Page 43 of Crown of Blood

Not sweet.

He licks me like I’m his final meal, tongue flat and unrelenting as it drags from slit to clit. He groans into my cunt like the taste is holy water.

“Eyes on me,” he commands again, lifting his gaze as he suckles hard enough to make me cry out.

I try—Itry—to keep looking, but my head thuds back against the marble. One sharp bite to my clit punishes the lapse.

My eyes snap open. He smirks, lips wet with my cream.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, before sucking me into his mouth like he’s starving.

His mouth devours me, tongue working in devastating circles around my clit. It's too much, not enough, justeverything. My body writhes under the attention, thighs trembling, need spiraling fast and brutal.

But he doesn’t give me more.

I reach for his hair, desperate to anchor him, tomakehim give me what I need.

He pulls back, depriving me of the penetration my throbbing core needs.

I nearly sob.

“Ask for it,” Luca rasps, lips slick with me. “If you want me to fill this tight little cunt, you’re going to beg.”

I bite my lip, holding his gaze, refusing.

He grins a dark and merciless grin. “Still holding on to that pride,little rabbit?” His tongue flicks across my clit, feather light and maddening beyond belief. “I’ll wait. I’ve got all fucking day to make you fall apart.”

I cry out as his mouth returns to me, licking and sucking in slow, torturous circles—but still, nothing more. My hips buck, chasing the pressure, the fill,him.

My voice breaks. “Please.”

He pauses, tilts his head. “Please, what?”

“Please—fuck me, Luca.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs.

The first inked finger slides into me and the instant stretch makes me moan. Then a second joins it. No buildup. No hesitation.

My body clenches around him, heat sparking like wildfire in my blood.

His fingers curl. “So fucking tight. Still wet for me after all that begging?” Another curl. Another flick of his tongue. “You don’t hate this. You hate that youneedit.”

He’s right. And I hate him for it.

Then he adds a third finger.

The stretch burns and I moan, caught somewhere between pleasure and panic.

“You can take it,” he growls against my clit. “This pussy was made for me.”

My hips buck against his hand, chasing the brutal rhythm he sets, while my thighs tremble like they’re caught between rebellion and worship.

“More,” I whisper before I realize I’ve said it.

He lifts his head. “What was that?”

I can’t speak. My mouth is dry, my limbs shaking.

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