Page 157 of Born for Silk

Moaning, I slide my fingers through his dark hair, the strands parting as my nails drag up and down, up and down.

He shudders and groans. Muscles tremble, vibrating the bed. His chest rumbles—purrs.

My beast.

My king.

Closing my eyes, I simply enjoy the heat of his hands as they travel my skin, exploring and journeying leisurely. Ankle. Leg. Hip.

Between my thighs.

He dips his finger into my core. I immediately arch with a whimper of delirious pleasure. Want it.

Want more.

Deeper.

My body lifts and writhes, missing the depth and thickness of his all-consuming touch.

Hips chasing his finger, I lick my lips and focus on breathing. My lungs are tight.

“Mine,” he rasps, crawling between my legs. I spread my thighs. “Wider.” His mouth meets the top of my pussy, sucking and licking the coil of nerves while his clever finger slides in and out of me. “Be very cautious with your tone, little creature,” he warns, dark and delicious.

My toes curl as he licks and sucks me between his deep utterances. “I may be Rome of The Strait, but you will submit to me. Submit and spread.” A second finger slides in. “Adore. Pleasure. Provide. That does not change.”

Gasping for air, losing reality to his greedy kiss, I paw the back of his head and lift my pelvis, grinding on him. Grip him. Grind. Not submitting. Demanding. More.

“Oh, you really want attention, huh?”

He rears up to his knees and my heart races, beating so hard inside my heaving chest, as his heated, daring eyes lick up and down my body, hovering over my swollen belly. “You are so mine.”

Groaning, he undoes his belt and pants.

Rome strips down and fists the heavy, dripping length of his cock, jerking until the crown flushes. “Submitting does not make you inferior to me. It means you respect me. You respect your king. Show me. Show me your respect.”

I spread my thighs wider in offering but try to quell my tiny slithers of fear. Having this formidable Xin De King looming over me, stroking the monstrous thing that will be pulsing inside me soon, still intimidates me.

I know he could break me.

He grips the bedframe, and I throw my legs around the back of his thighs. Without any further words, he pushes inside me, stretches me, unfolding me and adding girth that touches and kneads every inch of my channel.

Sobbing with utter relief, I clutch his flanks, holding the powerful muscles as he works his cock in and out of me. Lips graze my forehead. His arm above my head takes his weight, his body rolling against me, brushing the swell of my stomach.

“Is this what you want?” He fills me and empties me, methodical and rhythmic, sending my mind into a haze of bliss and uncertainty.

So deep.

Empty.

So full.

Empty.

“You feel so good,” he purrs. “You like your king stretching your tight, little pussy open. Don’t you, sweet creature?”

Abruptly, he pins me to the pillow by my throat, fingers circling the thin column with ease.

He growls with each thrust.

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