“Fuck, Rip. Yes,” Kingsley tries to keep his voice steady, but it wavers. Then he whines, “Hurry up.”
My balls fill with blood as I thrust into him. The sound of my hips slapping his cheeks fills the stillness as I pound into him, my piercing scraping against his insides with each movement. I press his face deep into the pillow, each thrust eliciting a groan from Kingsley as we pant in unison.
Kingsley Beaumont is beneath me, completely surrendering his body to me to give him the most intense pleasure he’s ever known. It’s like he knows nobody else will ever touch him like I do, and if they try, it won’t even compare.
King hasn’t grasped it yet. His mind, his body, his everything—no one gets to touch him but me.
Still moving inside him, I speak between breaths. “Hands on the headboard.”
I don’t know if it’s because he didn’t hear me or if he’s too dazed to, but he doesn’t budge. Unfortunately for him, his listening skills are the one thing I expect from him.
I pull out, not completely, but enough to deliver a sharp slap to his cheek. “Hands on the headboard, Prince.”
He listens this time, his chest rising as he pushes himself up, palms pressing against the headboard. Kingsley lets out the sexiest moans I’ve ever heard as I fuck him fast and hard, my body tingling with intense pleasure.
Heat and tension surge through me as I near climax. My hand slides around his stomach, grasping his now pointed dick and stroking it.
“Do you like that, Kingsley?” I whisper, low and seductive. “Do you like how hard my cock rams into your tight hole? How my piercing feels scraping your insides?”
He tries to nod, but the movement is too feeble to count. I have him so spent that he can’t even form words.
“By the time I’m done with you, my cock will be the only one you crave. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, Prince.”
With one last thrust, we both come undone. My warm seed fills him through the rubber, his shudders spreading over the sheets before he falls limp.
I fall on top of him, sweaty as we try to catch our breath. Gently, I pull myself out of him, and he flinches.
With his face buried in the pillow, I can’t tell how he feels. “King? You alright?”
He nods, but no verbal response. I run a shaky hand through my hair. Now isn’t the time for his silence.
“Kingsley, speak,” I command gently.
He lets out a heavy sigh before lifting his head. King wipes at his eyes, but not before I see the wetness surrounding them.
Kingsley’s eyes meet mine. “I just needed a minute.”
I reach out and wipe his cheek. “Fucking hell, Kingsley. You’re crying.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“What do you mean so?” My hand closes around his wrist, aiming for comfort, but it’s firmer than I anticipated. “If I were hurting you, you should have opened your fucking mouth. No—I should have paid more attention. Either way, I didn’t want you?—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. Kingsley pries his wrist from my grasp. “Jesus, you’re so worked up. I’m not upset from pain; it’s how my body responds.”
He’s trying to make me feel better, but the weighted guilt in my chest isn’t going away. I don’t know why I care so much. I’d never want anyone I’m with to leave in pain, but Kingsley especially. Something in me wants to punish myself for hurting him, like I did to Victor.
“I’m good, Rip. I want you to get that into your thick skull,” he says. Then, he points a finger at me, threatening. “But if you tell anyone I fucking cried in front of you, you’re a dead man.”
Something in his words is slightly comforting, but guilt still weighs on my chest. I hate the feeling.
Yet, it also turns me on how well he took me. The bloke didn’t complain once, and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
I quirk a smile. “So, you’re a slut?”
He smiles. “Apparently, you want to ruin me for everyone else. So that would mean I’m your slut, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you want to be?”
