand with the same firmness.

I’m kind of impressed that he didn’t cower in front of Jonathan’s god-like presence. He must know who he is — everyone in this country does — but he’s not intimidated by him. God, I knew there was a reason why I loved Layla and her family.

“Don’t be a stranger, Aurora,” Malik says as he releases Jonathan’s hand and grins at me.

I nod in response.

Layla leads us to a table at the back. One of those with chairs, thank God. I can’t imagine Jonathan sitting cross-legged on the floor. He’d probably leave before doing so.

She gives us menus. “I’ll come back in a few. Oh, and, Johnny. Mum and Dad say thank you for the donation you made the other day.”

He barely nods in her direction, focusing on the menu. His face is blank, completely unreadable.

While that might appear good on the outside, it actually isn’t.

Jonathan is the type who becomes eerily quiet when he’s either calculating or angry, and both are bad news.

“Remember,” I say. “No alcohol or pork. They don’t serve those here.”

“I have Muslim associates. I know their dietary laws.”

“I’m just saying in case you didn’t know.”

“You seem to be well versed in this restaurant,” he’s speaking to me, but his attention is still on the menu.

“Yeah, I come here all the time.” Hell, before I knew him, all my dinners and weekends were spent here.

His piercing eyes pin me down. “To not be a stranger.”

Oh. God. It’s about Malik.

Now it’s my turn to focus on the menu. “Kind of.”

“Do you also wear red lipstick when you come here?”

“Most of the time.” Never. I only started to wear it regularly since I noticed Jonathan’s interest — or rather, obsession — with it.

“You’ll stop doing that. Effective immediately.”

“Doing what?”

“The red lipstick. Coming here the entire time. Noticing that he grew muscles. All of it. Be a stranger.”

He’s jealous.

Ha. Jonathan King is jealous. That’s not something I thought I would ever witness in this lifetime.

I know he’s possessive and doesn’t hesitate to remind me that he ‘owns me’, but judging by the distaste in his tone, he’s also jealous.

Since this is as rare as a passing unicorn, I need to use it to my favour.

Holding on to my nonchalance, I say, “No.”

He narrows one of his eyes. “What do you mean by no? This is part of the deal.”

“The deal said no other people. It mentioned nothing about going to my best friend’s family restaurant and hanging out with her brothers. The others are coming back soon, you know. I’ve been waiting for so long to reunite with them again.”

“Aurora,” he warns. “You should know by now that I’m not the type to be provoked. If you do it, you better be ready to bear the consequences.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t test me or I’ll destroy all their careers. Is that the kind of guilt you want to live with for the rest of your life?”

The arsehole. I should’ve known he’d threaten them.

“Hurt them in any way and all of this is over, Jonathan. I’ve lost too many people I’ve called family, and I won’t allow you to take this one away from me, too.”

“Then do as I said.”

“You do as I say.”

“What?”

“The deal we talked about the other day works both ways, too. If you want me to do something I wouldn’t usually agree on, you’ll do something for me.”

He releases the menu, letting it fall to the table with disapproval written all over his features. “Let me guess, another night in my bed without the punishment part.”

“No. Something before we go back.”

He places both hands at his chin, forming a steeple. “Pray tell.”

“Not here. I’ll tell you when we leave.”

“And you’ll do as you’re told?”

“Let’s order.”

“Is that a yes, Aurora?”

“It’s a yes until further notice.”

Jonathan’s lips twitch in a smile at the way I repeat his words. Then he mutters, “The fucking attitude.”

We order couscous and kebabs after I tell Jonathan it’s my favourite. Kenza adds her special type of Tunisian salad on the side. It’s too spicy, and my cheeks heat to the point of nearly exploding, but I can’t stop eating. Not even when sweat breaks on my temples.

Jonathan shakes his head at me and slides his cola towards me when I finish mine.

When Kenza and her husband, Hamza, come to thank Jonathan for the charity donation, I expect him to be his usual snobbish prick self. To my surprise, he actually compliments their food, saying it’s different than any of the high-end restaurants he’s visited in North Africa and the Middle East.

