Pleasure shot up my leg, a filthy jolt straight to my cock. The intimacy of it—the sight of a king on his knees, lips wrapped around my toes, eyes dark with want—broke something open inside me. I hissed, hips rolling involuntarily, thighs pressing tight around his shoulders as if to keep him in place forever.
He didn’t stop at one. His tongue traced the line of each toe, wet and obscene, sucking them one by one, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin, leaving my foot slick with spit and need. He pressed kisses to my ankle, the top of my foot, each spot worshipped like it mattered, like I mattered.
The king murmured against my skin, the vibrations sending shivers up my calves. “You taste like sweat and salt and power. I could stay here all night, on my knees for you. Let me.”
My voice was gone, replaced by broken sounds, need thick in my chest. I flexed my toes in his mouth, the heat and pressure nearly unbearable. He sucked harder, greedy, savoring every reaction he dragged from me.
He nipped at the arch, tongue sliding up to my ankle, sucking a bruise into the thin skin there. His hands smoothed over my calves, kneading the muscles, fingers digging in, as if he could mold me into someone new beneath his touch.
He lifted my right foot, holding it in both hands, pressing the sole to his face, breathing me in. He licked a slow stripe from heel to toe, sucking the ball between his lips, grinding his own hips into the carpet for relief. The silk of his pajamas clung to his body, the outline of his cock unmistakable, straining and leaking against the dark fabric.
“Let me worship all of you,” he groaned, dragging his tongue over the sensitive skin between my toes, licking up the arch, trailing saliva over every inch. “You’re perfect. You’re a goddamn masterpiece.”
My cock throbbed at the praise, at the sight of a king made supplicant, desperate for even the taste of me. I thrust my foot against his mouth, demanding more, silently begging him to go further, to lose himself in worship.
He moaned, sucking hard, tongue fucking the gap between my toes, fingers pressing into my arches, kneading, squeezing, worshipping with mouth and hands and voice. Every muscle in my body locked tight, thighs trembling with the effort not to come just from the sight of it.
A sharp knock shattered the spell, echoing through the warm hushlike a gunshot. Both our heads jerked up, breath ragged, hunger snarling beneath the abrupt intrusion.
The king’s hands lingered at my ankles a moment longer, as if unwilling to let go. His mouth was wet, his jaw marked where my foot had pressed. He wiped at his lips, stumbled to his feet, silk pyjamas hanging open, hair wild and face flushed with sin.
Crossing the room, he cracked the heavy door just wide enough for a silhouette. Authority slipped back into his voice. “What is it?” he demanded, trying for steel but still hoarse with want.
Detective Akintola filled the threshold: six feet of unyielding muscle and focus, dressed in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the line of his body humming with quiet power. Dark eyes flicked from the king’s open collar and tousled state to me—half-dressed, legs sprawled, shirt half-untucked, cock jutting out from unzipped trousers. His gaze caught, lingered, taking it all in with a slow, hungry calculation.
The king didn’t reach to close his robe or button up. He just stepped aside, voice low and deliberate. “Come in, detective. Stay and watch if you want. There’s room for more eyes tonight.”
Akintola’s composure barely cracked, but the way his fingers shifted—just brushing the front of his trousers, knuckles flexing—betrayed the stir beneath. He stepped in, shut the door behind him, and leaned back against the oak, arms crossed over his chest, feet braced wide. Silence reigned for a heartbeat. His gaze devoured me, then raked over the king, the flush at the king’s neck, the raw want still painting every line of his body.
The king crossed back to me with a feral sort of grace. His eyes didn’t leave Akintola as he knelt between my thighs again, palms running up the insides of my calves, spreading me wide, laying me out for inspection. “Don’t mind the detective,” he purred, voice guttural, “He’s here to see how royalty is served. Aren’t you, Akintola?”
The detective’s voice was rough gravel. “Long as you don’t mind being observed.” His hand stayed at his fly, thumb flicking over his belt, the bulge there unmistakable, pressing hard against dark wool.
The king’s mouth found mine, all spit and teeth, no patience left.His tongue forced my lips open, filthy and deep, tasting of sweat and wine and something darker. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, then spat—long, wet, landing right back on his tongue. He grinned, then spat back, catching my lower lip, smearing slick between us. His teeth grazed my jaw, lips dragging down my neck, open-mouthed, savage, wet.
He shoved his hand inside my pants again, fisting my cock, jerking slow, squeezing until my hips bucked off the chair. “You want everyone to see you like this?” he whispered, biting my ear. “Want to show off?”
Akintola’s gaze never left us, eyes gone dark and greedy, breathing deepening as he watched the king spit again, thick and heavy, straight into my mouth. I swallowed it down, pulling the king closer, daring him for more.
“Don’t stop,” I growled, wrapping my legs around his waist, grinding up into his fist, loving the heat in Akintola’s stare, the way his hand pressed harder against his own bulge, cock already straining at the seam.
The king’s tongue slid into my mouth, slick and filthy, swapping spit, every breath a low, aching whine. My hips thrust into his fist, pants shoved down my thighs, balls aching for release. The king pulled back, lips swollen, face wrecked with hunger, then glanced up at the detective—silent question, invitation, or just raw display, I couldn’t tell.
Akintola uncrossed his arms, fingers sliding slow down his zipper, watching us with predator’s patience, his body tensed and ready.
The king dove down again, mouth crashing against mine, the taste of spit and hunger and need making me shake. He pulled me up, teeth scraping my jaw, breath ragged, his own cock pressed against my thigh, silk slick and hot.
“Let him watch you fall apart,” he growled, words spat into my mouth, every syllable a claim, a promise, a dare.
The detective’s eyes gleamed, fingers tightening at his groin, anticipation coiling in the room like lightning about to strike.
The king’s mouth branded mine, spit and hunger and all that needrolling through me, shaking me to the bone. His cock pressed hot through silk against my thigh, hips rocking, desperate for friction. Akintola’s eyes burned a hole through my skin, hunger and challenge flashing in the dim.
Alexandre’s fingers found my jaw, tipping my head back. “Come,” he said, voice jagged and thick with command. “Both of you. There’s somewhere else I want you.”
He broke away, barely decent in his open robe, cock straining under the thin pyjamas, chest heaving with the effort to stay in control. His hand caught Akintola’s wrist, then mine, dragging us both through a hidden panel in the wood—a flush seam beside the fireplace. A cold gust of air swept across my chest as the door swung open, revealing a narrow stone stairwell descending into shadow.
My pulse hammered. Every sense sharpened. My cock throbbed with the promise of what waited below.
