Page 163 of Wanted By a King

My breath hitches as Gray slides two fingers between my folds, and a rumble of approval emanates from his throat as he finds me wet.

“Is this what you want, Princess?” he rasps.

Shaking my head, I push his hand away. “No,” I moan.

If the situation was less dire, I’d probably laugh at the dumbfounded expression on his face. But there’s nothing funny about it right now.

“Fuck me,” I breathe. “Hard.”

As he shakes his head, it’s my turn to be taken aback. “No, Princess.”

“N-no?” I sputter.

His words are like cold water being splashed onto my hot skin.

“Not until I can take my time with you,” he clarifies. “But I can still make you come with my cock.”

Rather than second-guessing myself, I whisper, “Please.”

The one word is barely out of my mouth before he lifts me up, and I quickly wrap my legs around his waist.

As I move my hands to the back of his neck, he takes a step, and I feel the cold metal of the elevator against my back. Gray rolls his hips, making me moan as he grinds his hard cock against my core.

“There’s a camera in here, Princess. So keep your head down so no one else sees what you look like when you come,” he groans.

I don’t remind him of the Fourth of July BBQ where the entire club could both see and hear me come on his cock. Doing as he wants, I move my head to the crook of his neck. While he grinds into me at a delicious pace, his hard length nudging my throbbing clit with each movement, I kiss, lick, and nip at his skin.

It tastes like freedom and safety, everything that Gray stands for.

“More,” I whimper, struggling to fight the urge to lift my head.

I want to kiss him, taste his pleasure and anguish, yet I don’t disobey. Like a good girl—hisgood girl—I keep my face hidden.

We’re both breathing heavily, each chasing the high and release we need. I gyrate my hips, meeting his every thrust until I can barely hold myself upright.

“Oh my God,” I cry out. “I’m… I’m… Gray!”

He pistons his hips against me in frantic, desperate moves. “Princess,” he groans.

I feel his hand between us as he jerks open his pants, freeing his hardness.

“What are you doing?” I ask on a moan as the tip of his cock rubs against my clit, sending me closer to the edge.

“I’m not coming in my pants,” he rasps while pushing my underwear to the side.

His words barely register, and I don’t care to ask him to elaborate as the engorged head slips between my folds.

As my orgasm crests, I bite into the tender flesh on his neck, uncaring if I break the skin. It muffles my cries and moans.

Gray pushes all the way inside me, and I feel the spurts of his cum as soon as he’s balls deep. He grunts my name, repeating it like a chant while he fills me up.

Instead of the usual serene feeling that follows sex with Gray, guilt slams into me. What the fuck was I thinking? People died and I’m… I’m… shit, this is all so messed up. I don’t know the right way to behave, or what I ought to do or feel. Yet I’m pretty sure fucking in an elevator isn’t on the approved list of activities after an attack.

“Stop it,” Gray barks.

After helping me down to the floor, he tucks his dick away and rearranges his clothes.

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling extremely shitty by what just transpired between us. How selfish can I be?

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