Page 88 of Dangerous King
His name is a gasp, thin and trembling. I half-expect him to tease me with it, but he rumbles my name back in deep satisfaction.
"Brava, Piccolina," he nudges my knees wider and presses a slow, clover-leaf pattern of kisses up my inner thigh. It's so unbearably gentle that I want to cry. The next instant, his tongue is hot and sharp, lapping once, twice, before he sucks lightly at the flesh just beside, not quite where I'm most desperate for him. The ache focuses into a throb so sweet it's almost pain. I fumble at the sheet beneath me for purchase, searching for any way to ground myself. My breaths waver and stop when he parts me with both hands, and suddenly I'm pinned open before him, completely at his mercy. He licks into me, heavy and slow, and I jerk so hard it nearly throws me off the bed.
He laughs, a low rumbling growl, then flattens his tongue and circles the place that's so sensitive from never having beentouched before. And no, I never dared to touch myself. I was too busy staying invisible.
"You taste delicious, Piccolina, my own private flavor of ambrosia. God, I've waited all night to taste you."
The blood in my body is a hot, electric stream. My vision sparkles at the edges, reminding me of a kaleidoscope.
"God—Enrico—" I'm just noise and sensation now, not meaning anything exceptplease.
He answers by pushing two fingers inside. I gasp again. The fullness is strange and shocking, but the rhythm is careful, inexorable; he crooks his fingers and rubs his thumb in tight circles, and every movement drowns sense and shame. My head thrashes. He clamps his free hand around my hip, holding me in place, angling me closer to his mouth. Shudders move through me, building and knotting, about to shatter apart.
"I love how you taste—so sweet and wet," he adds, brushing his lips against my inner thigh. "Your cunt is so fucking tight, Piccolina. I can feel every curve even before I slide in. I can't wait to bury my cock inside your dripping heat."
The words would have shamed me in another life. They'd have sent my face flaming, made me want to disappear into the floor. Part of me expects that still. But in this moment, in this room, with his mouth and fingers working every secret place I ever tried to keep hidden, each filthy promise only sinks me deeper into a hot, liquid pool of need. His rough voice and relentless praise light a fuse inside me, making my body clench and shiver and ache so fiercely it feels like punishment.
Instead of shame, I want more. I want to hear him say the crude, impossible things I've only read in stolen books. He groans intome, a low sound that vibrates right through my bones. "You're fucking soaking me, Piccolina. Can you feel it? That's how much you want me."
His finger crooks harder, his rhythm picking up. I can hear myself now, the ragged, desperate noises I'm making; I clamp a hand over my own lips, but he sees it. "Don't hide," he demands, "not from me. Not from anyone."
I shake my head; I can't think, I can only shudder under the pressure that builds and builds and threatens to incinerate me. The sound of him, the way he is staring, hungry and greedy and worshipful, it's almost too much. Arousal tangles around my body. I'm desperate and frantic, needing him even when I don't understand what it is I'm supposed to need.
He pushes a third finger in, and my vision whites out; I sob out his name, "Enrico, Enrico," a litany, a prayer, as if I'll die if he stops.
"You want my cock, don't you? Say it." His eyes blaze up at me, black and merciless, as his fingers keep working deep inside.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The words wedge in my throat, but I force them out, "Yes, I want it… please…"
"Where do you want it?" The question is wicked but fuels the burning fire inside me until it becomes a furnace. His thumb circles my clit again, and the world tilts in and out of focus.
"I want you…" The rest is a whimper as my body breaks open, the pleasure wave so sharp and sudden it almost hurts. "Inside me, please, God, please…"
He growls and pulls his fingers away, spreading my thighs wide beneath him. The air bites at my skin, then his hands heat it,steadying me, positioning me as if I weigh nothing. His hungry mouth covers mine, and I can taste the forbidden fruit of myself on his lips. It's wicked and deliciously obscene.
"Impatient Piccolina. I'll make you come on my tongue first, then I'll feed you my cock," he promises, before moving back down on me.
My entire body shakes. I'm not sure what to do with all these sensations, but I allow myself to fall into them. His lips close over my clit, my eyes widen, my hands ball the sheets, and my feet scramble for purchase. Instinct tells me that this is it. The coils of my muscles are tightly wound; it's as if my entire body is suspended in time, in anticipation. He pulls my clit into his mouth, his teeth scrape against it, and his tongue twirls it, and I'm done for.
I come so hard I lose my own voice. There are just the pulses running through me, wave after wave, clenching and then releasing, an open flood. I think I might be crying, but I can't tell for sure. He's still lapping at me, slower now, then he sits back and wipes me clean with part of the sheet, gentler than I would have expected from someone like him.
I'm limp, ruined. He looms over me, the hunger in his eyes looking more sated but no less feral. He kisses a line from my knee to my hip, then up to my mouth, and I taste myself on his tongue again. I should be embarrassed—what kind of girl likes that—but I open my lips to him, greedy for the mingled taste of us both. My hands fumble at the buckle of his belt, and I feel his strong arms shudder when my fingers brush the line of his zipper.
He pulls back just far enough to see my face. "Are you sure?" he grits. "Cat, I need to—" He can't seem to finish the sentence.
"I am," I say. Even with my voice so raw, there's no hesitation. Not for him.
Breathlessly, still subdued from the tremors moving through me, I watch him strip, and God help me, the same muscles that just released begin to coil again at each piece of skin he exposes of himself. First, his strong forearms, veined and thick. The left sports an intricate tattoo of a fox and a snake. Then he pulls his shirt over his head, and Dio mio, my still somewhat erratic breath stops. He's sculpted like a god—all hard muscles, from his incredible pecs down to his six-pack of abs. My fingers itch to touch him, to explore if he's as hard as he looks. Another tattoo sits over his right pec; it has to be some symbol that eludes me.
My legs are still trembling, and the pulse inside my pussy is slowly subsiding, until he pulls his pants and briefs down. Then… holy mother of God. I've seen brief glimpses of men's…appendages, but this? Dio mio, this is a weapon. A whimper escapes me, catching his attention.
A wicked grin spreads over his face. Vainly, I try to move up on the bed, but his hands grip my ankles and pull me back down, spreading my legs in the process. Another whimper escapes me when he lets go of my ankles and climbs between my legs, all the while massaging his cock with one hand. Incredibly, the… thing grows. The tip is glistening with liquid. Oh shit, he's going to split me in half with this.
"Don't be scared, Piccolina. It'll hurt, but not badly. I promise." His voice is raw, and after the pleasure he just gave me, I want the same for him. I promise myself that no matter how much he hurts me, I won't show it. He deserves his part of the pleasure.
My eyes close, and my legs, no, my entire body, tenses up in expectancy of his cock spearing me, ripping me apart.
"Easy, breathe, Cat." His voice is soothing. His hands run up and down my legs, relaxing every inch they caress. "Here, just let them fall to the side," he encourages, "that's my good girl."
