Page 17 of Owned By Royal

Then his mouth is on me, and I cry out, my forehead dropping to the couch. He licks into me with devastating precision, his tongue finding every sensitive spot, circling, teasing, driving me toward the edge with terrifying speed. I grip the leather tighter, my knuckles white, my hips bucking against his mouth.

He pulls back just as I’m about to shatter, and I whimper at the loss.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough. “I want to taste all of you first.”

He turns me around and lifts me onto the couch, spreading my legs wide. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, and I feel the flush spread from my chest to my cheeks. I’m exposed, open, and the knowledge that anyone could walk in and see me like this only makes me burn hotter.

He kneels between my thighs and leans down, his mouth finding my breast through my shirt. I gasp, arching into him, and he laughs against my skin. Then his hands are at my buttons, undoing them with practiced ease, and my bra follows. His mouth closes around my nipple, sucking hard, and I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He lavishes attention on both breasts, his tongue and teeth driving me to the edge of sanity. I’m panting, writhing beneath him, desperate for more. When he finally moves lower, his mouth trailing down my stomach, I think I’ll die from the anticipation.

He spreads me open with his thumbs and looks up at me, his eyes dark and wicked. “Watch,” he commands. “Watch me eat you.”

I can’t look away. I watch his tongue slide through my folds, watch his eyes flutter closed in pleasure, watch the way his jaw works as he devours me. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and I feel myself climbing fast, too fast, the heat building to an unbearable peak.

He stops again, just as I’m about to fall over the edge.

“R-royal,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please, what?” He looks up at me, his mouth glistening, his expression almost cruel in its control. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come,” I beg, shameless, desperate. “Please, let me come.”

“Not yet.” He rises, stripping off his shirt, and I stare. He’s covered in tattoos, intricate black ink swirling over his chest, his arms, his stomach. They disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans, and I want to follow them, trace every line with my tongue.

He unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, and my mouth goes dry. He’s beautiful, all hard lines and dark ink, his cock heavy and flushed against his stomach.

“Touch yourself,” he says, his hand wrapping around his own length. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me.”

I flush, the command both embarrassing and thrilling. But I do it. I slide my hand down my stomach and between my legs, finding my clit with tentative fingers. I circle it slowly, watching his face, watching the way his jaw tightens, the way his hand moves faster on his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

He steps closer, positioning himself at my entrance. I remove my hand, and he catches my wrist, bringing my fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. The sight of it, the feel of his tongue against my fingers, makes me moan.

Then he pushes inside me, slow and steady, and I forget how to breathe. He’s thick, filling me, stretching me in the most delicious way. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to mine.

“Sierra,” he breathes, my name like a prayer or a curse.

He starts to move, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against mine, each thrust driving me higher. I can feel the heat building, a wildfire racing through my veins, consuming everything in its path.

He shifts his angle, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back. “There,” I gasp. “Right there, don’t stop…”

He doesn’t. He keeps that same angle, each thrust hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. The heat builds and builds, a flame turning to an inferno, and I’m burning, burning, burning…

“Royal,” I choke out, my voice barely recognizable. “I’m going to…”

“Come for me,” he growls, his pace never faltering. “Let me feel you. Let me feel you burn.”

The fire consumes me. I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me like wildfire, my body arching off the couch, my cry echoing through the empty room. He keeps fucking me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I’m sobbing, overwhelmed, my body trembling.

But he doesn’t stop. He pulls out and flips me over, positioning me on my knees on the couch, my hands gripping the back. He enters me from behind, and the new angle makes me gasp, oversensitive and still pulsing from my first orgasm.

“Again,” he commands, his hand fisting in my hair, pulling my head back. “I want you to come again. I want to feel you burn around me.”

He sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping against my ass, each thrust driving me toward another peak. I can feel it building again, impossible, inevitable, a fire that won’t be banked.

“Royal,” I moan, my voice ragged. “I c-can’t. It’s too much…”