Page 52 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
No, the only things I have to concern myself with are how fucking wrong she is, and how I’m going to find a way into that tight pussy again. The alternative is not an option, and her willingness is non-negotiable. That’s one thing I won’t compromise on.
* * *
When I step into the palatial shower in my master bath a half hour later, the only thought on my mind is how fucking sweet it’s going to be when I get what I want. Again. And again. Keira can lie to herself all she wants, but I know the truth.
“Fuck.” I bite out the curse as I step under the spray, and water hits the teeth marks on my shoulder and the claw marks on my back left by my little Irish hellion despite her earlier injury.
She was fucking magnificent. No, not past tense. Is. Even as she walked away wearing nothing but my coat, she held her head high and proud. Most men won’t look me in the eye, but this woman isn’t afraid to declare all-out war.
If she thinks her cursing me to hell is going to make me more likely to let her go, she’s delusional. She amuses me. Challenges me. And goddamn, she enrages me to the point where the only thing I can do is fuck her into submission. Which, luckily for both of us, she needs, whether she realizes it yet or not.
I replay the scene in my head from tonight, from the moment she stepped into the dining room in that dress. Her amazing tits on display just the way I wanted them, the slits up both sides of the skirt showing off her legs with every step.
I close my hand around my cock as I picture her walking toward me like a queen deigning to allow a peon an audience.
She calls me arrogant, but every time she raises that haughty chin of hers, I want to take her over my knee and spank her ass, which makes my dick even harder.
I don’t need to get myself off in the shower. It hasn’t even been an hour since I came, but I can’t stop seeing and hearing her in my head.
“Go fuck yourself, Mount. I’ll never get on my knees for you.”
Oh, but you will, Keira. You will. And I will make sure you enjoy every fucking second of it.
With one hand pressed against the stone wall of the shower, I grip my cock tighter and stroke it as I picture those pissed-off red lips turning pouty and soft after I’ve gotten her off enough times that she begs me to stop because she can’t take any more and promises me anything in return. That’s when they’ll be wrapped around my cock.
My balls tighten at the mental picture, and I stroke harder and faster.
Fuck, I don’t even need her on her knees. She can hang that thick mane of red hair over the edge of the bed, and I’ll fuck her face and teach her to take every inch down her throat without gagging.
My cock pulses, my orgasm bearing down faster than I expect considering that I just came. But it’s not me. It’s the thought of her moaning as she sucks and tongues my shaft every time I pull out until I blow inside her mouth and watch my cum drip from those stubborn lips.
Mine.
As my cum splatters the rock wall in my shower, I swear to myself it’s the last time. She’ll never deny me again.
She may have marked me tonight, but I marked her first.
Keira Kilgore needs another lesson in what it means to be owned by Lachlan Mount.
Keira
When I wake the next morning, I bolt up in bed, my head swiveling from side to side. It’s the same way I wake up every time in this damn room. Never knowing if I’m going to be alone, or who has been in here during the night. Based on the spinning fireplace in the library that I saw the first time I was delivered to Mount, I know this place is riddled with secret passageways and hidden entrances. That’s assuming, I suppose, that the room I’m being kept in is even in the same building as the library. Honestly, I don’t know where the hell I am.
This morning, I see no one, and it’s a relief. I shift, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and out from under the covers. Muscles I don’t recall having twinge in protest. I try focusing on my sore hand instead, but fail miserably because all I can think about is the ache between my legs. I still feel him pounding into me.
I’ve only had one sexual encounter in my life that remotely approached what happened last night, and that was the first time Brett and I were together. It was never that good again. Probably because I married him within twenty-four hours, and he didn’t feel the need to expend the effort.
I push that thought aside, but the one that follows doesn’t make me feel much better.
I don’t know how last night happened. As I stumble into the massive bathroom, I feel taken. Owned. Used. But not in a bad way. Or maybe just not the bad way I expected.
I move toward the shower and reach inside to flip the handle to hot. I spent a half hour in there last night, determined to scrub his touch from my body, but it didn’t work.
I still feel him on every inch of me.
While I wait for the water to heat, I brush out my tangled mass of hair. I’m beginning to get used to my nakedness, something I’ve never been comfortable with before. I suppose it’s because I have no clothes and, therefore, no other option.
I put that item on my agenda for today. This one-outfit-at-a-time bullshit has to end.
