My brain stopped functioning when his hand cupped my breast, his fingers tugging at my nipple. Our mouths fused together, but this kiss felt different.
While the urgency was there, boiling just below the surface, King controlled it. As his tongue tangled with mine, he braced his body above me on his elbows, his hands curved around my head.
I felt surrounded, but in the best possible way.
My palms skimmed his sides, running lightly over hot, smooth skin and thick muscle. King lifted his hips as my fingers tugged at the button on his jeans and slid down the zipper. Then my hand was inside the denim, wrapping around his rigid cock.
Surprised, I stopped kissing him and focused on the weight in my palm. “You’re so hard,” I whispered.
“Happens every time you get mad at me, sugar,” he stated, thrusting against my hand as I stroked him.
“Really?”
He grinned. “Fuck yeah. You’re sexy as hell when you’re pissed at me.”
I used my other hand to shove at his pants, trying to push them down his legs. He knifed up and stood by the bed, shucking off his jeans, boots, and socks. He stopped to pull a string of condoms out of his jacket. Then he grabbed my ankles and yanked me to the edge of the mattress.
I lifted my hips as his fingers curled around the waistband of my underwear and peeled them off. Kneeling by the bed, King spread my legs apart, his big hands cupping my thighs.
I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he lowered his head and put his mouth to my flesh. I moaned as he slowly pushed two fingers inside me. The tip of his tongue circled my clit before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked.
A loud moan rolled out of my mouth and my hips rocked against his lips and tongue. King’s free hand reached up and he pinched my nipple with just enough pressure to cross over the edge from pleasurable to painful.
I cried out, my body jolting, as he ruthlessly attacked my clit with his teeth and tongue. Though he’d been giving me mind-blowing orgasms almost every night, I was already hovering on the edge of release.
When King went down on me, he did it with a single-minded intensity. Sometimes he would take his time and tease me until I begged, but usually he was voracious and he would bring me to climax over and over again just because he wanted to. It was as if he relished his mastery of my body.
He slid his fingers deeper into my body, rubbing them hard against the front wall of my pussy. My body shuddered as I strained toward the release, hovering on that razor sharp edge but never going over.
He released my breast and lowered his other hand. I gasped as I felt his thumb brush my asshole. I tensed a little as he pressed in slightly, but completely forgot about what he was doing when he flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue while he suckled.
Every muscle in my lower body locked down as I cried out and came. I trembled as King continued to play with my clit, drawing out my orgasm. His thumb pressed deeper into my ass but, to my shock, I liked it. Actually, I freaking loved it.
I fell back against the bed as King gave me one last lick and lifted his mouth from my flesh. I watched with heavy eyes as he ripped open a condom and rolled it down his dick. The sight made me twitch, because even after that incredible climax, I wanted him inside me.
He leaned over, sliding an arm beneath me and shifting me back to the middle of the bed. Then he stretched out over me, guiding his cock into me and thrusting home. He wasn’t wild or rough, but he went deep and he did it hard and slow.
I lifted my knees high, my hands skimming over his chest so that my nails lightly scratched his nipples. King groaned, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder and grabbing my hip with his other hand. The position opened me up to his cock, the head angling up inside of me in a way that made my pussy clench.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, his hips slamming harder and faster into mine.
His palm pressed down onto my lower abdomen, the heel of his hand grinding on my clit. My hands flew up to his shoulders, nails digging into his muscles.
“King!” I yelped, my body bucking beneath his.
He ground harder and moved faster until it overwhelmed me and I came again. As soon as I did, he grasped my other leg, lifting it so that both my calves were crossed over one of his shoulders. Wrapping his arm around my thighs, King rammed into me over and over, his thrusts losing their steady rhythm.
After one final slam, he stayed deep inside me, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises and his big body shuddering.
Neither of us moved, our chests heaving, while sweat dried on our skin. Finally, King withdrew slowly, evoking a sharp gasp from me because the small movement burned. Gently, he laid my legs down on the mattress and left the bedroom. I heard him moving around in the bathroom and water running.
A few minutes later, he came back into my room, still naked. Though I didn’t want to move, I needed to clean up as well, so I rolled off the bed. On shaky legs, I walked into the bathroom, peed, and washed my hands. The area between my thighs was tender and sore, so I wet a washcloth with cool water and held it against my sensitive flesh.
After a long moment, the burn finally faded and I tossed the cloth into the towel hamper. I made a detour into the kitchen for a big glass of ice water, draining it in several large gulps. Without thinking, I poured another glass for King and carried it into the bedroom with me.
He was sprawled on my mattress, naked, with both arms crossed behind his head. I hesitated in the doorway, my eyes studying every detail of his body. It wasn’t hard to see that King took care of his body. His muscles were well developed, almost bulky. He looked like the kind of man who could do whatever necessary to win a fight, if you were stupid enough to start one.
His obsidian eyes were on me when my gaze finally made its way to his face. He looked serious and thoughtful.
I moved to the bed, holding out the glass to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the water and drinking half of it in one swallow.
While he set the glass on the nightstand, I crawled under the sheet. Then King did what he always did when he was in my bed. He reached out and pulled me into his side so that my head rested on his chest and my body wrapped around his. I lifted my top leg, draping it over his thigh, and laid my arm across his ridged abdomen.
He flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. His fingers sifted through my hair as we settled deeper into the bed.
“Tomorrow, I’m takin’ you to breakfast,” he murmured. “Best damn greasy spoon I’ve ever been to.”
Since I was half asleep, I didn’t truly understand what he was saying, so I just mumbled, “Uh-huh.”
Unlike earlier that night, I had no trouble at all falling asleep.
Chapter Nine
‡
From then on, the dynamic shifted between us. We went to breakfast the next morning, and King was right, it was the best greasy spoon I’d ever been to. After we ate, he took me home and had me for dessert. Then we napped. It was a wonderful day.
King still came over every night, but at least twice a week, he would tell me to be ready to go out when he got there. He even took me back to his bar. We would sit in the corner, partially hidden while we drank and talked.
It was almost as if we were dating, but we were well past the first “getting to know you” stage. And I’d never had that much sex with a man I was dating, not even Justin and I’d thought he was insatiable.
What surprised me the most was that I had no guilt about Justin. Other than a strong twinge right after the first night King fucked me, the rest of the time, I’d barely given him a second thought. The realization made me feel like shit. I thought he was going to be the love of my life and a year and half later, I was screwing his best friend. Since I really didn’t want to think about it, I decided to file it away or, in other words, push myself into the deepest depths of denial.