Page 57 of Lace 'em Up

I gasp.

Then moan.

Then melt as wave after wave of glorious pleasure weaves its way through every single one of my cells, sending my nerves on high alert, every fiber of my muscles tightening, like a spring being twisted around and around and around.

I’m so close that I’m going to snap, that my orgasm is going to explode out from me.

But…he isn’t.

“King,” I manage, my lungs sawing and breaths coming in rapid gusts. “I—” A breath. “You.” Another. “I shouldn’t—” I break off on a moan, head digging back into the pillows. “I shouldn’t without you.”

He stills, tongue flat on my nipple, lips sucking firmly.

Then he draws back, the suction breaking with a soft pop, leaving my nipple so hard that it’s almost calling out for his mouth.

“Is it too much?” he asks, eyes half sleepy, but I don’t miss the concern, the seriousness creeping into those blue depths.

It is too much.

But it’s also not nearly enough.

Which is why I know it’s not too much in the sense that he means.

“No,” I say, reaching for him, the sight of him between my breasts almost too much to handle.

He’s beautiful and powerful and sexy as hell.

“Then what?”

“I—” I suck in a breath, release it, steadying my breathing enough so that I can say, “If you keep going, then I’m going to come.”

His brows flick up and he holds my gaze for a long moment before he asks, “So?”

“So,” I admit. “I don’t usually—” I bite my lip. “Not alone. Not without?—”

Clarity seems to dawn on his face.

And then he scowls and rears back. “Not ever?”

Had I ever come without my partner coming? No.

Had the reverse been true many, many times? Yes.

Both of which he seems to read on my face because he’s suddenly rearing away from me. “Lie back like a good girl,” he rasps, hair a mess, eyes no longer the least bit sleepy, hands reaching for the waistband of my soaked underwear, “and let me lick that cunt.”

Seventeen

King

I barely resist the urge to tear her panties from her legs, have to clench my teeth together in order to slowly drag the material down her thighs, along her calves, off her feet.

But then it’s flying through the air, landing somewhere in my room, and I’m staring at a naked Rory.

Long, lean legs. Lush hips. A narrow waist. The soft curve of her belly, the flare of her ribs, the tempting apple-sized breasts.

A throat I’ve had my lips on, but not nearly long enough.

A mouth I need the time to worship.

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