Page 29 of Reveal Me
‘Greedy girl.’ He tsks, as he does it again. And again, and again. Each slap gets slightly lower. Slightly closer to the junction between my legs.
‘You’re making a mess all over my table,’ he muses. ‘I should make you clean it up.’ His hand lands on my ass again, but this time it’s with gentle, soothing strokes. ‘With your tongue,’ he adds. ‘But I’ve been wondering what your pretty, royal cunt tastes like since you auditioned for me.’
My heart hammers in my chest as I squirm with need,yanking against the restraints. I need him to touch me there. His palms continue to smooth over the globes of my cheeks in maddening circles that skirt close to my centre, but nowhere near close enough.
He tears his hands away from me, and a whimper leaves my lips. ‘Please, sir.’
‘I see you’re not above begging.’ He pauses for a long beat as I hold my breath, waiting. ‘I like that.’
Without warning, he thrusts two thick fingers deep into my core, and I cry out. That deliciously decadent full feeling is short lived, and he glides them out again, slowly. A sucking sound fills the air, followed by a deep moan of appreciation.
‘You taste positively fucking regal. I’m going to need more of that.’
There is a god, there is a god, there is a god.
The table shakes slightly as he climbs onto it. Thick, strong shoulders nudge my thighs wider, demanding access as he positions himself between my legs.
His tongue swipes my entrance, and my back arches at the sublime sensation. I cry out as he sinks it into my core. It’s gone again all too soon. ‘Since you showed me this bare pussy, I’ve been dreaming about licking it, fucking it, fisting it.’
No one has ever spoken to me like this before. I could come just from his filthy mouth.
‘Please, sir.’ There I go begging again. I’m so fucking desperate for his touch, I can’t even bring myself to feel ashamed.
‘Please what?’
‘Lick it. Fuck it. Fist it.’ I can’t believe the words leaving my lips. They’re both shocking and thrilling in equal measure.
His low laugh tickles the junction between my legs, but he doesn’t touch me there again. A begrudging groan is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I am officially the worst sub ever.
His teeth sink into my ass cheek, and I yelp at the sensation. ‘If I sign that contract. You are mine for three months. Mine to bite. Mine to spank. Mine to suck. Mine to fuck anyway I please. Are you sure that’s what you want?’
I don’t even hesitate. ‘I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.’
‘Good girl.’ He offers me a long, languid lick. ‘You were right, you know,’ he mutters between strokes of his tongue. ‘I was always going to pick you.’ He rolls his tongue higher to sweep over my clit. It’s so good. Too good. I’m so close to coming. It was always going to be quick. I was ready to blow the second I saw him again.
‘You radiate a defiance that I can’t wait to fuck out of you.’ As if to demonstrate, he thrusts his tongue deep into my centre. It’s too much. My core combusts, shuddering and rippling through the most intense release of my life. White hot stars burst behind my eyelids. Pure ecstasy rips through me as my sex pulses on his tongue.
Chapter Twelve
SEAN
So much for being a good cook. I burned dinner. It’s the first time Ieverburned anything. And not only did I burn dinner, I blew my load in my own fucking pants as Princess Layla Sinclair came on my face.
Thankfully, that’s one fact she’s not in possession of.
So much for being in control. That regal creature is going to be the undoing of me.
After the table incident, as I’m referring to it as, I ran the bath for her—an excuse to go clean myself up in the process and collect my thoughts. I’ve never come like that in my life. Never. Mind you, I’ve never tied a woman to my kitchen table before and lapped at her like a starving dog before either. I’ve never had a submissive in my house. Never run a bath for one. Never cooked—burned—dinner for one.
But Layla does something to me.
She’s not some random sub.
She’s a fucking princess, and while we’re entering this arrangement together, I’d do well to remember it. It’s one thing carrying on like that in the secure confines of one of the private rooms in my club, but not on my kitchen table.
What if she’d been followed by one of her guards?
What if my own security team were watching through the window?
