Page 76 of Feral King

We kiss slowly, tenderly. I open my mouth and his tongue glides over mine, his arms wrapping around me.

I take his hand and lead him out of the kitchen, down the hallway to my old childhood bedroom. It’s the same as I remember—twin bed, lavender walls, and a bookshelf full of Anne Rice, Toni Morrison, and Jane Austin, the dog-eared copy ofLittle Womenmy grandmother gave me when I turned ten on the nightstand next to the bed.

The window is cracked open just enough to let in the fresh air, the breeze carrying the faint scent of magnolia.

Julian looks at the twin bed and raises a brow in skepticism, silently plotting out the logistics of the matter.

“We’ll manage,” I say with a small smile.

I push the borrowed tee off his shoulders, revealing the lean, muscled, and tattooed lines of his torso. I place my hand gently on the bandage.

“It’s fine,” he says, then winces, catching himself usingthe word I’ve grown to hate. “It’s healing well. Nothing to worry about.”

I nod, my gaze going back to the bandage. He took a bullet for me, placing himself in the line of fire without thinking twice about it. I lean in and kiss the gauze, his hand coming up and cupping the back of my head.

“Lyra…”

“Shh.” I sink to my knees on the worn rug, working open his belt and zipper.

His cock springs free, already hard for me. I lean forward and lick away the bead of cum on the tip, savoring the sweet taste before wrapping my hand around the base and looking up at him.

After everything—the hospital, the cemetery, paying for Dad’s surgery—I want to give him this. I want to show him that I see the man who doubts himself, the one who grieves, and I want him even more because of it.

I take him into my mouth slowly, and he groans with pleasure. His heat and heft on my tongue is delicious as ever, that faintly salty taste moving over my tongue. Another groan rumbles from his chest as I take more of him into my mouth. My hand strokes whatever my mouth can’t reach, as I swirl my tongue around his head.

I moan softly around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. Julian slips his fingers into my hair, holding me there gently, as if I’m something precious.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth feels like heaven,” he says, his voice raspy. “You feel so goddamn good.”

I work him with slow, loving strokes until his breath turns ragged. I smile as I work, imagining bringing him right to the edge and then over it, what it would be like to feel him erupt inside my mouth, tasting that rich sweetness all the way down my throat.

But I don’t. I pull off with a soft pop and stand, shedding my own clothes as he drinks in the sight of my naked body. He lifts me effortlessly onto the edge of the bed and drops to his knees between my thighs, spreading them wide.

The first touch of his tongue is a slow, broad lick that makes my back arch, and the wordsOh Godpour from my mouth. He hums against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. Julian eats me like I’m a delicious dessert—long, thorough strokes of his tongue followed by gentle suction on my clit that has me whimpering.

Two fingers slide into me, curling against my G-spot. His tongue plays me like an instrument that he’s a goddamn virtuoso at, and I close my eyes, feeling the worship, the pleasure.

“Julian.” My hands fist the quilt on my bed as the orgasm builds fast and sweet. Then it hits, cresting in a warm, rolling wave that pulls a soft cry from my throat. My walls flutter around his fingers, and he stays with me through every pulse, licking me all the way through until the orgasm fades and I’m left trembling and whimpering.

He crawls up my body and turns us sideways on the bed. I giggle at the sight of this tall, muscular man on such a small mattress, his legs dangling off the end, his broad shoulders nearly the width of the bed.

In one impressive, swift move, he flips us over. I straddle his hips; my hands braced on his chest. His cock nestles hot and hard against my entrance, and I grasp it, sinking down slowly, taking him inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. We both moan at the stretch, at the perfect fit. The bed creaks beneath us as I begin to move, slow rolls of my hips, grinding my clit against him with every stroke.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his hands sliding up my thighs to grip my waist. His eyes hold mind, dark yet open in a way I’ve rarely seen. “You feel so fucking perfect, Lyra. Like you were made for me.”

I ride him deep and fast, my breasts bouncing while pleasure coils tightly in my belly. His praise, the way he watches me, hungry and adoring, pushes me over the edge again. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, a bright burst that makes me clench around him hard. I cry out his name, and he groans, thrusting up to meet me.

Before I can catch my breath, he flips us again, sliding back inside with one smooth glide. The new angle makes me gasp, then moan, the pleasure absolutely delectable.

He moves with deep, rolling strokes, his pubic bone grinding against my clit on every deep thrust.

I love you.

As the words come to mind, they scare me and I freeze up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sensing that something’s off.

“Yes. I’m good.” I smile. “Keep going.”