Page 9 of His Perfect Little Heirs

“Christ, the taste of you is painful at times.” He slides two fingers into me and starts to fuck, encouraging more slickness into his mouth.

Stars scatter behind my eyes.

Fuck.

This.

Is.

Too.

Good.

The sound of his fingers fucking me and his lips lapping greedily fills the room with thick arousal. A very real energy. Lusty. Dark. Tangible force.

I pant under the attention. Bucking as my chest grows tighter, the weight of need sitting heavy on me.

It’s perfect.

Right there.

That… place.

I cry out as pleasure floods me with sweet— He stops. He damn cuts the orgasm off mid-detonation, dropping the pressure, making me dizzy and frantic for my release.

“Sir,” I beg and roll in his palms. “Please.”

I hear the dark amusement in his voice as he growls, “Discipline for thatfacetiouseyebrow and for crawling across the centre console like a child.”

I bow to his lips. “Sir.”

“Easy, sweet girl. I will never leave you needy. When you pick your ring, I will let you come.” He slides his tongue the length of my wet folds, the gradual and steady stimulation intent on grounding his devious demand. “Choose. You deserve these. You are being cautious instead of accepting that you may have whichever pleases you. What pleases me is sitting softly in my hands and dripping down my tongue. I do not want you to be prideful today. Not over this. Pick.”

His finger touches my puckering hole and I gasp, instantly pressing back on him, greedy to feel the exquisitely odd stretch, so uncomfortable, so obscene. And dark. And I love it. His fingerthereis my favourite. I want it, I want it—I’m desperate for it. “Please, Sir.” I writhe around on the cabinet, greedy for the sensation.

“Choose.”

God.

I lift each ring to my face as he licks me softly—not enough, not nearly enough. The gold. The white. The rose-coloured one… I lift my hips to grind on his face.

“My little pussy,” he says, awed and gruff, in love with what he is gazing at. “Always wanting to be pet and played with. I like her open. Like her supple for me.” He circles my special hole again, and the sound that leaves me bites and rumbles. “Sir! Please.”

“Choose, little deer.”

I growl.

The white.

With the delicate clasp.

White and blue.

Like the moon in the sky.

Like the stars reflected in the ocean.

White and blue.

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