Page 1 of The Kings
1
ELIZA
Panting.
Sweating.
Lips collide as my back hits the mirrored wardrobe door behind me.
My head’s spinning a bit too much from the champagne.
The hot stranger with inked skin and a scar that’s just begging for questions I don’t have time to ask, runs his hands up my outer thighs and under my short skirt.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
His hands are rough as they hike up my skirt, with no pretence of gentleness, just raw need, as he wastes no time and shoves my panties aside. It’s all kinds of wrong, this guy I don’t know, in my dad’s bedroom, but fuck me, he’s hot. Dark hair, clear blue eyes, muscles for days. It feels totally right when he unzips his black combat pants and drags his cock out, lifting me up so I can sink down on his cock without a second thought.
It’s all the permission I need to wrap my legs tight around him and meet each of his thrusts with my own.
The rhythm we fall into is primal, unmistakable.
He fucks me hard against the wardrobe; each slam of our bodies sends ripples through my blood that spikes quickly, quicker than any fuck has given me since I lost my V-card two years ago.
I can feel every inch of his cock, filling me up, stretching me wide, and God, the heat. We’re creating our own inferno, burning away any semblance of the confident, bordering on arrogant, mafia princess I’m supposed to be. Right now, I’m just Elizabeth “Eliza” Hughes, and he’s just the guy making my head spin faster than any alcohol ever could.
“More,” I urge, nails digging into his shoulders.
By the way he groans, slamming into me with a pace that’s both punishing and perfect, he’s right there with me, ready to burn it all to the ground.
He’s dark and dangerous, much like the ink that swirls over his arms, under his tight black tee, designs that dance with each forceful movement. Ancient symbols of power and seduction, etched into his skin as though claiming him for their own.
I’m lost to this feeling, lost to him, my inhibitions dissolving faster than sugar in hot tea. There’s a freedom in this moment, in allowing myself this wild abandon, and I cling to it with everything I’ve got as I clamp my thighs tighter around his rock-hard body.
I have no idea who he is, but judging by his casual outfit, he’s one of my dad’s lackeys. There’s enough of them, and they come and go frequently.
As he takes me to poundtown that rocks my ordered world, there’s no room for any more thoughts, only sensation, as he fucks me harder and deeper as my pussy coats his length with juice.
I meet each of his thrusts powerfully. Our bodies are completely the opposite, me small and slender, him big and muscular, but we fit together as if we were made for each other.The electric chemistry between us crackles, igniting sparks that lick at my insides, promising an explosion of ecstasy.
“Harder,” I demand, and there’s a smirk on his lips as he complies, pounding into me with a ferocity that leaves me breathless, teetering on the edge of oblivion, only spurred on by the fact that since I met him on the stairs and dragged him in here to fuck me, he hasn’t uttered a single word.
The pleasure builds, coiling tight, and I can feel every fibre of my being straining for release.
It comes suddenly, crashing over me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path. I cry out, my sharp, pointed black nails digging into his back, marking him for whoever gets him next. I’m under no delusions that he is mine. I don’t want him to be. He is for tonight, a last hurrah before I start my final year at a brand new university where I will be the rank outsider until I can prove myself.
Feeling my cunt clench around his enormous dick, his movements become erratic, desperate. His mouth devours mine as he pumps his cum into me, a hot rush with a grunting soundtrack that makes my nipples ache.
Fuck. I want to take him to bed and ride him all night, but Dad is waiting for me, and no one keeps Damon Hughes waiting.
Not even me.
He pulls out slowly, eyes narrowed as he groans softly, leaving me empty and craving more of his cock. With a slow, sinister smile, he steps back and puts his cum-covered cock back in his pants and zips up, watching me pant and struggle to catch my breath.
Then, he’s gone. Striding out of the bedroom like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
Moaning softly, I fling my head back momentarily before I turn, forehead pressed to the cool mirror. Adjusting my clothes, I fix my panties, feeling his cum dampen them, and smoothdown my skirt with shaky hands. Wiping my lips with a slow smile, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. My green eyes are bright, alive with a fire that hadn’t been there before. My chestnut hair is a wild cascade, framing my flushed cheeks. I look powerful and in control.
Just the way I should.
