Page 129 of Born for Silk

“I need you, little creature.” He comes inside me, groaning and working his length in and out. “Don’t make me jealous! It is unbearable. It is torture.”

Ardent hands paw my body, roaming, exploring as he finds his centre and strength.

Steadily, he pulls out excruciatingly slow, and I moan through the thick of my throat, emptied. Lighter. Exhausted.

I struggle to inhale, exhale—to do anything for a long pause while I regain my thoughts. But my ears tingle. So, I know his eyes are on me.

I finally take a big breath.

“Yes,” he gushes, “that’s very pretty. You are coated in cum, mine, yours.”

I don’t see how that is pretty.

“Flowers are pretty,” I murmur.

I hear his smile as he says, “This is my favourite flower. Like the ones you pick, this is mine, too. Mine.” His fingers slide around. “I do not share, understand? Nothing. Not your body. Your scent. Your flowers. Your smiles. Say it?”

Unreasonable…

I must smile at people.

Too fatigued to argue, I mutter, “I am yours,” and slump in his hold, exhaustion clinging to my limbs, pulling me down to the mattress, begging me to relent. Sleep.

He lays on the bed with me on his torso.

Curling to the side, I lift my knees and snuggle into his chest. With my mind satiated, my body heavy under fatigue’s weight, I inhale him as my eyes finally close…

Chapter Eight

Aster

I sit with my knees tucked to the side on his sofa.

Watching my huge, magnificent king sprawled out naked in bed, thick arm slung over his eyes, round bicep framing his chiselled face, is one of my new favourite things to do.

Shuffling in place, I gaze down to study his long, thick cock, lying heavily over his thigh.

It pulses, fills. Expands.

“I can feel the heat of your pretty eyes in my cock, little creature.” He doesn’t move, only talks through a husky first-light tone as his length thickens and rises to attention. “Why are you awake? The fire is barely orange.”

“I have something to ask you,” I whisper honestly, sitting higher and squaring my shoulders.

I had the same dream last night. The one with the little boy, but this time it was a girl with honey-coloured hair. She was lost in the tunnel with the flickering lights, cradling my upside-down bird.

And she looked just like Tuscany…

“Anything,” he mutters.

I smile. “The queen?—”

A disapproving growl rattles the room before I can finish my sentence. “Don’t talk about my sister right now?—”

“Now is the perfect time, my king. We have both had an excellent sleep.” I watch his cock deflate and find the entire appendage wildly interesting. So… autonomous.

“Please?” I add.

He stretches out like a great beast, awakening his muscles in a lazy yet powerful way. “What is it?”

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