Page 8 of Reckless in Ruins

“Admit it,” I tell her.

“Is this an interrogation, Captain?” Sable asks weakly with a smile.

“This isn’t a time for games.”

“Yes! I admit it! I followed you here because I wanted you! Is that what you want to hear?”

It is. And I need to be inside her now.

Without another word, I kiss her deeply, sharing her taste with her.

And then I give the order.

“Turn around. And bend over the ledge.”

Sable follows orders so well it hurts. I want to be fully facing her. I want her naked underneath me; I want to feel her bare breasts, taste and tease her nipples, and make her beg for more. I want to lose myself in her. But we don’t have that kind of time.

My utility belt falls to the ground at my feet with a loud clank. Removing it gave a modicum of relief, but not enough.

“Spread your legs, little poppy.”

Dropping her cape to her feet, she obeys. I drag my fingers up her thighs, slotting my hand in her crack.

Her body jerks at the touch.

My heart racing, I hike up my kilt and free my cock, pressing it against the split of her ass.

Sable’s small, sexy moans threaten to undo me; the precum is already so far in the danger zone it’s close to becoming an earnest release.

I press the tip between her lips and she automatically pushes back. “Why do you call me ‘little poppy’?” Sable asks.

Before I answer, I lube myself in her wetness, the friction intensifying her aftershocks and going straight to my ego. I already know this will not get her out of my system. If anything, I’m addicted.

It’s not until I thrust inside and she cries out that I give her an answer.

She’s so tight…Sable is so tight and perfect…I nearly forget the question. Hell, I can barely recall my own name. And then, her fit around me changes me. Invigorates me.

“Because you are small yet the brightest thing in any room,” I murmur into the flushed shell of her ear as I pull out and slam back in again.

I continue, “Because your lipstick is redder than blood.” I continue in this manner, reveling in the deep, thorough thrusts into her tight, welcoming hole. “You’re simple…but demanding… intoxicating…unmistakable…fiery…and absolutely…totally…fucking…infuriating…”

Sable squeezes down so hard I might explode, and it takes everything in me to stay in the moment and not let go.

6

Sable

This man, Captain Uther, is often referred to by royal watchers as “the silent minder.”

The thought is laughable now.

This man? Silent? No way. He’s got plenty to say while he’s eight inches deep.

Uther’s hearty thrusts punctuate each phrase.

“Totally…fucking…infuriating.”

“I am not infuriating. You are!” My voice is a ragged squeak. I hear how childish that sounds even as the words leave my mouth. How else can I express myself when I can barely catch my breath while Uther’s dicking the brain cells out of me?

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