Page 128 of Lace 'em Up

“King—”

“Shh,” I order quietly, dragging her underwear down those lush thighs, wanting to taste the sopping cunt that’s partially obscured by blond curls, but knowing that it will have to wait until later.

I nudge the fabric, send it down along her thighs, allow it to drop to her ankles.

Then I’m coaxing her to step out of them, tucking them into my pocket.

Drawing her back onto my lap.

Pushing inside.

We both gasp.

And then she’s rocking again, the tight clamp of her pussy all around me. Hot. Slick. Convulsing tightly.

“King!” she cries, head falling back, eyes closed, hair a glimmering golden cape spread out behind her.

Beautiful.

Mine.

And then I’m lost in the pleasure of her, of this moment, of her love and the feelings in my heart and…

The fact that my future—our future—can be different.

Which is exactly the moment that I hear voices echoing up the trail.

“I still can’t believe that you almost got me arrested,” she grumbles later that day.

We’re curled up on the couch, a crappy action movie on in the background that neither of us are paying attention to. Because…things have changed and we’re both being careful of that.

Aware of it.

Protecting it.

“No one saw anything,” I remind her.

Because I’d swept her off my lap, tucked myself away, and straightened her dress before any of that could happen.

Her underwear was still in my pocket, though.

I grin.

“You’re proud of yourself?” she asks, all prickle princess.

“I like your exhibition tendencies,” I tell her, leaning close and nuzzling her throat. “Because as you know,” I remind her, “you’re the one who started it all.”

She scowls, cheeks flushing, but I don’t miss the pride in her eyes. “Rude,” she grumbles. “It was totally your fault.”

“So says the woman who stuck her hands down my pants…”

“It was one hand,” she exclaims. “One hand—ack!”

I flip us, pinning her between my body and the couch cushions. “But five fingers,” I murmur, trailing my tongue along her throat, pressing a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. “All wrapped around my cock.”

“Four,” she groans, nails scoring over my back.

I freeze, snag one of her hands, drawing it between us. “One. Two. Three.” I kiss the tip of her thumb then her pointer and middle fingers. “Four.” Her ring finger. “Five.” I nibble at her palm. “Am I missing something?”

---