Layla and I exchange a stunned look behind their back. She mouths, “Daddy” and I’m tempted to hit her with a spoon.

She runs away first.

The rest of dinner is actually really pleasant. Jonathan and I talk about the food, the culture, and he tells me about his trips to the countries in North Africa and the Middle East.

“You’re so lucky.” I sip from my water. “I haven’t left the UK.”

“Not even once?”

“Nope. I went to Scotland, then I came to London. The years in Scotland were a blur, I didn’t even get to enjoy it.”

“Because you were running away?” He puts his spoon on the table and places his elbows on the surface, his entire attention on me.

“Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d be found. That’s why I never spent long in one place.”

“Found by whom? Maxim?”

“No, not exactly him. The victims’ families.” A shudder goes down my spine. “I was attacked several times by them during the course of the trial, and I always thought they’d come to kill me.”

“What is that nonsense?” His voice gains an edge. “You testified against your own father.”

“They don’t see it like that. Some of them still think I’m an accomplice and…and…some police officers shared their thought process.” I shake my head to not let the tears loose and rid myself of the pain I felt as I lay with my blood surrounding me. I don’t even know why I’m telling Jonathan all this.

“That’s why you dropped out of the Witness Protection Program. You didn’t trust them.”

“How…how do you know that?”

“I know a lot more about you than you think.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I know you’re protecting Layla and her family by keeping her in the dark about your past, so even if it does comes back to light, all they would need to say is the truth, which is they didn’t know. I also know that Maxim wants you to get him out of prison by revoking your testimony and that his lawyer is bothering you. Which, by the way, will be taken care of. He’ll never come within your vicinity again.”

My mouth hangs open. God. He’s so thorough. Just for helping me keep Stephan away, I murmur, “Thank you.”

“Maxim will rot in his cell until the day he dies. I’ll make sure of it.”

The urge to hug him hits me and it takes everything in me not to act on it. So I smile and thank him again.

A while later, we’re out of the restaurant. I tell Jonathan that I want to walk instead of going straight to the car.

He doesn’t seem amused by the idea, but he walks beside me as we head to the park.

We stop underneath a tree where there aren’t any people. The sky is full of stars, which is so rare to see in the city.

“So beautiful,” I breathe out, throwing my head back to enjoy the view.

“Indeed.”

My gaze slides back to Jonathan to find his entire attention on me, not the sky. Me. My cheeks heat as if I’m a teenager with a crush. Jeez.

“What’s your demand?” he asks.

“Demand?”

“You said you’d tell me when we were out of the restaurant.”

I trap the corner of my lower lip under my teeth, then release it.

“Any day now, Aurora.”

“Hold on, let me think about it.”

“If you need to think about it, then maybe you don’t really want it.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth like a tyrant.”

“If you want something, voice it. Otherwise it’ll never happen.”

“Kiss me.”

He pauses, seeming taken aback by the request, but his expression turns back to normal. “Why?”

“There doesn’t need to be a why. Do I ask you why when you sit me on your lap or spank me?”

“You like that.”

“Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

I know why it would seem like a weird request from his point of view, but from mine, I’m taking things a step further. It’s the power I paid so much to acquire. This is one more way to stop Jonathan from being distant and aloof.

“Do it already. It’s just a kiss —”

Jonathan’s hand wraps around my nape and he claims my lips. The softness of my curves moulds to the hard ridges of his body as his mouth takes complete control of mine.

His kiss is dominant and intense, like the rest of him. I’m a rag doll in his hold, my breathing and sanity stolen by his skin, his touch, and sheer power.

By the way his body becomes one with my own and the firm hold of his strong hand around my nape.

I’m a goner.

A complete and utter goner.

He angles my head back and ravishes me with growing intensity and need. Almost like he can’t stop. Almost like he’ll continue kissing me for eternity.

But he does. Stop, that is.

As he pulls away, he tests my balance; when my unsteady legs fail me, he grabs me by the waist to keep me standing.

His grey eyes clash with mine in a war of hurricanes and storms, and I realise then how fucked I really am over this man.

I was wrong. It wasn’t just a kiss.