Page 48 of Making the King

“Why would I want you to?” I ask. “You’re my husband.”

Fuck, I can barely believe my words. How I feel about him now is such a stark contrast to the day I got released from prison.

“Yes I am,” he rasps as he rubs the heel of his hand across my clit. “But do you want me to be? You don’t even know me, or what I do.”

I moan when he slowly pushes a finger inside me, and before I know it, my hips gyrate to get more of his addictive touch.

Reaching for his cock, I squeeze it just like he’s shown me he likes. I stroke it from tip to base, fascinated by the wetness that glistens at the engorged head. Without thinking, I run my finger through it and bring it to my mouth.

“Fuck. Cara,” Rocco growls as my tongue darts out and I lick my digit clean.

“What is that?” I ask as my eyes flutter closed and I savor the taste.

Rocco chuckles. “It’s called pre-cum.”

Right.

Now I feel stupid for not realizing that. This is the effect Rocco, and a fucked up upbringing, have on me. It reduces me to an unthinking, insecure mess.

I’m surprised that the flavor doesn’t repulse me. My sister’s told me horror stories of having to drink cum from a jar, so if this is that, it’s not bad. A bit salty, but I don’t mind it at all.

“You taste good,” I purr. Then I let the tip of my tongue dance around my finger pad again, greedily licking it completely clean. “Really good.”

“Cara.”

I like the way he growls my name.

“Get your ass on the desk. Now.”

Pouting, I let go of his cock. “You didn’t say please,” I remind him with a wink.

I yelp when he playfully slaps my ass with a growl. “And I’m not going to.”

This is a completely different side of Rocco, one I haven’t seen before. The other times we’ve had sex, he’s made sure to ask if he could touch me. While I appreciated that, I think I like this side of him. The one that doesn’t ask permission, but tells me what he wants.

As I climb onto the desk, I have a moment of hesitancy since I don’t know how he wants me. I ignore the part of me that wants to ask him and instead do what I want, which is sit on the edge with my legs spread wide.

Remembering how he taught me to touch myself, I slowly circle my clit. Now that he’s done it to me countless times, I have a better idea of what I like, which makes it easier. It’s not the same as having him touch me, though.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” I sass.

“Tempting,” he rasps, fisting his cock. “Your cunt is so fucking pretty. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of looking at it.”

I moan. “What if I want you to come over here and touch me instead?”

Rocco arches a brow. “Is that what you want?”

I don’t answer him right away. The way he fucks his hand is mesmerizing, and I can’t get enough of watching him as he unashamedly jerks off for my viewing pleasure. And what a pleasure it is.

“Yes,” I whimper.

Rocco squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his free hand. “Tell me, Killer.”

“I-I…” My eyes turn heavenward as I struggle to get the words out. “I want you to touch me. Please touch me, Rocco.”

“Where?”

Gulping, I spread my legs wider. My finger is still on my clit, though I’m not moving it anymore. “Here.”

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