Page 53 of Brutal King

“Oh God.” I let out a desperate cry. Of their own accord, my hips buck upward seeking the hard ridge of his cock. As if he senses my need, he pushes back against me, creating a delicious friction that makes me suck in a breath.

When he moves to my other nipple, his fevered kiss upon it is so deep I feel it in my core. An ache begins to form there, one I’m not wholly unfamiliar with, but have never experienced like this.

I’ve never thought of my tiny breasts as beautiful or sexy. In my view, my asset has always been, well, my ass. But the way he grabs them, pulls them together and moans as he suckles me has me thinking otherwise.

Instead of pushing him away as I should, I hold him to me. I thrust my fingers into his thick hair and heave my tits at him, wanting his mouth and hands all over them.

He pulls away and throws off his clothes, leaving only a knife holster around his ankle. I’m as dazed as he looks, almost drugged, as I watch him reveal his perfect body. How his lithe muscles ripple beneath his tan skin and the matting of dark hair on his chest that trails down to his erection.

I swallow nervously as he approaches me once more, my gaze locked on his dick. My objections remain lost as he undoes the button and fly on my slacks, and tugs them off, underwear and all. I’m left there, exposed but for the bit that his hoodie covers.

For a brief moment, I wonder what’s happened here. If somehow he managed to drug me. Or perhaps he’s passed whatever illness he has, his man cold, onto me. Because I’m fevered and my brain is muddled and I obey him when he sits on the couch and says, “Spread your legs, Little Bird.”

My pussy opens, exposing my wetness to the cold. I shiver, however, it’s not the air that does it. It’s Gideon’s intimate visual exploration of me. He takes in every detail, his gaze burning a trail as it goes.

“You’re glistening.” He reaches between my legs and runs his fingertips over my slit, where he gathers some of the moisture and brings it to his lips. His tongue darts out and his eyes shut momentarily as he tastes me on his fingers. “So sweet. But I prefer to drink from the source.”

He bends forward and presses his mouth to my center. I’m unable to glance away as he licks me. In fact, I can’t do more than moan as I watch him burry his face in my cunt, the small patch of dark hair I leave there against his nose.

The way he eats my pussy, as if he’s making love to it, claiming it for himself, is beyond erotic. And not once does he look away. His stare remains locked on mine as his hot mouth brands me.

I’ve touched myself hundreds of times, but it’s never provoked the desire to be filled. I’m suddenly aware of the emptiness inside. I begin to tug at Gideon’s shoulders, wanting something I haven’t had but know instinctively.

Unrelenting, he doesn’t budge. But he’s aware of what I want, because in the next moment, his fingers are at my entrance and then they’re inside. I drop my head back as he touches a spot in me that has me crying out, “Don’t stop!”

I’m so close that even if he did, it wouldn’t keep me from coming.

I buckle and writhe, and still his mouth remains firm, until he’s wrung out every last pulse from me.

“Mmm.” He gives me one last kiss. “You’re so good.”

No, I’m not. This is anything but being good. I’ve just let my brother’s enemy taste me, let him see me fall apart.

I’m still reeling from the effects of the high when I realize what he’s doing. He’s scooted up between my legs and is now pressing his cock to my sensitive nub.

“What are you doing?” I breathe. God, even his dick is scorching.

He grips my legs behind my knees and pushes them back against the couch. “You’re mine, Little Bird. You know that.” It’s not a question, a mere statement of fact.

“Gideon. I—” I don’t finish whatever I meant to say. A sharp pain tears the barrier no one else had broken through and I cry out.

Sweat beads on his forehead as he forces himself to stop, his cock inside me pulsing. Even the most minute movements are painful as he stretches me.

He studies my face, his brows furrowed. Then slowly, he pulls out of me as he looks to the place between us. “Blood.”

“I’ve never…” I trail off and shake my head. “There was never a chance.”

I’m not sure what I expected him to do as the realization that I was a virgin hits him. Did I think he’d slow down? That he’d regret taking my virginity on his ivory couch?

His reaction is the complete opposite. There’s no regret or gentleness. If anything, the idea that I have never been with a man seems to light a match to his already ardent touch. He’s rough in an out of control sort of way. As if being the first has somehow pushed him beyond reason and the primal part of his brain has taken over.

He begins to pound into me hard, his fingers digging into my legs as he holds me in place. It hurts, but I don’t stop him. I can’t. Not when beyond the pain there’s another kind of ache growing deep inside with each thrust.

It’s mating. Biology. I tell myself that my body was made for this primal response, where I want more. Where when he lifts me off the couch and walks us to his room, I cling to him and kiss his neck and wrap my arms around him tightly.

When he drops me onto his bed, I pull my own legs back and moan as he enters me again.

Yes, I was made for this. It’s natural to enjoy it.

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