Touch Me Not Mr·kingsley Novels & Stories

“You two can’t go a single call without clashing, can you?” Kingsley and Betsy had always had a love-hate relationship for no reason but I still find it funny. They had never met before but got to know each other through my video and voice call with him. Kingsley is my childhood friend and the heir to his family’s empire—the second-largest after ours and he’s also a subject of endless gossip: ‘cold-hearted,’ ‘heartbreaker,' 'head tuner' and some even calls him a demon in human form

He takes the plate, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “We’ll see.” We sit at the table, and for a few blissful seconds, there’s only the sound of forks scraping against plates. But of course, I can’t leave well enough alone. “So,” I say between bites, “about this no touching rule…” He groans. “Not this again.” “I’m just saying—it’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? We’re adults. We can survive the occasional accidental brush of the arm.” “It’s not dramatic,” he says flatly. “It’s simple. No touching means no lines get crossed.”

"Not a lot of things, I'm just an observer. You see that man on green, That's Monsieur Luc, he's a school owner. He's currently jobless, his school just got shutdown by the government but he doesn't look anything like that..." "How about his friend? What is his pain?" "That's Trent Grateau, he got divorced and lost custody of his only child to his ex-wife." "That's hard," I commented, Taylor nodded, "it is," "Maybe you should try smoking and getting on a rollerbike too. You might feel better," "No, what would I look like getting on a rollerbike in a suit?" "You'll look just like that," she said, pointing at the crazy-happy men. The sight of men smiling through their sadnesses was moving, com

For some reason, seeing his tattoo made him even more attractive to me. “Hey,” Mr Kingsley's voice wafted into my ear, as he flicked his fingers in front of my face. Shit. He had caught me. “Yes?” I uttered, a sheepish grin curving my lips. “Did you hear anything I just said?” He asked, a knowing look on his face. With my smile still in place, I shook my head slowly in negation, “No, Mr Kingsley. I'm sorry about that. Can you come again?”

Perhaps I was too harsh-sounding, but Lauren snapped without thinking, "Keep dreaming!" I raised my phone slightly. "You can refuse to sign, but this recording will end up on the phones of everyone you know." Lauren lunged at me, snatched my phone, and smashed it to the floor with a loud crack. I took a few steps back to keep my distance and said calmly, "I already set up a scheduled email. If I don't cancel it by three in the evening, that recording will be sent to the Mercy Hospital for Women's official site, every major gossip social account, and Jacob."

Wanting to tone it down, he cleared his throat. King was obviously shy, and it was turning him on even more. “I, I ahm… How do I pose?” King asked, lying on the bed awkwardly. Kane did his best not to laugh when King tried to pose like Rose from the movie 'Titanic.' Shaking his head profusely, he was actually amused. He went to him and kneeled in front of him on the sofa. He held King’s arms, positioning them correctly. Every touch was electrifying, and the feel of King’s skin rubbing against him was making him lose his sanity.

The man just loved putting himself on a pedestal. We reached his private quarters and Maren held up a halting hand. "When you return, get back to me. There is something I need you to do." "Yes, Master Maren." There was a slave girl waiting at the door. She looked washed up the same way I was. And she was very pretty too. "Wait here until you are called," Maren instructed and left. We said nothing to each other until the door opened for us to enter. Lord Kael was waiting for us. He was wearing an unbuttoned red robe and pants. And on his right, was his visitor, who gleefully chuckled when he saw us.

"Where do I sign the permission slip?" "Auntie, please stop yelling, I already have a headache from the stock market." A new voice chimed in. Ethan Kingston, Raphael’s younger cousin, leaned against the wall a few feet away. He was dressed in a sharp gray suit, lazily scrolling through his phone. He was the VP of Kingston Corporation, and unlike Raphael, Ethan never took life too seriously. "Ethan, stay out of this," Vivian snapped.

The long-awaited week finally arrived. I stood at the front door of the new house with Damian, waiting for his brother and sister-in-law's arrival. I wore a simple bright red dress, with light makeup and neatly styled hair. A black car stopped in front of the yard. A man around forty years old got out first, Charles Kingsley, Damian's older brother. He still looked the same as I remembered: sturdy, with a firm face and sharp eyes. But now there was a little gray at his temples, and fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Behind him, his wife, Margaret Kingsley, stepped out gracefully, wearing a gold dress and sparkling jewelry. Her lips were still bright red, just as I remembered.