Page 37 of Savage King

His sigh is loud and deep, his hand still hovering over my skin, his fingers only slightly brushing me. That little touch is enough to make me want him again.

"We do," he agrees, pulling back his hand.

"How about you take a shower, and I'll order us some food? Then we can talk while you put some meat back on your bones, " he suggests.

The plan sounds heavenly.

He reaches for his pants, and the light catches on a round scar by his shoulder, one I noticed earlier. It’s round and reminds me of a sun with thin, short lines spreading out from it. "How did you get this?" I'm not sure where my question comes from.I'm not usually a straightforward person like this.I don't sleep with men after only knowing them for a few days either, my mind announces. My snarky self responds immediately:only if he saves my life.

I pull my finger back, horrified by my directness. "I'm sorry."

He laughs and takes my hand, kissing my fingers. "I always want you to ask or tell me anything that is on that pretty mind of yours. I got shot."

My heart rate increases a few beats; this man is just too much. Too nice, too intense, too thoughtful, too… everything.Dangerous, my mind adds,he just said he was shot.Our world and his are light years apart. He breaks the law, and we are a museum curator. He breaks the law. I repeat the words a few times. No, they don't bother me at all anymore. I've always been a good girl. It was literally pounded into me, and I'm sick of it. I've never felt more alive than since I received a glimpse of the other side. If Antonio is bad, I want to be bad too. He has shown me more compassion in a few days than any of thegoodpeople in my world have in a lifetime.

"Shower, food," he reminds me, still smiling, playfully pushing me toward the bathroom door as if he hadn't just very offhandedly told me that he’d been shot. "Do you need me to carry you?"

This time, it's me who laughs. "You didn't seem worried about that when…" My face turns instantly fire hydrant red. Who is this person talking for me?

He throws his head back and laughs. "Touché, my little spitfire. I knew there was more to you than just good looks."

My knees tremble when I get up, but the tremble has nothing to do with weakness; lying in bed for a couple of days has done me wonders. Very aware of my nakedness, I summon all my hard-earned lessons from my mom:walk erect,swing that booty and those hips. Move your arms the opposite way. I make my exit to the bathroom, walking like a runway model and sensing his eyes on me. His hot gaze fuels me and sends rushes of confidence through me that have been lacking for many years.

Playful, I pause by the door and look over my shoulder at him; our eyes meet, and I wink.

"Fuck!" he grumbles and rushes forward.

I squeal as his hands embrace my hips.

"How sore are you?"

"It could be worse," I answer, but I'm lying. My insides burn.

"Liar," he calls me out, taking my face between his hands. "Don't ever lie to me, passerotta."

"Alright, I'm a little sore," I admit.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as if summoning all his strength. He leans forward until our foreheads meet. "You're killing me, Scarlet."

He is close enough for his hard cock to poke my stomach.

"Then let me save you, like you did me," I reply, lowering myself to my knees and staring at the world's most beautiful cock. Long and thick, I doubt I could wrap one hand around it and have the tips of my fingers touch. It feels good kneeling in front of him, having his cock in my hands. The way he looks at me through hooded eyes makes me feel… wicked and good. Not as in goodgirl, good, but mentally good. I doubt a lady would ever do this—this wasn't something my mom taught me—but to hell with being a lady.

"What are you doing to me?" he asks hoarsely.

"What do you think?" I mumble, stroking the velvety, thick-veined skin lovingly before I put the tip into my mouth.

He groans.

Rob didn't like to see me naked, but he did like a blowjob. I hated it. Hated how degraded I felt, being on my knees in front of him. But not with Antonio. Not at all. I feel incredibly powerful and naughty. And as the pulse returning in my clit can attest, sucking him off is turning me on.

I watch the muscles—the six-pack—on his abdomen quiver as I take more of him in. There is no way his entire cock will fit into my mouth, but I have an idea.

I bob my head up and down his length, then pull back to kiss and lick his shaft from head to hilt, massaging in the inevitable spit coming from my mouth onto his cock.

"Madre Dio," he groans, his head falls back. I look up and watch the rippling of his muscles move through him, feeling it in my shoulders as his massive thighs tremble. Making him quiver emboldens me even more. I move down and lick his balls, then gently suck them into my mouth.

"Mio Dio, fuck, Scarlet!" his groans intensify, and so does my activity on his dick. Moving faster, massaging the parts that won't fit into my mouth, I feel tremors move through his cock. His hands entangle with my hair. For a moment I fear he'll pushme forward, deeper on his cock, but he doesn't, he's only holding on to me. My right hand cups his balls, and I lightly squeeze.

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