Gun’s heart felt like it was breaking, shards of pain cutting through him even as his body still buzzed with the remnants of pleasure. He sat against the headboard, pulling the sheet over himself. His fingers gripped the material tightly, his knuckles white, as he tried to steady his breathing. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of King tapping on his tablet.

  Gun’s eyes darted toward him. King sat on the single couch near the window, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as composed as ever. The faint glow of the screen illuminated his face—the face Gun had buried in his heart, the face he had mourned for years. He looked so casual, so unshaken, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just uprooted his entire world.

  His stomach churned, and he looked away, his thoughts racing. Memories flooded back, each one sharper than the st: the shooting, his recovery, the news of his death, the funeral, the emptiness that followed, the nights he cried himself to sleep thinking about the man he had lost. And now, to find out King hadn’t died—he had been alive this entire time, watching from the shadows, slipping into Gun’s life in the most intimate of ways. The betrayal hit him like a punch to the gut, and yet, deep down, he felt something else, something he couldn’t admit even to himself. Relief.

  How long has King been doing this? His mind spiraled with questions, each one more painful than the st.

  ‘Does King know about Remmington?’ Did he know how Gun had fought to piece himself back together, to move forward? Was it all some kind of game to him?

  Gun’s grip on the sheet tightened. His body betrayed him, memories of their lovemaking moments ago repying in his head. He felt disgusted with himself, with how easily King could unravel him. How could he still feel this pull toward someone who had lied to him so deeply? Someone who had let him grieve and suffer, all while living a secret life?

  The weight of it all made his chest tighten. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from gncing at King again.

  King was still focused on his tablet, the faint glow lighting up his features. He looked calm, unreadable, as if this moment meant nothing to him. But Gun knew him too well—or at least, he thought he did. There was something about the way King’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his fingers moved just a little too deliberately. It was subtle, but it was there. King wasn’t unaffected.

  Tears pricked Gun’s eyes, and he blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. He didn’t know what terrified him more: the fact that King was alive or the fact that a part of him was happy to see him again. That small, shameful part of him wanted to run to King, to wrap his arms around him and never let go. But the rest of him screamed in anger, betrayal, and fear.

  He looked down at his hands, trembling in his p, and let out a shaky breath. What was he supposed to do now? What could he even say to a man who had already shattered him twice?

  Gun’s thoughts froze as he felt King’s eyes on him. He looked up slowly, his breath catching in his throat as their gazes locked. King’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a weight that made his chest ache. It was as if King was daring him to speak, to break the fragile silence that hung between them. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  And then, King’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, just enough to send a shiver down Gun’s spine. The air in the room felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at King, and in that moment, he knew nothing would ever be the same from here on out.

  Pcing the tablet down on the side table, King leaned back into the chair, his gaze settling fully on Gun. The smirk that had been teasing his lips softened into a smile. “You’ve always had that look,” he said quietly, his voice calm yet ced with something deeper. “Like you’re stuck in a storm and don’t know which way to turn. I’ve missed it.”

  Gun felt his throat tighten, his chest heaving with the emotions he could no longer hold back. A tear slid down his cheek, and then another, until they were falling freely. He didn’t bother wiping them away. Instead, he lowered his head, burying his face against his knees as he hugged his legs tightly.

  “You could’ve done whatever you needed to do,” Gun whispered, his voice trembling but filled with pain. “Without pretending to be dead.” He raised his head slightly, his tear-streaked face now filled with anguish as he looked at King. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? How much I... suffered?”

  For a moment, King didn’t say anything. Then, with an almost deliberate slowness, he rose from the chair and walked over to the bed. The mattress dipped as he lowered himself onto it, lying down in front of Gun. King rested his head on Gun’s legs, wrapping his arms around them like it was the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head slightly to look up at him, his smile small but warm, almost bittersweet.

  “I know,” King murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw it all, Gun. I watched you this whole time. I saw how you picked yourself up, how you kept going even when you thought you couldn’t.” He paused, brushing his thumb absently against the leg under the sheet. “In the end, you didn’t need me. You were stronger than you thought.”

  Gun stared down at him, his heart twisting painfully at the words. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to find the right thing to say. Finally, his voice broke through, raw and desperate. “I always needed you, King.”

  King hummed softly in response, the sound low and thoughtful. He didn’t look away, his gaze steady and searching. “Maybe,” he said after a moment, his tone quiet yet firm. “But you don’t need me anymore. Not the way you used to. Isn’t that right?”

  Gun’s jaw tightened, his tears falling as his gre locked onto him. “No,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I need or don’t need. You were everything to me. And now... I don’t even know what you are.”

  The silence stretched between them, thick and unbroken, yet neither seemed eager to fill it. King y still, his arms resting lightly on Gun’s legs, his dark eyes tracing every detail of the man before him. For the first time in years, King could really look at him, could commit every line, every angle, and every mark to memory.

  Gun’s brown eyes were still the same—a warm, rich hue that he remembered so well, though now tinged with exhaustion and hurt. The soft swell of Gun’s lips, slightly bruised from their earlier passion, made King’s chest tighten with a strange mixture of pride and guilt.

  He’d aged, yes. King could see the faint lines around Gun’s eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but they only made him look mature, more beautiful in a way he hadn’t expected. His shes seemed longer, framing those deep, expressive eyes, and his hair, now shorter, no longer fell in the waves King used to thread his fingers through.

