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“No. Always you.”
“What about Rylan?”
“No,” she cries, stroking harder, her delicate pink folds starting to glisten with her arousal. “Never.”
“Good girl,” I say, gripping her hips and pulling her forward. My lips meet her hot, flushed skin, and she cries out, her knees buckling. I moan, taking her weight on my mouth andmy hands, and slide my tongue through her slit, gathering her slickness into my mouth.
“God, Colt,” she gasps out, gripping my hair.
I answer with a moan, throw her thighs over my shoulders, and grip her ass in both hands as I drag her against me, driving my tongue into her opening. She lets out a strangled cry, her fingers threading through my hair. She fists it, grinding against my face shamelessly, moaning and whimpering as I feast. She cums way too fast, before I’ve even begun to get my fill. I moan into her, sucking the cum from her pussy. She lowers one shaking leg from my shoulder, trying to dismount, but I throw it back over and pin her to the wall, growling at her to be still.
I find my rhythm, and I keep going. I can’t stop. I want to eat her alive, to take every bit of power she’s ever stripped from me and more. I want to suck out every bit she’s ever had, to leave her as defenseless as I was when they had Mabel in their grip, strip her bare until she’s as helpless as a baby bird in my hands. I make her cum again, and again, and again, until she begs me to stop. Finally I sit back to catch my breath.
She’s staring at me like a dazed, lost girl stumbling around in shock. It drives me out of my mind. I stand, pick her up, and throw her over my shoulder.
“Colt,” she cries.
“What?” I snap, dropping her roughly onto the narrow bench.
“Fuck me,” she cries, spreading her legs, opening herself for me. “Please.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I need you,” she gasps out. “Fill me up. Cum inside me. I don’t care. Just fuck me. Please. I’ll do anything you want, my king.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“Fuck me,” she begs, lifting her hips and spreading herself with her fingers, showing me the swollen mess of her cunt after my tongue’s assault, now a watermelon red instead of the shell pink it was when I started.
I stand over her, shoving her knees up to her chest. “Put them behind your head.”
She obeys, and I drop to my knees, bending to run my tongue from her ass hole to her clit. I give her ring a sharp tug with my teeth, and she lets out a shriek, her head dropping to the bench with a thud. Her cries echo around the cavernous room, drowning out the dull thuds I hear, the faraway, angry shouts that must be Rylan trying to break his way out.
She’s too lost to hear him, and that only spurs me on. I drag my teeth over her sensitive clit and she shrieks again, but I pin her thighs in place and keep taking. I bury my fingers in her, relishing every helpless cry that falls from her lips, the sobs that wrack her body, the tears that track down her face as I force one orgasm after another from her.
She’s taken enough from me. Today, I take, and take, and take, until she’s a spent, sloppy mess, until she’s begging me to stop, telling me she can’t take anymore. But she doesn’t get to take. Today, she has to give. She may still be a queen in my eyes, but she doesn’t make the rules here. I rule her body, command it to give me more, to give me everything, until she’s shaking and crying and incapable of giving me one more orgasm.
“One more, and I’ll stop,” I growl, forcing a third finger into her. Her cunt stretches tight, and she lays there in a limp, trembling puddle while I tease and coax her with my tongue, thrusting my fingers roughly into her until her walls clench in tiny pulses, fluttering like a butterfly. She’s too drained to even make a sound. No tears remain. She doesn’t move when I stumble to my feet, wipe the back of my hand over my mouth,and pull out a cigarette. I flick open my lighter and light it, taking a long drag, standing over my conquered queen.
“Colt,” she whispers. “Please.”
“You still want me to fuck you, butterfly?”
She gives the slightest nod, her eyes shining with hope and fear and vulnerability.
“Did you tell me the truth?” I ask.
She swallows hard, then nods again.
“Those fingernail marks are my arms are from you?” I ask, not quite able to believe it, despite what I remembered, despite the familiarity of her this whole year, and how right it felt to see her on her knees. Even with all that, I can’t imagine being so gone for her that I tattooed her fingernails into my arms after only a week.
Her gaze dips away before coming back to mine.
“So, we fucked last year.”
She nods a third time. I take a drag on my cigarette as I watch her lying there, not trying to cover herself, shaking with the cold of being exposed so long, with nervous anticipation of my reaction.
“Yes,” she whispers, before I can tell her I’m going to need her to say it.
