Chapter 17

I barely resist the urge to tear her panties from her legs, have to clench my teeth together in order to slowly drag the material down her thighs, along her calves, off her feet.

But then it's flying through the air, landing somewhere in my room, and I'm staring at a naked Rory.

Long, lean legs. Lush hips. A narrow waist. The soft curve of her belly, the flare of her ribs, the tempting apple-sized breasts.

A throat I've had my lips on, but not nearly long enough.

A mouth I need the time to worship.

Long lashes resting against the tops of her cheeks.

She trembles, lips parting, eyes slitting open just enough to give me a glimpse of insecurity. For a second, I'd thought she meant that no other man had the pleasure of tasting that slick cunt, that liquid desire I can see—even from here—folds glinting beneath blond curls in the early morning sunshine.

And I'm caveman enough to admit that the thought had sent a bolt of pleasure through me.

This pussy mine and only mine?

Yeah. I'm good with that.

But rage had quickly followed—banking those caveman urges—when I processed what she meant.

She only came—when she came at all (because I didn't miss that distinction either)—with her partners?

They didn't worship her like the goddess she is? They didn't make her come until she couldn't take any more, until she was limp and sated and her clit was overloaded from sensation?

And then make her come again despite that?

Fucking bastards.

But it's what has my clenched jaw staying clenched, tabling the urge to plunge deep and fuck that slick cunt.

I'm going to make this good.

I'm going to make it fucking incredible for her.

I slowly trace my hand along her side, down her rib cage, her waist, over her hips, and then inside, dipping my finger between thighs I'm desperate to have wrapped around me, her heels digging into my ass as I fuck her senseless.

Patience.

I stroke a feather-like touch through her labia, tracing plump lips, slow and steady, smirking when she arches up, tries to find more purchase in my fingers.

But it's not time for that yet.

"Behave," I chide, pulling back when she presses, waiting until she settles, then rewarding her with a brush of my thumb over her clit when she melts into the mattress. "Let me make you feel good."

She's restless, her gaze locked on mine. "I need…"

"I know what you need," I tell her. "Now"—I reach in, pinch her nipple hard enough to make her gasp—"behave."

"You're a dick," she snaps, but her eyes are sparking with desire.

"I'm going to give you my dick."

Just not right now.

She rolls her eyes, but she's grinning.

Until I brush her clit again, and then she's moaning, lips—both sets—damp and plump and tempting. My mouth waters, but I'm going to get her to come this way first. Then with my mouth. Then my fingers and my mouth. Then?—

Right.

I should probably stop thinking about all the ways I'm going to make her come.

And actually make her come.

I press my thumb a little harder, circle her clit, gauging her gasps, the rocks of her hips, what has the color on her cheeks growing and her lips darkening with increased blood flow. I watch her nipples bead and harden further, feel the slickness in her pussy grow, her breathing speed up.

"King," she whispers.

And I hear it.

The hitch in my name on her lips, the one that has my cock aching, like those phantom fingers in my chest have left my heart alone and are wrapping around my dick, stroking firm and fast, coiling my orgasm at the base of my spine.

I grind my teeth together, stave it off, keep hold of my control.

And I keep at her clit, rubbing firm and sure and?—

"King!" she cries out, probably far too loud considering that my mom is right down the hall.

But I can't bring myself to care.

Not when I get to watch her orgasm slide through her—tightening her ass, flexing her hips, curling her fingers and toes as her thighs tighten around me for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

And then she goes limp.

Fucking perfect.

Tart and sweet. Sass and kindness. My prickly princess who only blooms for me.

It's dangerous thinking—I'm fully aware of that. Fully aware that this has only one way to end, and that's with my heart becoming roadkill because I can't give this woman all that she needs, all that she deserves.

And she deserves everything.

"Holy." She's breathing like she just ran a marathon. "Fucking." A long inhale that has her tits jiggling and my cock growing even harder. "Shit."

"Again," I mutter.

Those emerald half-mast eyes fly open, lips parting in surprise. "What?"

"I haven't tasted that slick cunt, princess."

Another breath, shorter, more staccato. "King," she whispers.

I don't listen to the note of warning in her tone, just palm each lush thigh, push them wide, and I get my mouth on her.

Sweet.

So fucking sweet.

Barely any hints of tart, and just wet enough for me to drink her up, for my tongue to slide freely through her folds. I dip inside her entrance, tasting that slick channel, feeling her shiver, those internal muscles contracting around me, and then I'm sliding my mouth away, dragging my tongue up to her clit.

Circle. Tease. Press. Push her closer to the edge.

Back down and inside.

Clit. Tongue fuck. Repeat until I feel her fingers in my hair, until she's both keeping me close and pushing me away, until I feel her thighs trembling, hear my name chanted in increasing frequency.

"King. King. King," she cries hoarsely. "Oh God. King."

My tongue is fucking that slick pussy so I get to feel her convulse around me.

Fucking glorious.

She slumps down to the mattress, chest heaving, tits bouncing, and—God—I want to fuck her.

But I'm also not done with her.

I wipe my chin, kiss my way up to her mouth, tasting her lips in a lazy, slow caress, waiting until the sweat begins to dry on her body, until her breathing stabilizes, until clarity comes back into her eyes.

Then I kiss along her throat, nibble at the princess-like ear, slide my lips along the sleek column of her throat—gently. Carefully. As though my mouth can make the bruises there go away.

I drift lower so I can taste each delicate collarbone.

Nip at the soft globe of her breast.

"King," she warns quietly.

I suck her nipple deep in answer.

"King!"

And then I'm making my way back down between her thighs, using my mouth and fingers in tandem this time, using all that I've learned from my previous use of each of them. I put it all together to drive her relentlessly up to that peak, not slowing, not stopping, just forward, forward, forward.

One finger. Two. Three.

Sucking at her clit, her labia.

A flash of teeth.

My name on her tongue again.

And then her cunt is clamping down on my fingers, her hips are grinding against my face, my beard, fucking me as much as I'm fucking her.

And then?—

She shudders.

Her grip on my hair tightens painfully.

And…she comes apart.

I grin against her pussy as I slowly coax her down the other side, bringing her to a gentle landing, waiting until she slumps back on the bed, hair a mess, sweat on her forehead, between her breasts, limbs lax and akimbo.

She exhales, eyes peeling open?—

Just as my alarm goes off.

Fuck.

Question in those emerald irises.

"Practice," I tell her.

She sighs, opens her mouth, probably to apologize.

I halt her with a kiss.

"Another time, princess, yeah?" I murmur.

She gives a jerky nod, clearly not in control of her facilities.

I smirk.

Because, yeah, I'm a self-satisfied asshole.

But mission accomplished.

I'm going to leave her limp and satiated…

And—

I slip my hand back between her legs.

—with one last orgasm.