Page 37 of King of the Cage

I stared at him, short of words. I tried to picture what he was saying, and I couldn’t. It felt too personal and close. Something about this man had lowered my guard, and I didn’t fuck around like that. I needed to keep my walls up. It was the only way to be safe.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t like the way I affected him. I’d never seen hunger in a man’s eyes like Bran’s. No one had ever looked at me the way he was, especially after knowing me for more than five minutes.

I wet my lips, and his eyes jumped to the movement.

“Well, I don’t like to leave my debts unpaid. I believe in tit for tat,” I said, my voice already low and throaty in anticipation for what I was about to do.

“Is that right? That’s very fair of you, selkie,” he murmured.

I positioned myself before his feet and sank slowly down.

“Why are you calling me that? What does it mean?” I glided my hands up his thighs. This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t a woman who went to her knees easily, or often. I was about as comfortable giving head as I was receiving it, but something about this man made me feel differently. I wanted to turn him inside out. I wanted to see him spit and groan and come, his balls literally in the palm of my hand. All that strength and power, under my control.

“A mythical creature… sometimes a blessing from the gods of old, other times… a curse,” Bran muttered quietly, his breath hitching when my hands reached his cock.

I circled him with my fingers; well, as far as I could. He was so hard, and silken at the same time. I could barely bend his cockaway from its upright angle. I leaned up on my knees to lick down from tip to root, and he cursed in Gaelic.

“And which am I?” I mused, running my tongue around the puffy, salty head of him.

“I don’t fucking know… or care,” he grunted, his hand moving to my cheek as I swallowed him down as much as possible. “As long as you’re right here, with me… I don’t care. Fuck,” he bit off.

I bobbed up and down on him, my jaw growing tired quickly. He was too thick. I pulled my mouth off him and moved my hands up and down his shaft, double-fisting his impressive length. When it got dry, I spit on his cock, so my fingers stayed wet.

He groaned; I tightened my grip.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he demanded roughly.

I gave him a small smile. “What? My mouth hurts… it’s too small, or you’re too big, take your pick. Doesn’t it feel good?” I knew it felt good because of the look on his face. The way his hands twitched on my head, the way he swayed, losing control of his motion. I felt powerful and I liked it.

“It feels fucking incredible. You are fucking incredible,” he added and cupped my cheek again. “You’re going to make me come, and you’re going to pop your mouth back on and swallow me down, like a good girl.”

I snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I?”

He grinned. “You sure are… because you want to make me come as hard as I made you come, don’t you? You want to even the score, because you’re a competitive wee one and you can’t stand losing… so drink me down, Giada, and you’ll win.”

His eyes gleamed with teasing and wicked delight. I was so hot all over, I felt like I could singe through my leather pants. I had to have smoke coming off me. No one spoke to me the way this guy did. No one played with me, or teased me the way he did. I felt like someone else. Someone who laughed without worrying how loud it was. Someone who was just herself, unapologetically, without walls too high to climb over.

He was damn right about one thing. I was competitive as hell. Without another thought, I slipped my mouth around him, enclosing the fat tip of his cock and sinking down as far as I could manage, my hands working furiously to tip him over the edge.

When he came, he growled my name, his hands tugged my hair, and his whole body pulsed. His cum hit my tongue, hot and salty, and I swallowed to keep up with the sheer amount. He came a lot. A real lot.

I swallowed him down, my tongue circling his tip as rope after rope of cum left it.

His fingers tugged my hair back, sending my face upward, and my gaze hit his and held. He stared down at me, drinking in the sight of me on my knees before him, his cock buried in my mouth, white welling at the corners.

When he pulled out, I sucked down a breath. My heart pounded hard, and my knees ached. My mouth felt well-used, the muscles so stretched, and yet, there was a strange euphoria.Just endorphins, I told myself sternly. An instinctive reaction to something chemical inside me responding to his scent, his taste, everything about him.

Bran lifted me by the arms so my sore legs didn’t have to do any work. He stood me up and then lowered his mouth toward my lips. I held still as he ran his nose down my cheek, and then his tongue flicked out and licked up a small trail of cum that had escaped my mouth.

“I was serious that I don’t have your knife. It’s at home.” His voice bordered on hoarse. “I guess you’ll have to come with me if you want it.”

I pulled back and shook my head. I couldn’t take another encounter with this man tonight. I’d completely lose my head. I didn’t do repeat performances, and we were treading into dangerous territory.

“You can mail it to me,” I said flatly.

Bran chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll make it through the postal system.”

“Get one of your minions to run over and give it to me. You know where I live,” I reminded him.

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