Page 110 of The King's Pawn
“Sasha…” His name on my lips is a plea, ragged and needy.
He leans down to kiss me again, swallowing the sounds I can’t hold back as his fingers thrust deeper. I clutch at his shoulders through his shirt, my nails digging in, my body already climbing toward the edge.
He pulls his fingers away just as I’m teetering on the brink, making me whimper in protest. But then he’s shifting, moving back just enough to tug his own clothes off before tossing the remainder of mine onto the floor. Once we’re both completely stripped down, he guides himself to my entrance.
The thick head of his cock replacing his fingers, pressing in slowly, stretching me open inch by inch until the fullness is overwhelming. It’s perfectly consuming, making my back arch as he fully seats himself inside me. A low moan tears from my throat, my walls clenching tight to feel every line of him.
He stills for a moment, letting out a slow breath. Then, he’s leaning forward, curling his arms around me and pressing his forehead against mine.
He starts to move. His thrusts are impossibly deep, dragging over every sensitive spot inside me, building the heat fast and fierce. His hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit once more, rubbing in tight circles that match the rhythm of his hips.
“Oh, God,” I choke out.
The pleasure coils tighter until it finally snaps.
I come with a sharp cry, clenching around him as the waves crash through my body. He groans my name but doesn’t let up. His rhythm soon turns punishing. My nails score down his back, anchoring myself as the climax drags on, my hips jerking helplessly against his.
Each thrust is deep, brutal, driving into me like he’s trying to brand himself inside my very core. The headboard knocks against the wall in a steady, relentless beat that matches the slap of his skin against mine.
I’m oversensitive, every stroke bordering on too much but the overstimulation twists into something darker,hotter.
My body, the traitorous and greedy thing that it is, starts climbing again almost instantly. The friction of his thick cock drags across my swollen, fluttering walls and igniting fresh sparks that nearly white out my vision.
I wrap my legs higher around his waist, heels digging into the hard muscle of his ass, urging him on even as tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the intensity.
“Sasha…” It comes out in a broken half-plea.
His answer is a growl against my throat, teeth scraping the skin before he bites down just hard enough to mark. One hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so he can claim my mouth in amessy, desperate kiss. His tongue thrusts in time with his cock, swallowing every cry I can’t hold back.
Sweat slicks our skin, making every slide filthier. He takes his hand out from between us and uses it to grip my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me exactly where he wants me as he pounds into me with single-minded focus. I feel him swelling thicker inside me, the tell-tale throb that means he’s close.
“Come again,” he rasps against my throat, his voice wrecked. “I want to feel you break around me one more time.”
The command shoves me straight over the edge. I shatter a second time, my body locking down on his in vise-like spasms as a silent scream tears from my throat. The pleasure borders on pain as it floods every inch of me.
He curses and slams into me once, twice, and then buries himself with a guttural groan. I feel him pulse inside me, his release flooding inside as his hips jerk through the aftershocks. His arms give out and he collapses, catching his weight on his elbows at the last second so he doesn’t crush me.
I reach up and pull him down, anyway, needing to feel him pressed solidly against me.
We stay fused together for a while as our bodies slowly come down. His lips brush along my pulse point in soft, reverent kisses that feel almost apologetic after the storm he just unleashed. My fingers thread weakly through his damp hair, holding him there because I’m not ready for him to pull away.
He murmurs something that I don’t quite catch against my throat, the words muffled against my skin where his teeth had marked me moments ago.
“What was that?” I ask. My fingers tighten in his hair, tugging gently but firmly to pull him back up so I can see his face.
He blinks at me, eyes blurry and unfocused, pupils blown wide with lingering pleasure. A faint flush rides high on his cheekbones. He looks wrecked in the most beautiful way. But when he speaks again, he hesitates. “I…”
My brows crease together, and then a cold dread seeps into me, freezing any lingering warmth still pulsing through my veins.
If he tries to put distance between us again, I’ll never survive it. Once was horrible. Twice had been torture. A third time will downright kill me. Not metaphorically or in that poetically pathetic way you get after a bad breakup. This would hollow me out until there was nothing left but the echo of what I used to be.
I feel it already—the fragile thing blooming inside me, tender and dangerous, cracking along the edges the longer he hesitates. My fingers loosen in his hair without meaning to, sliding down to cup his face instead, my thumbs brushing over his cheekbones to physically anchor him here and keep him from retreating into the man I once feared.
Don’t do this.
Don’t ruin this.
Not when I can still feel the warmth of him pressed inside me, not when my heart is stupidly, recklessly close to feeling something I swore I would never let myself with him.
