Page 63 of Kneel with the King
“You came in your pants for me, Asher,” I remind him, watching the way his eyes grow heavier and more hooded.
“Iknow,” he barks. “I know, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I hate you for that.”
“Good,” I whisper, stumbling over the word a bit. “Hate me while you rub your cock against mine and tell me what a good boy you are.”
His breath catches, his spine going rigid against the wall.
“Do you remember your safe word?”
He nods—barely.
“Tell me.” My voice is a command now as my teeth mark his collarbone.
“Tax season,” he whispers.
“Good. We need to establish a nonverbal safe word, too.” I’m surprised I remember in my state, but I suppose safe words have been drilled into me enough that even tipsy, I make sure we’re covered in that arena.
“Why?” he chokes out.
I smile. “In case your mouth is… otherwise occupied.”
He nods.So eager. So willing.I’m going to fucking love this, I can already tell.
“How about three quick taps on my thigh? Does that work for you?”
“Okay.”
“Make sure you remember both, because once we start, I’m not stopping until I’ve made you come again. And this time, I won’t be kind about it.”
“I’m not asking you to be,” he breathes.
That’s it. The feral beast inside of mebreaks,and I see red and lust andsin.I want to hurt him and give him the most incredible pleasure all at the same time, and I want to take it from him—every angry sound, every drop of cum, every ounce of self-respect.
I grab the front of his shirt and twist him toward the bed. He stumbles, off-balance, letting me push him backward until he falls onto the mattress with a muffled sound of surprise.
He stares up at me, cheeks red, breath shallow.
“Take your pants and boxers off,” I say.
He obeys, eyes locked to mine the whole time as he unbuttons his shirt, removes his pants, kicking them away, and slides his boxers down.
Then I bend, pick them up, and press the fabric to his lips.
“Open,” I say.
He hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s not hesitation, it’s anticipation. He wants to know how far I’ll take this. How far he’ll let me.
His lips part.
I stuff the boxers in gently, then press two fingers to his mouth to hold them there.
“You want this?” I slur.
His eyes flutter closed, and he nods once.
“Then rut against me, sweetheart,” I whisper, crawling up to straddle his hips as I unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants, and free my aching cock. “Earn it.”
I spit into my hand and use it to slick us both, the wetness catching against our skin. Then I press my bare cock to his, grinding down hard and cruel, and that’s when I feel it.
