Page 123 of King of Obsession

‘And honey, are you done with yourl’uomo e cacciatoregameplay?’

He huffed, lips turning up. ‘Forget that shit. If I don’t cum inside you today, I’ll blow. I crave you, woman, and I need you now.’

He drew me close, his mouth soft and warm against mine. Our bodies melded together, the previous hours of longing and anticipation unleashed.

Tongues danced and explored as his hands roamed all over me. He traced the curve of my back and the swell of my hips as we walked to the outhouse, our boots creaking on the wooden floors.

He pushed its door open, and for a moment, my knees weakened at the sight of his sinewed, capable fingers that would be soon on me, in me.

Oh my!

Inside, we kicked off our shoes and began to undress each other.

With slow deliberation, as if we had all the time in the world.

I traced the lines of his muscles, the scars telling stories of a life lived, the hardness of his physique speaking of the strength he possessed. He did the same to me, his touch feather-light and tender.

His hands roamed my curves, tracing the curve of my back and the swell of my hips.

I reached up under his shirt, the tension of our desire building between us. We broke the kiss long enough to remove our clothes, leaving only our hearts bare.

I stared at him, loving his muscled, beautiful body.

His build was a work of art, every muscle chiseled and toned as if carved by a master sculptor. He stood before me, uncovered and raw, with a confident stance, his dark blonde hair tousled and his deep hazel gold eyes filled with lust.

The whole of him was gorgeous, from the arch of his brows to the curve of his lips, his skin a canvas for his life story.

The dim light of the outhouse cast shadows across his sculpted chest and defined arms. Each tricep visible rippled with his movements. His toned abdomen led downward to a thick, distinct set of legs. He was like a masterpiece carved out of stone.

It was his cock, bobbing, long, throbbing, and its mushroomed head that had me gasping.

‘Is that a piercing?’

‘Say hi to my Prince Albert,’ he growled as I stared at the jewelry at the base of his head.

‘Did it hurt?’ I asked, reaching a hand and stroking it, squeezing his shaft head around it.

He hissed with pleasure, his golden head thrown back to the outhouse wall, the veins in his neck corded and rippling.

He bucked into my hand for a moment, speechless from the ecstasy.

‘It wasn’t too bad. I was fuckin’ careful, though,’ he snarled, moving his head and staring down as I palmed and stroked him in exploration. ‘Because inexperienced piercers can cause irreversible damage to your jewels.’

He placed a sinewed hand over me when my strokesdeepened. ‘Fuck cara, give me time. I’ll blow if you keep going like this.’

His cologne and musk mingled with the fresh air and cedar pouring from the half-open window. Creating an earthy and intoxicating aroma that made me crave him even more.

As my fingers trailed down his body, I ran them over the sometimes velvety skin, dotted with the roughness of brawling calluses and old wounds from a lifetime of Omertà work.

But underneath was hard, rippling muscle that I loved running my hands over.

He was a marble sculpture come to life, chiseled and perfect, with smooth contours and strong lines begging to be touched and adored.

My eyes roamed over his form, worshiping every inch and curve. Loving every fuckin’ cut and sculpt of his abs.

Until my gaze settled on his face, the window to his soul and the truest reflection of his beauty.

Turning on the shower, he pulled me close.

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