His voice is a whisper of sin.“If I cut you right now… you would let me.”
“Yes.”
“And if I tasted you…”
I swallow.“Yes.”
Royal groans, like my consent breaks something sacred inside him.
His knife moves.
Not to cut.
He traces my collarbone, down the slope of my neck, ending at the hollow of my throat.His tongue follows the trail, piercing scraping lightly, sending heat straight between my legs.
I gasp.
Royal presses his hips into mine, letting me feel all of him, hard and restrained by sheer will.The pressure of his cock ring pulses through denim against me, just right.
“Feel what you do to me,” he growls.“Feel what you make me hold back.”
I rock my hips once, involuntary, the sensation maddening.
He snarls.
“Do that again,” he warns, “and I’ll take you on this floor.”
My breath leaves me.
I do it again.
Royal pins me harder, one tattooed hand around my throat, thumb stroking the frantic jump of my pulse.His grip is firm, cruel, cutting off breath, so controlling, so claiming.
“Say my name,” he orders.
“Royal,” I choke out though I can barely breathe.
Louder.
He lets up his hold.“Royal.”
Louder.
“Royal.”
He growls deep in his chest, mouth claiming my throat in a hot, biting kiss that steals breath and sanity.His tongue ring flicks against my skin, cold then hot, the sensation spiraling through me with sharp, dizzying pleasure.
His free hand slides down my stomach, slow enough to torture, stopping just above the waistband of my shorts.
He doesn’t touch me where I’m shaking.
He just holds me there.
Waiting.
“Ask,” he says.
For a second, pride keeps my mouth shut.
