Page 55 of Christmas Mafia Prince
He lets me herd him like a good sheep, but when I push him into the library, then lock the door, we both end up staring at one another—embarrassed for very different reasons.
He swallows, sweet, plump lips hanging open as Killian takes me in, uncertainty weaved through his gaze. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but I was looking for you for another reason and it kinda… happened.” His dark eyes settle onme and I slam my hand on the base of the table lamp on the large desk in the middle of this dark sanctuary full of books and maps. It’s like putting a spotlight on him when the rest of the room is shrouded in darkness. “But I’ve never felt more chosen,” he adds in a soft voice. “Like I matter.”
There’s a pang in my chest, and I cup his face with one hand, trying to remember what exactly I said in my exasperation. “Because you do matter. You matter to me. You’re my husband, and I don’t want anyone else. I’m sorry you had to hear what my father said about you.”
“It’s frustrating, I thought he was over it all, but I don’t care as long as you are at my side. My defender.” Kill’s smile widens, and he pokes my chest. I adore how playful he can be.
“You still shouldn’t have eavesdropped. You’re a very bad boy,” I say, shaking my head.
He looks up, and the dim light sets his eyes on fire. “Just a little. Hurt no one.”
Oh, now he’s just asking for it.
“No? I think your feelings were hurt pretty badly for no reason. I’m there to be your shield and protect you. You should have left the moment you realized what we’re discussing,” I say, grabbing the little padlock around his neck. Thanks to it, I will never lose him.
Kill spreads his arms. “What can I say? Don’t the tattoos speak for me? I’m not a good boy.”
I grab his arm and spin him around so he faces the table. “No. Definitely naughty.” Going by his gasp, he knows what’s about to happen, and doesn’t protest. “Pants down,” I demand, glad I’ve locked the door.
Killian looks back at me, so stunning in his elegant outfit, his eyes rimmed with dark shadow. He doesn’t say anything, but his Adam’s apple bobs when he unzips his pants and pulls them down.
Black jockstrap with a leather front. He really is a bad boy.
“Someone had high hopes for this evening,” I whisper, trailing my fingers across his ass. “But now you need to be punished for being naughty. Hands on the table.”
He follows the order and bends over the desk, but unlike during the frustration-charged spanking at the boutique, he sneaks excited glances at me, as if he’s already anticipating the burn of my hand. My father has no idea. I’ve chosen the perfect husband. All we need is to fill out the paperwork when we’re back home, because I’ve even put the ring on his finger already.
“That’s good. I like that you acknowledge your mistake,” I say, outlining his buttocks with my fingers. The jockstrap is the perfect frame to put them on display, and once they’re flushed, it’ll only make the rosy shade stand out.
Blood rushes to my head when I slap one side, watching the flesh bounce for my pleasure. Fucking him earlier today felt like coming home. A tight hug from his hole before it drunk up all my cum.
“This isn’t for your fun,” I say, even though we both know it is. I slap his ass a little harder, loving the way he clenches it with a whimper. Killian lowers himself to his elbows on the desk, presenting his body.
“If you say so,” he mumbles, but his voice turns into a moan when I slap the underside of one butt cheek, then the other, and then strike them both hard.
Killian squeezes his ass, twists his hips, and raises one leg, but I’m not done with him. “Ten more strokes. You will count, so you remember exactly what happened when you last eavesdropped.”
He takes a deep breath, then obediently counts the first three out loud. Just as he expects to say four, I slide my fingers into his crack and it’s me who has to stifle a groan when I press my fingertip to his hot pucker and find it slippery. Looks like he prepared more than his choice of underwear.
“Now that’s what I call naughty.” I tsk as he whimpers, helpless from the teasing. “Will you take my load again? Drip cum all over the floor when we go back to the party?”
Killian’s breath becomes ragged, so I make him count again, my cock so very hard I can barely think.
Four. Five. Six. Seven.
I lick his asshole with the tip of my finger, then take it away, delivering another three strikes. I don’t hold back, and the tenth has my love squirming, and his ass—a red shade. But we both love it. I know we do. He even spreads his thighs wider.
“You will swallow,” I say, opening my zipper. “Come and get it.”
Killian’s legs tremble as he pulls away from the desk, eyes dazed. I grab his hand when he attempts to pull his pants up. “No. Keep them down in case I change my mind.” Also, he makes the prettiest picture like this. Dressed so refined, but his pants at his knees. It makes me feel so powerful to know he’s like this for me. To the world, he shows his spikes. For me, he kneels.
I lean my ass against the desk, and when he goes down, I pull out my cock, all hard and ready for Killian’s mouth.
“Make me come,” I tell him, painting his open lips with my pre-cum. Seeing them glisten with my own slick makes my balls throb, but I’m not done with him yet and push the head up his soft tongue. What a perfect mouth—warm, soft, a promise of constant pleasure—and it’s all mine.
“We don’t have all evening.”
I pull his head closer by the ears, wary of his gag reflex. Despite what he asked the first time he sucked me off, it’s not very sensitive. He must have just dealt with assholes whose heads I’d put on pikes if I could. Kill has such an active tongue too, quick and eager to please me as he sucks.