  So much had changed, yet so much had stayed the same. Being this close to Gun again, seeing him like this, was like taking a breath of air after being underwater for far too long. It hurt in a way, but it also felt like healing.

  Still, the distance they’d had all these years had taught him something—something he wasn’t sure he had the courage to admit aloud. He missed Gun with a ferocity that had nearly undone him, but he also needed that space. It had forced him to confront who he was, what he wanted, and what he was willing to lose. But now that they were here, so close yet still painfully far apart, King wasn’t sure what any of it meant anymore.

  Gun shifted slightly, drawing King’s attention back to the present. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, when he finally broke the silence. “Did you know I was pregnant back then?”

  King’s breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as the words settled in the air between them. King nods slowly, his lips pressing into a forced, fragile smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t believe it at first, but Chips... Chips expined it to me.” His voice is low, almost hesitant, but then it sharpens with quiet pain as he asks, “Why didn’t you have a memorial? You just let the hospital burn her?”

  The question hits Gun like a blow to the chest. His throat tightens as tears spill down his face as memories of his baby girl flood back, raw and aching.

  “I was alone, King,” he finally admits, his voice breaking as he wipes at his tears in vain. “You were gone, and my baby...” He pauses, his shoulders trembling as he takes a shuddering breath. “I lost you, and the only thing I had left that connected me to you. I didn’t ask for her, but she was here. She was so small...” His voice falters, heavy with grief. “I just couldn’t bear to say goodbye to her.”

  King’s expression softens, his own pain flickering behind his eyes as he reaches up, his hand brushing gently against Gun’s cheek. He wipes away the tears, his touch warm and steady. “I still love you, Gun,” he murmurs, his words tender but weighted with the depth of everything.

  Remmington’s face flickers in Gun’s mind like a ghost haunting his thoughts. His throat tightens as he swallows hard, his heart racing. He looks into King’s eyes, his voice trembling slightly as he asks, “The first time we were together... I remember seeing the condoms on the floor, but did... did one of them break?”

  King’s brow arches at the question, and a small, knowing smirk tugs at his lips. His gaze sharpens, almost pyful, as he leans back slightly, crossing his arms. “Since you’ve figured out that the call boy is your beloved husband,” he says, his voice smooth and teasing, “shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”

  The weight of King’s words sinks into Gun like a stone. His heart drops into the pit of his stomach, and the realisation crashes over him like a wave. If what King is implying is true, then the child growing inside him isn’t Remmington’s—it’s King’s.

  Gun’s body weakens as he lowers himself onto the bed, his body trembling with disbelief. He pulled the sheets over his head, desperate to hide from the storm of emotions overwhelming him. Tears stream down his face as his chest tightens with fear and confusion. His mind spins, unable to process the truth, staring him in the face. Frightened and raw, he curled into himself, feeling as though his entire world had been turned upside down.

  King smirked, shaking his head slightly. He didn’t understand why Gun was asking that question, and truthfully, he wasn’t concerned. The answer didn’t change anything—not for him.

  Without a word, he shifted onto his knees, gripping the sheet that Gun had pulled over himself and yanking it away in one swift motion. Gun y beneath him, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his tear-streaked face turned away, avoiding King’s gaze.

  But King wasn’t one to be ignored.

  His eyes traveled down Gun’s body, drinking him in, and his mouth watered at the sight. Every inch of him was familiar yet different—aged like fine whiskey, stronger, yet just as intoxicating.

  A hunger stirred deep in King’s core. He stripped off his underwear without hesitation, his hands sliding down Gun’s thighs as he parted them with ease.

  Looking down at Gun’s tear-streaked face, King let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against his skin. His voice was smooth, ced with something dark and knowing.

  “You know… one thing I missed as much as you? Is, the taste after marinating in my semen.”

  Gun’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, and a shudder ran through his body. Those words alone, spoken in that deep, familiar tone—were enough to make him forget his pain, even if only for a moment.

  Adjusting his position, Gun met King’s gaze, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “It’s been so long… don’t go crazy down my throat.”

  King’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes dark with amusement. The sheer anticipation in Gun’s voice sent a thrill down his spine. Like a wolf finally sinking its teeth into long-desired prey, King’s happiness was almost boyish—bright, eager, and utterly unrestrained.

  King climbed over Gun, hovering over him expectantly. Gun’s eyes lingered on King who flipped over. His gaze trailed up as he reached his hands up, gliding against King’s muscur torso. Gripping King’s hips, his gaze moved to the organ dangling in front of him.

  King was already erect and expecting. Opening his mouth, he pulled King down, gulping what was once his in the past. Gun’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he savoured the salty, pungent taste.

  King thrust down Gun’s throat gently as gripped Gun’s cheeks, squeezing them as he spread the cheeks apart. King let out a hungry groan as he stuffed his tongue into Gun’s core. He shook his head like a hungry wolf ripping his prey apart.

  Gun moaned against his organ as tears formed in his eyes. Gun spread his cheeks wider as he realised that he was in a dangerous position, but he fucking loved it. One thing about King was that he made him feel like a whore. A whore hungry with greed—greed that only King could satisfy.

  MyLadyQueen