Page 55 of LA King

“They don’t. Not here.”

“H-how do you know that?”

“Because this is my club.”

She gasps. “Can’t we just wait until we get home?” She places her glass on the table and holds onto my forearm with both hands now, as though that might be enough to deter me.

I nip her neck. “You seem to forget who’s in charge here.”

She tips her head back, allowing me better access to her sweet-scented skin. “I haven’t forgotten. How could I when you remind me every single day?”

“So behave and let me make you come. You’re fucking soaking my fingers already. I know you want this.”

She hisses out a breath. “Why do you have a booth in your club with no security cameras? How many women have you fucked in here?”

So she’s jealous—and I am a man on the edge. Why does she have to push me? Can she not just do as she’s fucking told? “I have never been unfaithful to you.”

She grits her teeth. “I am your wife, not one of your many conquests who will happily let you fuck them in the middle of your nightclub.”

White-hot rage fueled by a blinding desire to claim her in front of all these people courses through me. I don’t do public displays of any kind—with anyone. Finger-fucking a woman in the middle of my club is a first for me, and it pisses me off that I’m driven feral with the need to do this here. It’s a risk, and I don’t do risks. But she makes me forget all of my rules.

She’s getting too close. I’m letting my guard down with her, and what’s even more dangerous is that she knows it. I can never allow her that kind of control over me.

Not now. Not ever.

I graze my lips across her ear. “You honestly think being my wife equates to you meaning any more to me than all of those other women before you?” I growl, my words cruel but necessary. “Now, you tell me to stop again and I will, or you can open your legs and let me inside what’s mine.”

She glares at me, her chin tilted. She knows she can walk away if she chooses to. But I’m filled with a deep sense of satisfaction when she spreads her thighs and submits to me.

Now I feel like the devil she believes me to be.

But it’s essential that I dial things all the way back, and to do that, I can’t allow her to think there’s anything more to our relationship than sex.

I keep her shielded from view and slip a second finger inside her. She bites down on her lip as her walls clench around me, demanding more.

“You’re dripping down my hand, Alana. You’re going to enjoy this. I’m going to make you come for me, even if you’re determined not to.”

Groaning, she tips her head back and spreads her legs farther. I work my fingers in and out of her soaking wet channel, and she moans.

My cock throbs painfully, desperate to get inside her too. It is fucking weeping for her, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

Fuck! This woman does things to me that I can’t control, and I don’t know how to deal with it.

I’m slammed with a vision of how easy it would be to pull her to straddle me, take out my cock, and have her ride me right here in the privacy of our booth. It’s all I can think about. And because I’ve spent so much time inside her these past few weeks, I know exactly how it would feel to have her squeezing my length the way she’s squeezing my fingers.

It’s too much of a gamble. I’m already taking a risk doing this in the middle of my nightclub. We’re in a discreet booth, and my men will shield us from prying eyes, but there’s always the chance a paparazzi with a long lens has somehow sneaked in here.

No matter the risks, I can’t stop myself.

I continue to finger-fuck her, and while I feel like a bastard for doing it, I feel like a king too. Alana is mine, and I will take her whenever and wherever I want.

Whimpering, she leans her head against my shoulder as her orgasm threatens, trying to stop herself from making too much noise.

I should kiss her. Should stroke her hair with my free hand and tell her that she’s fucking perfect, but I don’t.

I rub my thumb over her clit and bring her to a shuddering orgasm. Then I pull my fingers out of her and suck her sweet juices from them. “Your coño is so fucking good, princesa. You’re lucky I don’t spread you open on this table and eat you out right here.”

She glares at me, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.”