Page 84 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

There was none of the urgency or overpowering need to rush.

Just passion and gentle strokes of his tongue.

The love bites and bruises on my flesh looked darker and striking in the bright morning light. Kingston was truly mirroring a wicked wolf by sneaking into my bed and ravaging me.

Once he realized I was awake, he flipped us over until I was straddling his face and whispered for me to ride his mouth. As I slowly did, awakening my senses to pulsing lust, I almost lost my rhythm when I glanced over my shoulder to catch him pumping his rigid cock. One hand fisted his length, while the other fondled his balls.

His strokes raced in tune to my thrusts.

I held off my own demanding orgasm just to edge him, loving how he groaned in frustration. The vibration only sent tremors to my breasts, hardening my nipples. His tongue lashed at my pussy, grazing my clit with his sharp teeth.

It sent me over the edge and for those long magnetic seconds, I forgot if I was suffocating him with my pussy. I just used him with wild abandon and ground on his stubbled mouth, which triggered his own orgasm.

He bit down on my thigh from how hard he came. Afterward, he made me clean his cum-slicked hands by licking and sucking them.

Followed by the most erotic kiss of my life.

It was only after a minute as I caught my breath that I realized just how sore I was. There wasn’t a part of my body that wasn’t aching and protesting. But, of course, it was a delicious type of pain. A reminder of just how out of this world last night was.

Then like a true and caring gentleman, he ran me a warm bath to treat my aching muscles. Yes, we christened the hot tub and it was exactly how I imagined it’d be.

Romantic and dreamy.

My back against Kingston’s hard chest, his gruff and sexy voice in my ear as we talked about every random thing we could think of. I would often get distracted by his roaming hands over the possessive marks he left, but I kept talking his ear off as he hung on to every word I said.

While I loved the animalistic sex and dark chemistry in the sheets between us, I found talking to him more intimate. It was so effortless, laughing with him. Sharing funny high school stories, like the lectures I would bunk with Tina, or how once we almost got suspended. He teased me saying I was a hellraiser just like him.

I learned he spent half of his childhood in Switzerland before his parents moved to New York when he was fourteen. That’s why I couldn’t pinpoint his accent, because it was a rich blend between both countries.

We’re both also an only child and shared the common yearning for a sibling.

I even told him about my parents before the divorce, about his nana’s advice. He was supportive and said I should get the weight off my heart.

Besides Tina, I’ve never gotten close to someone as fast and hard as I have with Kingston. I’m known as someone who has walls around her heart.

Kingston didn’t crush or tear them down because honestly, around him, they were never there to begin with.

It’s the most gut-wrenching truth.

Now, hours later, the same wolf is about to take me out on a date. We’re planning on riding the cable car to the top of theMatterhorn, which is a must-see spot while visiting Zermatt. Or anywhere in Switzerland, honestly.

“I have a couple of emails to send to the vendor and then we’ll leave,” informs Kingston, lifting my hand to press a kiss on the inside of my wrist.

I smile when I see him wearing the watch I gifted last night.

Of course, I’m wearing the necklace he gave me too.

On his desk, I see a bunch of framed photos of family and friends. Curious, I pick the third one, where he’s standing between two—as equally tall and fit as him—guys. Each different than the last.

One has dark hair and is posh-looking with a devious smirk. The second is dark blond holding an impassive look bordering on menacing and screams malevolence. Kingston’s expression falls somewhere between the two.

However, there’s no denying the trio is hot in their own right.

The different types of men that women fawn over in a single frame.

“Are they your best friends?” I ask Kingston.

He glances at the photo, a pinch forming between his brows before he smoothens it and replies with a lighthearted smile, “Yeah. That’s Josh with the smile, who I met in college. And the one glaring at the camera is Pierce. He’s my childhood friend.”

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