Page 71 of Stormbinder King
Then he was dragging me over to the table in front of the King.
“You’re going to squirt right here on this table in front of my brother. To show him who you really belong to.”
Symeon made a move to grab me, but Jack tightened his hands around my throat.
“Oh no, I don’t think you’d like to piss me off. She’s such a fragile little thing.”
His lips came down on mine in a crushing kiss.
Then with a snarl, Jack flipped me around to face his brother and set me up on the table in front of the King. He grabbed my dress with both hands and ripped it from top to bottom.
I felt that strange earthy power build up inside my fingertips again, but with Jack pressing down on my tattoo I had no ability to control it.
He gripped my hips firmly, lifted me up, and speared me down on his cock right in front of Symeon.
“Feast your fucking eyes,” he snapped as my own eyes rolled back in my head. “Look how she burns for me, look how she needs to be filled with my cock.”
I moaned as the tension built inside me, arching my back up to get closer, the King’s tortured gaze dark and haunted.
This inflamed Jack even further, and he rolled my hips with agonizing pressure, the tension mounting every time I had to wait with baited breath for him to jerk me down over his cock.I felt almost uncomfortably stuffed in this position but my clit strained for release.
Jack ran a hand across my hips, pressed his arm like a bar across my chest.
“Mine,” he growled.
My body felt on fire. The bite of each tensed finger spread heat across my skin and throughout my body, until I felt like I could not bear it any longer.
I set my jaw hard.
If I could have resisted coming, I would have.
Jack was deliberately drawing out my orgasm, pausing in between thrusts to let the tension build to a fever pitch in my body.
“Look at him.”
I felt something shattering loose inside me, but with his hand on my binding tattoo, it couldn’t break loose.
Symeon was sitting like a stone statue on the throne, his hands gripping each arm of his chair.
His burning eyes were locked ferociously on Jack and I, and I knew if Jack didn’t have one hand around my throat Symeon would have already seized his brother and tried to tear his throat out.
It was unsettling how I could feel his thoughts crawling along my skin, like little skittering spiders.
He wasn’t even touching me, and I could still feel the white-hot bloodwrath pounding through him.
His ability to scent me seared my nostrils, filling them with a deep, plummy smell.
Was that what I smelled like to him?
It was rich, decadent, insistently seductive and enticing.
And it got stronger, headier as Jack put his fingers on my clit and began to rub, slowly at first, then torturously, alternatingbetween fast and slow so that my orgasm hovered just a few inches away.
“You want to touch her, don’t you?” Jack hissed. “But you don’t dare.”
Symeon’s knuckles were so big I could almost feel them grazing my knee. If he bent forward, he could have licked my thigh.
But I could feel his emotions, the way his murderous vision was focused on Jack’s hand around my throat, his deathly fear that I would get hurt.
