Page 62 of His Pretty Little Duet

"I'll let you off this once, little deer. But if you ever come again without screaming my name, I'll fuck your tight arsehole until you need my cock inside it just to feel normal—" He loses his words in a groan, and I writhe on the mattress as he angles his hips differently, losing a few beats of his merciless rhythm.

Then he grows inside me, the sensation almost startling as he comes, fucking me while his orgasm rips through his body. He pushes into me harder, seemingly aggressive with his desire to get as deep as possible while hot fluid spills within me, around his shaft, and drips across my thigh.

It's a beautiful sight.

The moment he loses control.

I never want to forget the way his brows pinch, his mouth parts, the sound growling from him in a primal and feral timbre. I know he said I belong to him. I'm his dark possession. But people lie. Everyone in my life lies. Eventually, they give me up.But I'll never forget that my body can bring this king of a man immense pleasure, if only for a minute.

He stills, breathing deeply. A mist of sweat coats his neck and forehead, while beneath his shirt, I can still see godly physical potential bursting from his powerful physique.

He withdraws from me, the sensation hollowing me out, striking me with bliss on the withdraw and with pain as the tissue inside me is left quivering and tender. Tucking his still semi-hard cock away, he squats behind me. I can't even move. When his fingers touch the aching flesh at my lips, I gasp on a whimper.

"Are you in pain?"

"A little." I lie—it hurts more than a little, but I think he knows that as he strokes me gently. He's huge. I'm not surprised it hurt. More cum slides from inside me, and I feel it drip from my pussy. My cheeks burn with embarrassment when his fingers slide around in the fluid that left me, a blend of his release and mine, before he smears it over my backside and thigh, painting my skin.

"So pretty. Don't shower until I tell you to."

"But I'm covered?—"

"In me. You think I somehow forgot such a thing?" He stands up, slides over me, and scoops me up. Carrying me a few steps, he settles my head on my pillow.

I look up into his blue eyes. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"We are not going to spoon, little deer."

My mind is dazed. "That was like..."My first time.Can you stay? Please.I stop on the sentence I was going to say, not able to force the pathetic pleas through my lips. He doesn't care. He doesn't feel guilt for fucking me and leaving. He's infallible. My eyes bat slowly, lashes waving like heavy fans, the weighted upper lid wrestling with my will to open them again. I win,meeting his soft blue gaze. "Will you tell me what happened with Landon?"

He leans down, forcing me to close my eyes again as he presses his lips to one eyelid. Then the other. "Sleep," he orders, his tone a rumbling timbre carrying emotion with it.

This time I'm unable to force them open again.

I can feel his hands feed the sheet around my frame.

Hear his heavy footsteps and the sound of the door closing. I tuck my knees up a little, forming a small ball. Slumber drags me out with it.

The sheet slides down my body.

I spread my legs. Even in deep, peaceful slumber, I can feel his palms pushing my thighs open. Fluttering my eyes, I instantly meet his. I blink at him, taken aback by the sleek black suit, the smooth, freshly shaven jawline.

He leans up, planting a palm beside my head, to hover over me. Searching eyes roll around my sleepy face, as though he can see through the layers of cells to the feelings I conceal beneath.You left. You left when I needed to be held.

His other hand cups me between my wanton spread thighs, his long middle finger coaxing entry between swollen flesh. A little high-pitched whimper leaves me, and his brows pinch in response.

In the back of my mind, a black spot beckons me to reach for it, a question or event we are meant to be discussing, but the energy around us won't allow me to.

Snared by his eyes, messages of confusion and intimacy I cannot comprehend gloss mine while his usually dark, hard stare seems to soften. It is a new look, I think. His hand leavesmy core, finding my chin and angling it as he studies my lower lip. The small cut in my flesh hums and prickles, but I don't mind the sensation at all.

He exhales hard. "I lost control yesterday."

"I don't want your practised smiles," I whisper, wishing he would pull my jaw towards his lips and let me feel their commanding dance.

His eyes meet mine again. "And I don't want yours." As he scoops a piece of ice from a glass on the wooden bedside table, plopping the cube in his mouth, his expression shifts to one racketed with hunger.

Then he crawls over me, his strong body moving down to settle between my knees. The man is all action, fully suited for business and yet, I lie lax and mouldable and exposed...

"No." I touch the hand holding my thigh to the mattress. "I haven’t showered."

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