Page 21 of King of Lies
“You are mine, Hen. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Rhys.”
“Aye. And I’m yours,” he says, and the words ring true in my heart. He moves our hands up to my clit, strumming me, and this time, it’s not a race but a slow build back to the pinnacle. “Now give me what’s mine to have.”
And with one last swirl of my clit, I lock my fingers around his as my body bows again and the soft waves of my climax rush over me. I feel him swell inside me, filling me full. I turn my face to his just in time to press my mouth to his and drink in his rough groan as he plants himself deep inside me and fills the condom with his cum.
“Made for me,” he rumbles against my lips and he holds me like that for a moment before he lifts his head to gauge if I’m okay with this turn of events. And surprisingly, I am.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Levels me in bed and then asks if I’m hungry,” he grumbles good naturedly. “I might be dead.”
I laugh and my stomach rumbles. “But do you want dinner before you perish? Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
My stomach rumbles again and he looks at me with a knowing eye. “Poor girl. Her man misused her and didn’t even feed her first.”
“He’s a beast,” I say with a smile.
“Aye, a beast, but her beast. Now let’s get you fed.”
He slips from my body and walks to the bathroom before coming back without the condom to pull me from the bed. Standing me at his feet, he reaches down to the floor and scoops up his shirt before holding it open for me to slide my arms in.
Then he takes my hand in his and leads me to the kitchen where my stew is a little over cooked but no less delicious. I let go of his hand and pluck bowls from the cupboard and spoons from the drawer before ladling up stew and passing him his. He eats with a hip leaned against the counter and it’s so casual and comfortable, like he belongs here. I love it.
I rinse my bowl and leave it in the sink before offering him more, which he gratefully takes. I hop up to sit on the counter while he finishes eating. Then he sets his bowl aside and moves to stand between my legs, cupping me with his hand while he looks me in the eye.
“Are you sore, Hen?” he asks. I don’t want to disappoint him so I open my mouth to tell him no, but he narrows his eyes on me. “Don’t lie.”
“Okay,” I agree readily. “I am a bit. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to feel sorry for,” he says as he trails a fingertip down my temple. “I’m the one who hurt you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Aye, I know. But I can also make you feel good without my cock.”
“What?” I gasp. I’m still unused to his frank talk.
“You seemed to like it when I put my mouth on you.”
“Yes,” I whisper because while I feel shy talking about those things, I did like it, a lot.
The evil man knows because he smiles a wicked grin before responding. “I know.”
He pushes my thighs wide and leans over, swiping his tongue through me and making me gasp. I thread my fingers through his hair and hold on as he tenderly licks and kisses and occasionally nips at me as he brings me over the edge.
Then he stands with a smile on his face like he didn’t just make me come on the kitchen counter after eating burned stew and holds his hand out for me to take. I look at him. He didn’t put clothes on when we left the bedroom and his cock is long and thick and deliciously hard as it juts out from his body.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “That was for you.”
“I know … but what if I want to.”
“No, Hen,” he denies. “You’re sore. I’ve used your tight pussy more than enough for the night. This was for you because you like my mouth on you and I like the taste of you.”
Here goes nothing. It’s time I jump off the cliff and reach for what I want with both hands. “But what if I want the taste of you?”
