Page 43 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

“You, Kingston.”

“Who’s going to command your delicate body like my custom-made whore?”

“You.”

“And you’re only allowed to answer with what?”

“Yes.” A vicious pull yanks my head backward, sending delicious pain down my spine.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, King,” I whimper, meeting his feral brown orbs. I was right. He’s a wolf parading in a charming sheep’s clothing. It took him a single day to lure me in.

Actually, no. I’ve been his imprisoned little prey since our kiss six months ago.

Night and day, he lived rent-free inside my head.

It was a matter of time on fate’s part until he physically owned me too.

“Now be a good girl and don’t make a sound.”

I tremble, gaze widening when he gets down on his knees. I glance worriedly at the open doorway of the kitchen. “What are you doing, King?”

“What does it look like?” he taunts, lifting my sweater to kiss my naked stomach. His large and tatted hands wrap entirely around my waist, his thumbs running soothing circles that do the opposite of calming me down. “I’m about to have my breakfast. You haven’t fed me and I’m starving, darling.”

Oh. My. God.

His deft fingers pop open my jeans and the sound of the zipper lowering crackles in the room. I’ve had ex-boyfriends go down on me before, but none had Kingston’s raw masculinity and sinful sex appeal. Neither looked so eager to taste my pussy.

Like it would be as much a pleasure for him as it’ll be for me.

It’s a heady feeling.

When my black thong is revealed to his eyes, they darken even more upon seeing the embarrassing wet spot. I should be shy but I’m not. This is what his proximity, his deep voice, and his drugging kisses do to me. I’m not lying or exaggerating when I say that a look alone from him is enough to make my panties damp.

“Naughty whore,” he taunts, running his nose against my slit visible through the thong. “Have you been this wet all morning while working around my staff?”

“Yes,” I answer, threading my fingers through his messy strands. “You’re to blame.”

A lascivious smile curves his lips. He tugs at my clothes but my knee-high boots don’t allow my jeans to go far. Hooking his hands around my thighs, he stretches me to my limits until there’s enough space for his lips to press against my dripping slit.

The first touch jolts me.

But it’s nothing compared to the sensation of his tongue licking a path up and down, soaking the material until it’s sticking to my pussy. My clit throbs being teased by his soft breath and edged by the promise of his stubble-covered mouth.

“You interrupted me before,” he rasps, sliding my thong to the side. Tearing his eyes from my bare mound, they lock on mine. “Don’t do it again. Unless you want to be punished with tears streaming down your face.”

“O-okay.”

“And, Twinkle…” A pause. “Not. A. fucking. Sound.”

One second, I’m sheathed; the next second, my flimsy thong is torn with a flick of his wrist.

I swallow my gasp.

Head bending, his tongue delves between my folds while his lips seal around my pussy in a kiss. Licking every corner, he cleans my juices, but more and more wetness keeps leaking. I’m so bloody turned on. He sucks on my slit, nipping with his teeth, sending vibrations up to my chest.

Blinding pleasure consumes me and I come real fucking close to disobeying him.

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