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She straightened up, obeying, using her mouth to pleasure him.
“Come now. You can still use your hands.”
She raised her bound wrists, cupping his length with her hands as she continued to pleasure him with her tongue.
“Yes, this is what I will do with my prisoner. She will see to my pleasure. To my moods. What do you think of that? Will you enjoy that, my Queen? Being available for my every need? My every desire?”
“I’m yours,” she said. “Gladly.” And she continued on. Giving to him all that he asked, all that he demanded. He put his hand on the back of her head and began to thrust his hips forward in time with her movements. She made a small sound, but continued to pleasure him. And when he felt his own desire rise to the point that he could no longer hold back, he knew that he should leave her be.
He should not finish it this way. But she wanted the beast. She wanted all of him. She would have him.
He growled, releasing then, and when it was over, she looked up at him, a light of satisfaction in her eyes. “What else do you desire of me?”
He picked her up, carried her to the bed then, laid her out before him, spreading her like she was a delicious feast. It would not take him long to be ready again. That release had not been sufficient to drown out the ache in his gut that existed only for Annick.
“A glutton for punishment?”
“I told you I was a glutton,” she said. “It is not my fault you do not believe. Not my fault that you insist on treating me as if I am fragile. Perhaps, had I not been kept in a dungeon, there would’ve been a great many lovers before you.”
He growled, pinning her to the bed. “But I would’ve been your last.”
“Would you?”
“Yes,” he said, looking at her with all the ferocity that he felt building in his soul. “And you know what? I’m glad there were no others. Because you are mine.” He put his hand between her legs. “Mine.”
“Then the return is true. Me, I am possessive. And if this possession is good for you, then it is also good for me.”
“Very good.” He parted her slick lips with his fingers and pushed one deep inside of her. Watching as her face contorted with pleasure. As he teased her. Loving the silken feel of her. Loving that he was the only man ever to touch her like this. That he would be the only one ever.
He let that sense of possession run wild inside of him. Oh, this woman. How she called to him. How she tempted him, teased and tormented him. He wished to bury himself in her and never come back from it. He wanted to send them both into oblivion. Where there was nothing else and no one else. Nothing but them. Ever.
But he wished to extract every last drop of pleasure from her body first. He lowered himself down between her legs, tasting her as he continued to stroke the inside of her body. As he went on a search for that pleasure point he knew was deep inside, all the while moving his tongue over that sensitized bundle of nerves.
She twisted, arched beneath him, and he used his free arm to hold her to the bed. Her hands were still bound, but that didn’t stop her from trying to claw at him.
“Behave yourself,” he said, biting her inner thigh, earning himself a sharp cry. He pushed her. Further. Higher. Faster. Until she was sobbing his name. Until the beast within began to roar. Wanting to extract all that he could from her. To make her weak with ecstasy. It would never be enough. This. How could it ever be? He felt the deep, cavernous hole inside of him, and he did not know how he was supposed to fill it. Ever. And so he aided her until she was shaking. Quivering violently against his mouth. Until she shattered around his fingers, until he was so hard he hurt with it, but would not allow himself to sink into her honey depths. Not yet.
He lifted himself, pressing his hardness against that unbearable softness, dragging himself back and forth between her folds. She gasped, reaching toward him with her bound hands, and he took hold of her and forced those hands above her head. “Stay still.” He rocked his hips back and forth over her, that slick friction torturous. A tease of what he truly wanted. To be deep inside of her, surrounded by her, rather than just moving against her desire.
“You do not get to take control here. This pace is not for you to set.”
She shattered again. And again. So many times that he lost count. And he kept going until she was limp in his arms. Then he took her, turning her onto her stomach, propping her hips up, leaving her face buried in the bedspread, her arms thrown out in front of her, still bound. The image that she made there, a woman in the throes of surrender, to him. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. And he could no longer claim to be dead inside, because his heart beat so fast he thought it might drill a hole through the front of his chest.
He felt too much here. And there were no lines between the two men that he saw himself as. Between Maximus and The King. Between the man and the killer. He just was. He just was, and he felt dirty and monstrous and free all at once. Shame, greater than anything he’d ever known, welled up inside of him. And nearly as quickly, a sense of being home assaulted him as he touched her lower back, dragged his palm over her perfect ass and brought his fingers down between her thighs to rub her gently. She whimpered.
“Is it too much for you?”
“Never,” she said, her voice muffled but defiant. “I am not weak. Me, I am not easily brought down.”
“Good.”
He positioned himself at her slick entrance and thrust home. He was blinded by it. And he could no longer play games. He gripped her hips hard as he pounded himself inside of her. Lost himself completely in the sweetness of her body. In the rhythm of her cries of pleasure.
“Maximus,” she whispered. “I love you.”
He nearly stopped then, but it was too late. Those words grabbed hold of him. His throat, his heart, and dragged his release from his body. He cried out as his release overtook him. As his need became the only thing. He spilled
himself deep inside of her, the roaring in his blood like the howling of wolves. And in that moment, there was nothing. Nothing but her.
