Chapter 16

I wake up warm and rested, more rested than I've felt in the week since the aborted wedding, in the week of sadness and emotional and physical hurts and…

Nightmares that crept in and tried to steal my slumber.

But no nightmares last night?—

Or at least, none that I remember.

I sigh softly, start to roll over.

Start because…I try to move, but I find I can't.

Which is the moment that sleep finally leaves my hazy mind and my eyes fly open.

There's an arm around my middle, but that isn't a surprise. It was there when I fell asleep, same as the big, hockey body had been pressed all to my back. It's just?—

The leg between mine, King's thick thigh pushed up against my pussy.

The hard cock throbbing against my ass.

The hand cupping my breast.

I—

Well, I'm turned on, instantly and completely and before my next breath. My pussy grows slick and I feel the material of my underwear, the only thing separating that strong, thick thigh from the rest of my body, grow damper moment by moment.

So damp that I know, if he was awake, he'd be able to feel it.

Same as he'd be able to feel the hard bud of my nipple pressing against his palm.

Hear my breath growing ever more unsteady.

Feel the need coiling in my body, sending me trembling.

I exhale silently, try to regain control, but all I can feel is his sexy body surrounding mine, covering me in his heat, his scent. Desire is a red haze at the edges of my vision, reducing my world to this bed, this man, the way he's got me feeling more with him than I ever felt with Phillip.

Maybe that's why I do what I do next.

Maybe that's why I wouldn't be able to stop myself from doing it, even if the world was ending and aliens were descending and nukes were falling from the sky.

I arch my hips?—

And sweet baby Jesus, that's good.

His hard cock pressing into me, thick like a steel rod, making my pussy grow even wetter. His breathing is even and steady, but his body moves against mine, grinding closer, his palm closing more firmly around my breast, thumb and forefinger unerringly finding my nipple, pinching it hard enough to make me buck against his thigh.

And then gasp, sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

Rolling my nipple back and forth, back and forth.

That thigh starting to match that rhythm—or maybe my rhythm as I rock against him, already almost embarrassingly close to an orgasm.

Ridiculous.

But I don't stop moving.

Only—

He's sleeping, and I'm grinding against him like he's a sex toy while he's unconscious, while he?—

Can't possibly consent.

A bucket of ice-cold water over me, stealing my pleasure, having me go stiff and unsure.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Those fingers don't stop. Neither does the thigh.

Desire and need threatening to steal this clarity, threatening to erase this knowledge of knowing I can't do this.

Not while he's sleeping.

Dammit.

I reach up, try to peel his palm away, even though those rolling movements are sending my head spinning, my pleasure spiraling. It would be easy to keep going like this, to come apart.

But it would be wrong.

So, I manage to summon a herculean amount of strength and pull his hand from my breast, to stop rocking.

To start to slide from his hold?—

His arm tightens.

I freeze, heart skipping a beat.

And then I find myself on my back, King over me.

His mouth descends and then I have no doubt that he's awake. He takes charge of the kiss, tongue sweeping into my mouth, slick and hot and sure. It tangles with mine as one of his hands slides along my waist, dips beneath the hem of my T-shirt?—

His T-shirt.

I gasp at that warm palm trailing on my skin, drifting up, cupping my breast.

No material dulling the sensation, just his body against mine…and it's fucking glorious.

He groans and I arch, trying to get as much of his touch as possible, but he only gives it to me for a disappointing second before his hand disappears.

I protest, and it's cut off.

By the T-shirt being dragged over my head.

"Fuck," he growls, head dipping, mouth meeting my skin. He licks and nips, kisses and drags his tongue over every inch of my exposed torso, slowly making his way up to my bare breast. "You are beautiful."

I gasp.

Then moan.

Then melt as wave after wave of glorious pleasure weaves its way through every single one of my cells, sending my nerves on high alert, every fiber of my muscles tightening, like a spring being twisted around and around and around.

I'm so close that I'm going to snap, that my orgasm is going to explode out from me.

But…he isn't.

"King," I manage, my lungs sawing and breaths coming in rapid gusts. "I—" A breath. "You." Another. "I shouldn't—" I break off on a moan, head digging back into the pillows. "I shouldn't without you."

He stills, tongue flat on my nipple, lips sucking firmly.

Then he draws back, the suction breaking with a soft pop, leaving my nipple so hard that it's almost calling out for his mouth.

"Is it too much?" he asks, eyes half sleepy, but I don't miss the concern, the seriousness creeping into those blue depths.

It is too much.

But it's also not nearly enough.

Which is why I know it's not too much in the sense that he means.

"No," I say, reaching for him, the sight of him between my breasts almost too much to handle.

He's beautiful and powerful and sexy as hell.

"Then what?"

"I—" I suck in a breath, release it, steadying my breathing enough so that I can say, "If you keep going, then I'm going to come."

His brows flick up and he holds my gaze for a long moment before he asks, "So?"

"So," I admit. "I don't usually—" I bite my lip. "Not alone. Not without?—"

Clarity seems to dawn on his face.

And then he scowls and rears back. "Not ever?"

Had I ever come without my partner coming? No.

Had the reverse been true many, many times? Yes.

Both of which he seems to read on my face because he's suddenly rearing away from me. "Lie back like a good girl," he rasps, hair a mess, eyes no longer the least bit sleepy, hands reaching for the waistband of my soaked underwear, "and let me lick that cunt."