Page 48 of King of Praise
He looks like a fucking god. A god who’s about to fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before.
“Strip for me,” he commands. “Slowly. I want to see every inch of what belongs to me.”
The command in his voice is powerful, hard to resist, yet I know I could refuse. I could walk away, and he’d respect my choice. That knowledge makes me want to comply even more.
With trembling fingers, I reach for the buttons of my dress. The cotton rasps against my sensitized skin as I undo them one by one, hyper-aware of Micah’s heated gaze following each movement. When the last button releases, I let the dress slide from my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric.
I stand before him in simple cotton underwear, fighting the urge to cover myself. Lucas always criticized my body—too thin, too freckled, imperfect in countless ways. But Micah’s expression shows only appreciation as his eyes roam over me.
“Beautiful,” he praises. “Take off your bra.”
My fingers fumble with the clasp, but I manage to remove it, letting it fall beside my dress. Cool air pebbles my nipples, and I shiver. Or maybe it’s the intensity of Micah’s stare as he drinks in the sight of my bare breasts.
His eyes darken with sorrow as they catalog the fading marks of Lucas’s abuse—the nearly healed scar on my hip, the thin white line above my collarbone. These physical manifestations of our separate pasts create a bridge of understanding between us, a shared language of survival and resilience.
“Your panties,” he commands softly, “take them off and bring them to me.”
I hook my thumbs in the elastic and slide the cotton down my legs, stepping out of them with what I hope is grace rather than awkwardness. Completely naked now, I walk the few steps to where he sits, drawn by the magnetism of his presence.
He takes the panties from my hand and presses them to his nose. Taking a deep breath, his eyes slowly close as he groans. “Smells fucking delicious.”
Without being told, I sink to my knees between his spread thighs. The wooden floor is hard beneath my knees, but I ignore it, too focused on the way his breath catches at my submission.
His large hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing along my jaw. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “So perfect for me.”
The praise sends warmth flooding through me. I lean into his touch, craving more of his gentle dominance.
“May I?” I ask, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. At his nod, I begin opening them, revealing his broad chest inch by inch. My hands explore the exposed skin, tracing old scars and the solid muscles beneath. When I reach his belt, I look up questioningly.
He nods again. “Go ahead, lovely. Show me how good you can be.”
My fingers tremble as I undo his belt and zipper. He lifts his hips, allowing me to slide his pants and boxer briefs down his legs. His cock springs free, already hard and impressive. The sight makes my mouth water even as anxiety flutters inmy chest. It’s been so long since I’ve done this, and never with someone who actually cared about my pleasure.
I glance up, silently asking permission. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my curls.
“Be a good girl and suck my cock.” His voice is gravelly. “Show me how much you want to please me.”
The words send heat pooling between my thighs. I lean forward, wrapping one hand around his base while the other rests on his thigh for balance. Starting slowly, I trace the tip with my tongue, savoring his sharp intake of breath. His taste fills my mouth as I take him deeper, encouraged by his soft groans.
“That’s it, lovely,” he praises as I bob my head. “Take me deeper. Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”
I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder as I take him as deep as I can. His fingers tighten in my hair, not pushing or controlling, just holding. The gentle restraint makes me moan around him.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, “taking my cock so well.”
I lose myself in the rhythm of pleasuring him, in the weight of him on my tongue and the sound of his praise. Time becomes meaningless as I focus entirely on drawing those sounds from him, on earning more of his approval.
His breathing grows ragged, hips twitching as he fights to maintain control.
“I’m close,” he warns, tugging gently at my hair. “You don’t have to—”
I respond by taking him deeper, relaxing my throat to accept more of him. His curse turns into a low moan as his release floods my mouth. I swallow everything he gives me, continuing to suck gently until he tugs me away.
Before I can move, he hauls me into his lap, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss that tastes of himself and desperation.
“Goddammit. So fucking perfect,” he whispers against my lips. “My good girl. You did so well for me.”
The praise makes me whimper, pressing closer to him. My core throbs with need, but I don’t dare ask for relief. Good girls wait to be given pleasure.
