Page 15 of Tempting the King

My hard-on is not relaxed, and it’s hella uncomfortable, so I acquiesce. Besides, climbing into bed with her, knowing she’s going to touch me, has win-win-win written all over it.

I toe my shoes off, following her lead, leaving them on the floor next to the end of the bed, then launch myself at the cream-colored bedding with a happy grunt, bouncing a couple times before I settle, resting my head on my bent arm and crooking a finger at her. “Ready.”

A grumbling sigh paired with a dismissive head shake do nothing to deter the penetrating lust that this sweet, smart cherub firecracker is pulling out of me.

As she climbs onto the bed from the other side, the mattress shifts and I swear, something in my belly flutters.

Like, Jesus, it flutters, like I’m a lovesick teenage girl. I have no fucking idea what’s happening right now, but I’m all in.

“Now.” Her soft words come from behind, as I shift onto my side and she gets into position behind me. Her breath is warm on my neck. “Let’s just lie here quietly for a moment. Let me connect with your energy. The point of our sessions will be to release some of your…aggression. Allow you to have more control.”

“Nothing about you touching me is going to give me more control.” I smirk over my shoulder as she tugs back a smile. “But, okay, doc. Let the healing begin.”

I slap my hands together, rubbing them back and forth, before dropping my head into the pillow, shoving one arm underneath and angling my ass back until I make contact with her pelvic region, wondering if…no, not if, how wet she is right now.

“There we go.” She hums in my ear. “I feel your tension.”

“That’s not tension, baby. It’s frustration.”

“What’s frustrating you?” It’s an honest question, and part of me wants to give her a detailed and crude list of all the ways I want to defile her body. But a bigger part of me doesn’t want to scare her away.

Or have her kick me out.

“I’m frustrated laying here with you with our clothes still on,” I say as she starts to huff, but before she can interrupt, I continue. “You want honesty, right? But you have a job to do, and you said we have the same goals, so I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Thank you.” Her voice softens, and my heart is turning ass over teakettle, thinking of us lying in our own bed. In our own house. With my ring on her finger. “Can you share a memory from your past that first gave you the feeling of having to use violence as a release?”

Her question is specific and sincere. Yeah, I still want to roll over, pin her to the bed and feed her warm, wet pussy every inch of what God gave me. But I also don’t want to disrespect her work. I want to give her whatever she wants, and right now, she wants to help me.

She thinks she can.

I know she can.

But probably not in the way she expects.

“There’s a lot of those,” I answer, not letting my memories drift too far into the darkness. “See, my aggression, my violence, that’s embedded in my DNA. It’s what makes me tick. Like other people meditate, I break bones. Bloody lips. Snarl and spit and extract teeth. It soothes me. Blanks my mind and somehow gives me a sense of purpose. There’s no one event that made me who I am. But this is me. Take it or leave it.”

She doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t admonish me or give me some speech about how I should learn to use my fucking words or some shit like everyone else does.

I’m not an idiot. I know solving every problem with my fists isn’t going to work forever, but I don’t need people pointing out the obvious to me every two fucking seconds like I’m a mindless goon.

Instead, the silence wraps around me like a comforting blanket. Her warmth on my back grows with each heartbeat, until her calming softness seeps down into my bones.

“Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?” she hums in a thick whisper. “Remember, I’ll always respect your consent.”

I hope to God I can do the same. Right now, where she’s concerned, my consent asking skills are hanging by a thread.

I swallow hard, blood pumping into my dick, leaving my extremities tingling.

I want to throw her curvy, sexy package onto her back and listen to her squeal and beg for her King to give her another inch.

“Touch away,” I manage as the warmth in my chest bursts outward, and I want to fucking consume her in the fire she’s lit inside of me.

The soft weight from her hand eases onto the tense muscle of my shoulder, and I swear to fucking God, I hear angels singing.

CHAPTER 6

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