Page 69 of Merciless Heir

Sadie

It’s late and I don’t know how many times we’ve fucked. More than we should. Not nearly enough.

How this happened is both a mystery and completely inevitable. One night only, I tell myself. One night of insane pleasure that will keep me warm for winters to come.

Oh, how I’d love to say this was mediocre, but there’s only so much lying I can do before it enters a ridiculous fantasy realm.

His arm is around me, heavy on my middle, and it feels good, right. It shouldn’t.

Nothing about Kingston should.

It’s not near dawn yet, but it’s insanely late because we started so early. A part of me wishes I could go back in time, a very small part. The rest of me? Not on your fucking life would I trade sleeping with Kingston for anything. It has nothing to do with who and what he is on paper and everything to do with pure, old-fashioned chemistry.

I could curl up and sleep in his arms. I could spend a lifetime of him touching me gently, of him kissing me. Of sparring with his cynical bastard self, of cupping my hands around his rare sweet and naked smile, the one I’ve seen only hints of.

Like before we slept.

I go to lift his arm, but he shifts, pulling me in tighter and his thick length grows as he thrusts against me in slow, lazy moves.

A moan escapes. I’m that good kind of sore. That sweet ache that leaves an emptiness that yearns to be filled again, that only comes from phenomenal sex.

I know, because this…this is phenomenal sex with him. I’ve had great sex, but never this. Never the kind of mind melting thing that happens between us.

Reaching behind me, I wrap my hand around his beautiful cock and he groans, biting my ear. “Again?”

“Yes.”

Once more and never again. It has to be that.

He’s thrusting into my hand, slipping down to find the wetness between my thighs, sliding along my opening, dipping in only to come up to tease my clit that’s aching for him, a bundle of live wires that suddenly need his touch to truly sing.

Kingston bites down on my throat and he starts to turn me on my back, but if I face him I might lose myself forever, so I roll the other way as I release him and push up to my hands and knees.

He doesn’t need telling.

His hands come down on my hips and he uses his thigh to push my legs apart, and then he rubs himself against me. Dear God, this man can tease a woman to commit all kinds of crimes.

Letting go of my left hip, he lightly scrapes his short nails down my spine to my nape and he grips, pushing me down so my head is on the pillow and my ass is there for him.

He thrusts into me, deep. And my pussy stretches around that invasion.

It’s so good a tremor of pleasure washes through me.

And then he starts to take me in slow, deep strokes. He’s in total control and it’s even hotter than it was before.

He pulls out and thrusts in. Long. Full. A slow kind of pounding that builds and builds, stretching my sanity, my absolute need for release to the very edge.

And then he lets go. Hard. That good kind of pleasure that vibrates right down to the marrow and I come. I come so hard I cry and then he wraps about me, moaning, coming down on me as he slams into me, over and over and he bites down on my shoulder as he comes, convulsing.

Finally, finally, we’re done.

We have to be.

Otherwise I’m lost.

The sun is coming in gray when I finally sneak out. If I didn’t think a man like Kingston would bring up what happened, I’d pretend it didn’t happen.

But I can’t.

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