Page 49 of King of Praise
As if reading my thoughts, Micah stands, lifting me with him. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries me to the bed. He lays me out before him, spreading my thighs with firm hands.
He towers over me, his eyes dark with desire.
“Look at you.” His gaze holds renewed hunger as he strokes his already hardening cock. “So wet and ready for me, excited from sucking my cock.”
I flush but don’t look away as he drops to his knees beside the bed. His large hands grip my thighs, pulling me to the edge.
“Time to reward my good girl,” he says, then buries his face between my legs.
The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out, hips bucking against his hold. He licks into me like a man starved, alternating broad strokes with pointed attacks on my clit that have me writhing. When he slides two thick fingers inside me, curling them just right, I nearly sob with pleasure.
“That’s it, lovely,” he murmurs against my flesh. “Let me hear how good it feels. Show me how much you love my mouth on your sweet pussy.”
His words, combined with the relentless attention from his tongue, push me toward the edge embarrassingly fast.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Please what?” He pulls back, replacing his tongue with his thumb on my clit. “Use your words like the good girl that you are. Tell me what you need.”
“Please let me come,” I manage between panting breaths. “Please, I need—”
“Then come,” he commands, sealing his mouth over my clit and sucking hard.
I shatter with a cry of his name, pleasure crashing through me in waves. He doesn’t let up, licking and sucking until I’m squirming from oversensitivity, begging him to stop.
When he finally pulls away, his beard glistens with evidence of my arousal. The sight makes me throb with renewed want despite my recent orgasm.
My body still trembles from the intensity of it as Micah rises from his knees, his dark eyes locked on mine. He starts at my feet, pressing reverent kisses to each ankle, working his way up my calves with a combination of lips, tongue, and teeth that makes me shiver.
When he reaches my thighs, he takes his time, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips that make me gasp. His beard scratches deliciously against my sensitive skin as he marks me, claiming every inch as his own. Each bite is followed by soothing licks and kisses, building a mounting tension that has me squirming.
“Stay still,” he growls against my hip bone before sucking a mark there that makes me whimper. “Be good for me.”
I force myself to remain motionless as he works his way up my stomach, paying special attention to the fading scars. His touch is gentle as he kisses each mark, as if trying to erase the painful memories with tenderness.
By the time he reaches my breasts, I’m panting with need. He takes his time here too, cupping their weight in his large hands while his mouth explores thoroughly. When he finally takes a nipple between his lips, sucking hard while pinching the other between thumb and forefinger, I can’t help but arch into the sensation.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore. Everything. Anything. Just more of his mouth, his hands, his overwhelming presence.
“Patience, lovely,” he says against my skin. “Let me worship you.”
Fresh heat floods through me. No one has ever touched me like this—like I’m precious, like my pleasure matters, like I deserve to be cherished rather than used.
The scrape of Micah’s beard against my sensitive skin sends shivers down my spine as he lavishes attention on my breasts. He alternates between gentle kisses and sharp nips and I arch into his touch once again. Each bite is followed by soothing strokes of his tongue, building a mounting tension.
“So responsive,” he murmurs. “Such perfect, sensitive nipples. I could play with them for hours.”
The dual sensation makes me cry out, my hands flying to tangle in his hair. He growls approvingly around my flesh, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core.
When he finally releases my nipple with a wet pop, the cool air makes me shiver. But before I can protest the loss, his mouth is on mine again. This kiss is different from our earlier ones—deeper, hungrier, with an edge of desperation that makes my toes curl. I can taste myself on his tongue and the combination of flavors—him and me together—is intoxicating.
I pour everything I’m feeling into the kiss—my gratitude for his gentleness, my amazement at how he makes me feel safe even in my vulnerability, my growing feelings I’m not ready to name but can’t deny. His hands frame my face as he returns the kiss with equal intensity, thumbs stroking my cheeks with surprising tenderness given the heat between us.
When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, his dark eyes search mine. Whatever he sees there makes him groan and capture my lips again, as if he can’t bear to stop kissing me. I understand the feeling. After being starved for real intimacy for so long, every touch, every kiss feels like water in the desert. I never want it to end.
It feels like a lifetime passes before he finally breaks free and pushes to his feet. He stares down at me—disheveled, lips swollen, legs spread wide, pussy wet—and groans in approval.
He grabs my legs and presses my knees up, opening me even more, cock fully hard again as he steps between my thighs.
