Tragic King (The Dominant Bastard Duology 2)

“Let you what?” he said tightly. “Use your words.”

Bastard. He was just trying to get her to say something dirty.

“Let me –” She broke off with a whine she couldn’t contain. “Let me rub my clit on your cock. Please, Master.”

“Get my knife.”

She whined, but got off the bed to go get it. The metal hilt was cool in her hand, and when she handed it to him, she shuddered, but more because he’d kicked off his boots and pulled his jeans all the way off and was in his full, naked glory. He shifted to the middle of the bed and piled the pillows up behind him before he lay back.

“Come take what you want.”

She blushed, the heat of it stinging her neck and ears, but she crawled up on top of him anyway. The knife was at her throat before she was even all the way settled on top of him.

She edged back, but he shook his head. “You probably don’t want to be moving your head too much.”

“But...”

“You have two minutes to make me come.”

“Or?”

“Or I cut you a little.”

“Not my neck!”

“No, not your pretty neck.”

“But two minutes? That’s not fair!”

“My game, my rules.”

“When does the time start?”

“When I told you that you had two minutes.”

“Fuck!” She lined his cock up better with her slit and started to rock against him, stiffly at first, but in no time she’d forgotten about the knife and was squirming and moaning on top of him. She meant to make him come, but she got so distracted by the slick friction on her clit she forgot everything except her need to use his big, hard body as a sex toy.

It didn’t take long for her to learn exactly what he liked. He was breathing hard, and he’d given up the pretense of trying to lie still. Now his hips thrust against her in a parody of fucking. She cupped her breasts and tugged her nipple rings with thumb and forefinger. He seemed to lose track of the knife, or was afraid of cutting her, because it hovered between them several inches away from its original position at her throat. When he seemed close to coming, she was pretty sure she was closer.

Squirm and rock, the bumps of his piercings and the veins in his dick, the lust in his pale blue gaze and the subtle movements of his jaw, the flex of muscle through his body, and he moved against her, making her feel feverish and weak. So sore, and yet she needed an orgasm before her body would let her stop.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She couldn’t come before him. She hadn’t even wanted sex!

Control yourself, Minnow.

The first flutters of her orgasm made her gasp, but she pushed them away, trying to slow her breathing and think of other things, but god, he was hard and his body was straining, and she could feel his dick throbbing between her pussy lips, so hot and impossibly stiff.

If she didn’t think of a cheat fast, she was going to lose.

The knife still gleamed in his hand. It had to have been more than two minutes, but he seemed to have forgotten.

Just thinking about what she meant to do made her hot.

She leaned in and licked the blade from hilt to tip, so fucking slowly, the metal cold and smooth under her tongue. Her orgasm threatened again, hovering far too close.

“Christ, woman.” His voice was strangled, harsh. She whimpered at the sound of it.