Page 113 of Dangerous King
The kitchen glows softly from the under-counter lights. And then I see him. My heart skips a beat. It's only been minutes since I last laid eyes on him, but it could have been an eternity for the reaction my body is having towards him. Violent, all-consuming, impossible to hide.
He's leaning one hip against the counter. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his thickly veined forearms. The kitchen lighting glints off his dark hair and sharp jawline, painting him in gold and shadow.
A pirate,I think again. That's what he looks like. All danger and dark charm, a man who pillages hearts instead of ships. His gaze lifts the second I step into the room, and the way he looks at me, slow and possessive, from my bare legs to the slight rise and fall of my chest, makes every nerve ending in my body spark to life.
"Cat," his voice is hoarse, my name coming off his tongue like a prayer, a call, a desperate tether to something he needs more than breath.
"You're very naughty, Piccolina."
"I'm foolish," I whisper back. "But apparently, so are you."
He grins, eyes glinting with heat. "Foolish would benotshowing up."
My back hits the fridge. His arms cage me in. One palm rests beside my head. The other slips to my waist, curling there like it belongs, which it does. Every breath between us turns into static.
"I missed you," I admit, softer now.
"It's been only a few minutes," he teases, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Too long," I say, wondering if I'm an idiot for baring my soul like this to him. He nods once, and then his mouth is on mine—hot, certain, claiming—making me forget all about my insecurities.
His tongue dominates mine, conquers my mouth, and I surrender all too willingly to his demands. I fist his shirt to pull him closer, then grab his bulging biceps while heat spreads through my core. One of his hands burrows in my hair, the other grabs my hip, pulling me into him, so I can feel his hard erection. He's showing me just how much he wants me, too. The thought of this man wanting me makes me dizzy with happiness.
His hand moves from my hip to my ass, kneading it, while his tongue is consuming me. A moan escapes me, of its own volition, my right leg lifts to snake around his hip. He moans and pushes his hip harder into me, while his hand moves from my ass, into my pajama pants, around my thigh until it reaches my pussy. A low moan escapes me, but it turns into a hiss when his finger enters me. I'm wet for him, ready, but I guess I'm still a little sore. He stops instantly, retrieves his finger, and leans his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry, Cat. I forgot." His breathing is hard and ragged.
I feel like a failure. "I'm so sorry I failed you."
"You didn't fail me, Piccolina. You undid me." His voice is rough, but it feels like silk, threading through every part of me. "One touch from you, and I forget the world."
I swallow hard, still slightly breathless. "I just… I don't want to disappoint you."
"Impossible." His mouth curves into something fierce, "You're healing, that's all. I should have remembered. I should have controlled myself."
"You lose control with me?" I ask, more hopeful than teasing.
He chuckles low in his throat, pressing a kiss to my jaw, then my collarbone. "Completely. And I don't care who knows it."
I smile, warmed all the way through, and let my hands slide down the front of his shirt. "Good."
"Why?" he murmurs.
I rise on tiptoe, pressing my lips to the corner of his mouth. "Because I want you to be mine, too."
Something snaps in his eyes; it's like a fuse finally lighting. He cradles the back of my head again, but this time he doesn't kiss me. Not yet. His eyes drink me in like I'm something holy.
"You are," he whispers. "Mine."
Then his lips touch mine again, softer this time, lingering, like worship, not war. The promise in that kiss is more potent than any climax. He's not just touching my body anymore. He's touching the place no one else ever reached—my soul.
But just because I'm sore, doesn't mean I can't… a wicked plan forms in my head. Before I can lose my nerve, my hand moves to the bulge hidden in his pants. It's so massive, so hard. I swallow. Can I really do this? I've seen it in movies, read about it in novels, and they all make it sound so easy, but here I am,a nervous wreck. He groans at the touch of my fingers; his hips automatically move into my grip.Now or never…
I sink to my knees.
"Cat, what are you doing?" He asks, deeper now.
"I don't know," I answer honestly, "I've never done this before… you… You'll need to help me."
My fingers fumble with his belt, and a shudder moves through him. "Cat." My name is like a curse on his lips, like he doesn't know if he should let me do this or stop me. I free the belt, but hard hands reach for my armpits to pull me up, "Not like this, Piccolina. Not here, not now."
