The Night the King Claimed Her

She giggled breathlessly. ‘Hardly.’

‘Trust me, they’re amazing.’

‘You want me to play you some more?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ He strained into her hand.

‘Oh.’ Pleased, she shimmied closer. ‘What other pretty sounds can we extract from you?’

‘Pretty sounds?’ he gasped with mock outrage. A groan swiftly followed.

She laughed. The power of this, the play, was everything. The smile he sent her, the growls of delight, another groan of exquisite agony. She loved it all.

‘Elsie.’

That was what she liked best. His desperate, helpless muttering of her name. She blew on his hot skin, gently exploring him. He was her perfect instrument, big and strong, and he bent to her touch and arched into her hands, making her feel all-powerful. She liked it so much she hummed her own pleasure in seeking out his.

‘You’re killing me.’

‘I think you’re very much alive, Felipe.’

‘Ride me.’ He swore again and thrust his hips upwards. ‘Ride me.’

An order, but she chose to take it as a plea. Slowly she sank onto him—adoring the glazed look in his eyes as he stared from her flushed face, down her body.

‘Not sore?’ He gasped desperately.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘More than fine.’

His obvious relief made her bolder and sink deeper, even more pleasurably. That was when he struck. He released the headboard and sat up swiftly. Clasping her to his chest, he kissed her and kissed her and he didn’t let her go. Not until she’d come again. And again. Not even when she finally collapsed and succumbed to sleep.