Page 120 of Kings Have No Mercy

I shudder and turn the other cheek, my legs splayed open. “Fuck you, Mace… fuck… FUCK!”

“Beg,” he demands. “Beg me to make you fucking come.”

The words do something to me. I shudder as his mouth devours my pussy. There’s no fighting it. No pushing back against the wave of pleasure that crashes over me.

Next thing I know, Iambegging. I’m writhing and screaming out.

My orgasm is slamming into me and leaving mewrecked.

Mason licks and sucks me through the pleasure, only making it worse. My pussy walls clench and sweet pleasure flows. I’m so wet I feel myself dripping. I feel his tongue pushing inside me, his teeth grazing my clit, my fucking pussy.

I pant and twist in my delirium, unable to take it.

Unable to accept this man that’s about to make me insane.

No one else has ever wreaked this much pleasure on my body. No one has ever made me feel like my entire body pulses with so much pleasure, I can’t handle it.

But Mason takes me there… and then some.

He positions himself at my sex and warns me we’re only getting started. We’re only at the beginning.

I whine, unable to help the spoiled princess sound that escapes me, but fuck if I’m not already spent. I’m already a goner from the intense pleasure he’s brought me with his mouth and fingers.

Mason grips my hip and guides his length into me with his other hand. His gaze holds mine. There’s something unspeakably intimate about it—about staring into the deep green of his eyes as he enters me, our bodies joining in every sense of the word.

He doesn’t let me break the contact. He doesn’t either.

He keeps us there, keeps us on the same beat as he fills me, and we both shudder at the immediate pleasure because of it. Him filling me and me tight around him.

For a moment that feels suspended in time, we hold ourselves in place. His chest hardens like steel, and I’m clamped down like I won’t ever let him retreat.

We stare into each other’s faces, curled and entangled, our heartbeats fast.

Then… then he begins to move in a burst of feral need.

Immediately, I know this is different. So different than the other times we’ve been together.

His cock jerks inside me and his bed feels like it’s moving when really it’s the ferocity of his deep thrusts.

I move along with him, reaching up to clutch his face. He kisses me, grinding himself deeper, filling me up ’til I’m shuddering and crisscrossing my legs around him.

It’s how we operate. His pelvis grinding into mine. My legs tightening around his waist. Our hands sweep over our bodies, feeling each other’s soft and hard spots. I revel in his muscles, and he worships my curves.

We develop a dance that includes nipple-biting and hips-grinding and nails-digging. Every thrust, every touch and kiss are enough to make me feel unlike myself. Make me feel like I’m being born again as he goes deep and I open myself up for him.

Throughout it all, we never lose contact.

We keep each other in tune. His eyes on mine. Mine on his.

Hip thrusts turn erratic, almost machine-like. I take his punishing thrusts, and grind with him where I can, letting my pussy throb in soaked, clenching torture that makes him grunt. The sound does something to me. So unfiltered, so honest it turns me on even more.

His mouth seeks mine and we come a few strokes apart. Me, crashing into a tidal wave of pleasure. Mason as if his orgasm pains him, releasing a rumble that’s deeper than the one from his bike engine.

He collapses and takes me with him. He pulls me against him in his bed, his arms inflexible as if signaling there’s no asking needed—I’m right where I belong.

I find comfort in it.

As someone who has struggled my entire life feeling like I’ve never belonged, it means more than I can ever say.

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