Page 86 of His Pretty Little Queen

"Yes, sweet girl. You may feel however you need about tonight. I will not stop you. If you want to grieve that man—"

"I don't." I shake my head. "I don't want to grieve him. I want to forget him. I want to forget that I have his eyes."

He gazes at me for a moment, a frown tightening his forehead. "You know, my brothers hold resentment towards my mother. The fact she favours me is not a secret. The other reasons, I wasn’t around to know or understand. But... I have her features," he says to me. "I'm the only one with her bone structure. Cheekbones. Sharper than my brothers. I’ve always wondered whether the likeness bothered them.”

I take him in. "I think you look like Luca."

"I do. But I also look like her. Take your time with this. You don't need to decide how you feel." His eyes are hooded in the dim light of the room. "Just let it happen, sweet girl."

"It's so raw right now, though."

"Would you like me to make you forget?"

A flush of heat paints my skin in a pink hue as his eyes drink me in, roaming my body in an intense way that presses in on me, presses down on me, forcing his intent.

"Yes." I open my mouth to breathe, trying to concentrate on his bruised cheekbone, on the ice that is melting from the pack, when his hand leaves my hair and slides around my naked waist. Following the curve of my backside down to my arse, he circles the rim between my cheeks. I pucker against him, wanting the experience of being full, stretched in that exquisite way.

I dart my gaze to meet smouldering pits of dark intentions and promises. His eyes flare, pupils large, orbed with a glowing ring of sky-blue.

A grin that is pure sex plays in the corner of his mouth. "I want this tonight," he purrs, poking through the tight muscles, and holding the tip of his thick pad inside me.

I whimper but push back to aid him in inserting his forefinger. My pussy ripples, the penetration only inches away like a phantom sensation inside those muscles, pushing in, and if I sit back, maybe I'll feel—

"Stop, sweet girl," he orders in a gravelly, deep timbre that curls my toes. He drops his arm from the top of the sofa and grips my hip hard to still me. "Not without lubrication."

My head swims when I look down at his cock expanding between us, reaching up to his navel. Huge. And veined.

"I like the way you gaze at my cock," he purrs. "Withyearning. You nearly salivate, little deer. It's the prettiest thing."

Licking my lips, I agree with a nod. The taste of him does things to me.

He smiles at my eagerness. "Be a good girl. Go to my top drawer and bring me the bottle. I'll make you forget tonight."

I climb to my feet, and while I retrieve the bottle, he puts his cigar out in the ashtray on the table.

His powerful physique is leaning back when I approach him again; muscles protrude down the plane of his abdomen with finely cut valleys around each. And down his long arms they create ridges and bulk. His formidability—how quickly he could attack, snap a person in two using those muscles, stokes me into a fever. He is a lion in wait.

I want him. Crawling quickly back on to the lap of this dangerous man, I spread my thighs wide over him. Grinding my hips on the length of him, I slide my pussy up and down, stroking my clit over him, revelling in the simmering pleasure.

He groans his approval but focuses on his task and the bottle in his hand, covering his fingers in clear gel.

I put on a show.

Watching him closely, I rub myself to a wet, primed state.

I should be more anxious. I'm not sure what to expect; I've had a plug in my arse for hours—surely, I can handle the throbbing of his cock inside me.

I flop my arms over his shoulders as he positions me forward. I can feel his hands lathering the length of him behind my spine, hear the rumble of his satisfaction as he jerks himself a few times.

Then he stops and my nose meets his, our eyes inches apart. "Breathe deeply," he purrs, exhaling hard, smoky cigar-scented air hitting my face.

Bracing me at the top of his cock, hovering me over his lap, he pushes one hand flat to my lower spine, arching me. My backside tilting. His other hand grips my hip, rolling me slightly as the bulbous crown of his erection pops through the tight muscles.

My eyes widen, and his darken.

"Fuck," we both say.

"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. "Very, very good. Your first time will be overwhelming. Keep your eyes open so I can see you." He levers my hips as the thick length of him slides excruciatingly slowly inside me. “I don’t want you anywhere else when I’m inside you.”

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