Page 78 of Swamp Kings 1

She got in position, her eyes not moving from his shaft as he straddled her waist.

“Pull your legs back and hold them wide open for me.”

She held her legs back as directed, eyes hot on his cock as he stroked it. He stared down at her tits in this position, lowering his ass to her body and putting enough weight to again teach her his power. Hesqueezed her mounds together and she gasped, arching her back when he tugged on them with a groan, sliding his dick between the silky mounds.

“Oh,” she whispered, leaning up to catch his head with her mouth.

He considered grabbing the pillow to put under her head, then decided he wanted to see how she’d work for it. Her effort to find a rhythm had him popping from her lips, her teeth scraping and gouging while her little errant tongue fought for some of the action. If he wasn’t drunk with lust, it might have been cute, but it was anything but. His gaze moved between her mouth and her fucking nipples, unraveling his control as he slid his cock between her mounds.

Her little desperate grunts and moans continued to pull his orgasm forth. He should’ve removed his cock jewelry and bathed. The need to feel the back of her hungry throat had him seething. He moved in closer, changing the dance. “Use your hands,” he whispered, placing a palm on the headboard for the perfect angle. He pumped the head between her lips while her hands stroked him, the erratic rhythm of her inexperience bringing a chaos to the fire burning in his breaths.

She leaned and took more of his cock, pulling his shaft with both hands to get him into her greedy mouth. “Doo-nie,” he gasped, gripping the curls onthe top of her head, and pulling hard. “Look how fucking nasty you are, sucking the head of my cock.”

Her hand raked over his balls, flooding them with electrical sparks as she moaned louder on him.

“Fuck,” he gasped, holding the base of his dick and her hair while pumping faster. “Are you ready for your King’s cum, angel?” he whispered, his moans thickening. “Oh angel,” he seethed when she captured the head in a relentless suction, her rough tongue hitting the slit. Her finger stroked behind his balls, and he placed a foot on the bed, pressing her fingers on the sensitive P spot as his orgasm surged up. “My angel, my Doo-nie,” he gasped right as her finger found his rectum and unleashed his orgasm. She sucked him down as her moans peaked with the flood of his cum. The pleasure was so much harder and more powerful than any he’d experienced, turning him into a true monster of furious growling seethes while she valiantly fought to recapture her messy rhythm.

Nothing could be messier than the utter destruction left in the aftermath. His breaths heaved in and out of his lungs as she licked and searched for any remnant of her new favorite dish. Meanwhile, her tiny moans and raking fingers all along his abs and chest climbed its way to the top of his addiction list.

He crawled his way down from his mind-blowing mountain of ecstasy and lay next to Lyric, pulling her close until she was tucked tightly into hisbody. As he sorted through his sick thoughts for his next item on the wicked to-do list, he got distracted by the lovely scent of her hair and the feel of it on his face and mouth. Like silky flower petals. He was soon in a field of purple lavender, cocooned in a warm mist with the enchanting melody of soft breaths lulling him deeper, beckoning him to stay five more minutes.

The night saw its end with him trapped in this heaven. And no desire to escape.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Hey, that lady nun is here looking for how to get to the ‘combative man’s hatch,’” Rex said with a grin. “I invited her in, but she declined.”

Spar stood from the stool and handed him the potato peeler. “Your shift starts early.”

Rex snatched it from him with a laugh. “Go get your hot nun.”

Spar smacked his cap off his head before he headed out.

“Ohhhh, you done started something now,” Rex called, making him chuckle.

“Nah, you started it,” he called as he headed to the porch, grinning. Their never-ending tiffs were actually started when they were nine and had never stopped. They’d finally decided that they didn’t need to fight to fight, they could just fight for fun since it was obvious it was their favorite thing to do. And after fighting side by side in the Noctambule war, nothing could separate them. Their scars were trophies they carried around with much flare. Rex had more but Spar just reminded him no scars meantbetter defenses. But the truth was, when Spar was shot and bleeding out, Rex not only took all the hits to protect him, he patched him up with sticks, mud and pine sap. He owed him his life and of course paid him back in that same war where blood flew without pride or prejudice. They’d both lost plenty and Rex nearly died on several occasions.

Good times.

Spar opened the inner foyer door that led to the porch’s screened entry. He spotted the odd little angel inspecting the array of fall vegetation along the front porch of the Basilique. He listened, realizing she was talking to herself. No, she was talking to the flowers. Sister Scarlett. With not a single red thing on her. The contradiction somehow fit.

“And look at you, the splendor of all,” she said, touching one of the yellow flowers. “You’ve captured the sun’s warm smile perfectly in your delicate petals for all eyes to see. Very good show!”

He opened the door, and she quickly straightened, shielding her eyes as she angled her head up. “Sister,” he greeted with an easy smile while hoping that was right, as she made her way up the steps. “What can I do for you?”

He eyed her angelic features under the bright light of midday, wondering what felt the need to put worry on her delicate brows. Her delicate everything, he realized, taking in her gray wool hooded cloak that went to her ankles. He spied her tiny feet covered insome kind of shoe with floral patterns. The shoes an individual wore meant a lot of things, especially in the swamps. He met her gaze, finding her gray eyes sharp with the business that brought her there.

“I spoke to my superior as you requested,” she began, her hands moving up to smooth the dark hair likely drawn in a bun if he had to guess. “And I have obtained permission to begin training with you.”

“Really,” he said, mildly surprised for some reason.

She nodded her semi-lowered head, reminding him of a misplaced doll from another era. Only she didn’t know she was a doll or that she was lost in the wrong place and so carried on being a doll.

“When do you want to begin?” he asked.

“Well, that’s what I was hoping to discuss.” She dug a folded piece of paper from her front coat pocket and opened it. Then handed it to him. “This is my idea. If it’s not suitable for you, then just say so and tell me what is. I’ll accommodate you.”

She said all that with her head half lowered, the servant posturing making him uncomfortable, especially coming from a nun. Only one person needed to be groveling on that porch and it sure as hell wasn’t her.

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