Scarred(Never After #2)(86)

“Suck.”

It’s one word, but the second he says what to do I’m there, running my tongue around his silky shaft, feeling him throb as I hollow out my cheeks, wanting to milk his dick until cum bursts in my mouth.

He groans, his other hand flying up to meet his first on the back of my head, and he thrusts in and out. His eyes are half-lidded but they never leave mine, and I swear I’m close to coming apart without even being touched, just from watching him fuck my mouth.

I’ve done this act before, but it’s never felt like this.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his fingers caressing down my face until they grip the base of my chin. “So pretty on your knees while I choke you with my cock.”

He surges forward as he says the word and hits the back of my throat. I do choke, only a little, but the discomfort ratchets my arousal higher, making my cunt squeeze against air, wishing it was wrapping around the length of him and feeling him paint my insides.

“You love it, don’t you, filthy girl? I bet if I put my fingers in your pussy, it would drench my hand with how sopping and eager it is to take me.” He thrusts again, and this time, I suck harder, swirling my tongue around the throbbing vein that runs on the underside of his sensitive length. Groaning, he pulls his hips out until his heavy erection bobs in the air, tensing and growing right in front of me.

He closes his eyes, breathing deep.

And then he grips himself with his hand and smacks me with it. It’s nothing more than a light tap, but the act itself sends shock waves of tension rippling through my middle, and I lose control of my limbs, my fingers sliding down into my begging cunt, finding it sopping and wet, just the way he said it would be.

His eyes flare as he watches, his fingers stroking up and down his spit-soaked shaft and he groans as I finger myself, my insides coiling tight until I’m on the edge of an explosion.

“That’s it, my little liar, fuck yourself on your fingers and imagine it’s my cock.” He bends down. “Spread your thighs and show me how bad you want it.”

I’m not sure if it’s his words, the sound of his voice, or the fact it’s just him telling me to do something, but when I do as he says, my body seizes up tight, pleasure skittering through my insides as my walls contract so intensely that it hurts. My vision blacks out and I fall forward on my knees, bliss exploding inside of me and coating my every nerve.

He catches me by the face, my chin held in his grip as he continues to jerk himself off. I’m malleable beneath him, a willing servant begging for every drop.

His face scrunches up and I can see the moment his balls pump, the vein in his cock pulsing as the cum pushes up through his shaft and explodes from his tip, showering me with his orgasm. I moan, the hot liquid pouring onto my skin, and when he drops to his knees, I get on all fours and crawl toward him, remembering the fire in his eyes when I did it before, diving down and swallowing him whole, small spurts of his cum spraying down my throat.

He groans, his hands gripping my hair as he spasms against my tongue, and I continue to lick him clean until he’s spent, softening in my mouth.

Finally, I slip him out of me, sitting back as I stare at him, warm and gooey love filling up my chest. He leans forward, tangling our mouths together so our breaths become one, and I lose sight of where he ends and I begin.

“Don’t shower before you go to him tomorrow,” he demands, pecking my lips between words. “I want him to smell me on your skin.”

I nod. I’ve felt loyalty before; it runs through my veins deep. It used to beat for family, for duty. For my people.

But with Tristan? I would light myself on fire and revel in the burn if I knew it would please him. It’s a scary feeling, but one that I embrace, because he is my king and I am his queen and together we will rule the world.

He moves from beneath me and stands, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. I move also, walking over to the hook that has my night robe, and grabbing it. Before I can put it on, he slaps it out of my hand, wrapping his arm around my waist and lifting me up as he walks us toward my bed and throws me down.

I bounce when I hit the mattress, and he smirks, crawling between my legs, his hands spreading them wide, tingles spreading up my body as he does. And it’s only then I realize he has a pen in his hand. The ink is cool as it bleeds from the tip of the ballpoint onto my skin, and my heart spasms in my chest.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Branding you,” he replies.

His face is serious; his eyes focused and hands weaving magic, and I’ve never been more attracted to this man in my life as I am with him lying between my legs and drawing artwork on my thigh.

“Should we talk about tomorrow night?” I ask, my stomach jumbling from anxiety at the thought of the plans we’ve made.

His jaw tenses, his movement faltering before he resumes drawing lines on my skin. “I’d rather not. The thought of it makes me want to tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

My heart warms, knowing that he’s just as nervous as I am over what we’ve talked about. “Everything will work out.” I rub my hand over the top of his hair. “Tomorrow night, I’ll go to your brother, and convince him to take me to his quarters.”

His grip grows tight enough to bruise.

“And then you will be there,” I soothe. “Before anything can happen. And I will have slipped laudanum into his drink.”