Chapter 24

"Oh my God!" I groan, slamming my hands back against the shower as King buries his face between my legs and fucks my pussy with his tongue.

Sex is…

Incredible.

I'd heard about it being mind-blowing.

But…I hadn't ever experienced it.

Not until the last twenty-four hours anyway.

From the moment that I woke up before King, watching him sleep like a total creeper, but also totally mesmerized by the way his face was softened, how his thick lashes had rested on the tops of his cheeks, his hair mussed, a lock hanging over his forehead that I wanted desperately to tuck back into place, my life had shrunk.

But not in a bad way.

Because this man had blown my mind.

Repeatedly.

Giving me so many orgasms, I actually lost count.

And yes, I'm sore.

And no, I'm not going to stop him and his delicious tongue and fingers and lips and teeth from working their magic.

Partly because I still have the taste of his orgasm on my tongue, the salty musk of him in my nose and on my taste buds.

Because he finally let me get my mouth on his cock.

And it had been glorious.

But now he's back to being generous, working my body with the intense focus I've seen him display on the ice.

And with me.

And…I wonder with how many other women.

The thought lances through me, a cold bucket of water over my head, threatening to douse my desire.

King growls, withdrawing his tongue and turning his head to nip at the inside of my thigh currently resting on one of those broad shoulders. "Pay attention." Sharp blue eyes lock onto mine and I shiver at the demanding, heated look within them.

It doesn't matter what he did with other women.

It only matters what he's doing with me.

"Better," he says, flicking his tongue over the stinging flesh before turning his head again.

He sucks on my clit, and does it hard enough that I jump, that I'm not thinking about anything that isn't his mouth on my pussy, his tongue and fingers slowly driving me insane.

Driving me into oblivion.

"King!"

My head thunks back against the glass, but I don't feel it, not with the orgasm barreling through me, not with his mouth on me, his fingers in me. Stubble brushing along my thighs, a big palm cupping my ass, keeping me pressed against his mouth as pleasure flows through me, wave after wave after wave.

Eventually, it stops, slows to a halt, and my knees wobble, threaten to give way.

But King notices.

Of course he does, his arm banding around my hips as he slowly draws away from me, leaning back on his heels and cradling me against him.

The water flows over my body, soaking the hair I hadn't intended on washing this morning, but I can't bring myself to care, not with him holding me like this, not with the fairy tale of the last day. Not with?—

He shifts slightly and I gasp, eyes flying open. "You're hard."

The smile he gives me…God, it shouldn't make my pussy throb, shouldn't stoke the embers of desire that have just been banked by my orgasm.

But it does.

Because, God, he's fucking pretty.

He doesn't bend me over the bench set along one side of the shower, doesn't thrust deep and fuck me hard and fast again.

He settles me on that bench, the cool tiles a soft bite on the backs of my thighs, and then he proceeds to wash—and condition!—my hair. After, he loads up the loofa with shower gel and soaps me up before carefully rinsing me off.

Butterflies whip around my belly, their delicate wings creating a maelstrom that threatens to steal my breath.

Because he's treating me gently again.

Because he's caring for me. Carefully. Softly. Sweetly.

And…I've never had that.

"King," I whisper as he directs the handheld shower head toward my feet, ensuring that the last of the suds are rinsed, that the bottoms of my feet are clean and free of soap.

So I don't slip.

Those butterflies turn into tiny little birds, flying around my insides, thumping against my lungs.

"King," I say again.

"It's okay, princess," he murmurs, touching my cheek for a brief moment before he uses the loofa to brusquely wash his body, rinsing off the suds in quick, efficient movements.

He says it's okay.

But it's not.

How can this be okay?

How can he show me this, get me used to this, and I just…move on with my life when it's done?

Fingers on my jaw, tilting my head up. "Too much, princess?"

Yes.

And no.

Not nearly enough.

In fact, I have the feeling that it will never be enough.

"Too much," he says softly before I can reply, picking the answer out of my mind. Or maybe from my expression. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, at obscuring what's in my heart.

And right now, my feelings are too big, too much…

Too fucking perfect.

"I'm fine," I whisper.

His expression gentles, but he doesn't argue with me, just turns off the shower and wraps me in a towel. And even before I manage to push up to my feet, he's lifting me in his arms, carrying me over to the vanity and setting me on the counter.

He steps back, snags his robe from the back of the door, and a heartbeat later, I'm engulfed in soft flannel that smells of him.

"There," he murmurs, slipping the towel free and tying the robe shut.

"Wait," I say when he starts to turn, hand extended like he's going to hang up the towel.

I take it from him, and then—heart pounding because this is a small thing but it feels like a very big thing—I drag the fabric of the towel over his chest, scooping up water droplets, drying his skin.

He goes still, so still that he resembles a statue.

I want to say something, anything, but my heart is in my throat.

And I know this small thing—all of the tiny pieces of our time together—are going to destroy me.

"Thanks, princess," he murmurs a heartbeat after I finish.

I nod, settle the towel in my lap. "Of course," I whisper.

And then I stop, gripping the material tight.

Because I don't know what the hell to say next.

Because I'm an awkward mess and I don't know what to do next.

Because the world is topsy-turvy and small things are huge and?—

Fingers on my jaw again, drawing my gaze from my hand clenching at the white cotton back up to King.

"Come to the game tonight?"

My fingers convulse. "Wh-what?"

His hand shifts, palm cupping my jaw. "I want to look up and see you in the stands, princess," he says.

My pulse thunders in my veins. "Really?"

"Yeah, baby." A beat. "Really."

"But the guys," I sputter. "Th-they'll see me there, see the ring and they'll kn-know that?—"

I'm not making any sense.

I've gone to plenty of games. I don't have to wear the ring.

But…this is different.

This is me going for him.

It means something.

And that's terrifying.

"I don't care about the guys." A beat. "Or if you wear the ring." His fingers flex and he seems to be warring with himself. "I care about you."

I inhale so sharply that I choke on my own spit.

"Shit, princess," he mutters, patting my back. "Just breathe."

He's patient while I regain my breath, and when I take a moment to find the courage to meet his eyes.

And when I finally do, I see that he's persistent.

Determined.

Because when I've finally caught my breath, when I'm no longer choking, when I'm finally holding his gaze again, he asks,

"So…will you come tonight?"