My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears, drowning out everything but him, and I can’t breathe.
“But even if it’s… glorious,” he continues, his fingers slick with my wetness as he slides them back and forth, slow and languid. “You’re so much more.”
“And still, I’m not worthy of you,” I choke out, my body trembling with frustration and longing.
“Oh, you’re very fucking much worthy of me.” Koen’s eyes flash, his jaw tense. “Of them. Of all of us.” He almost growls. “And you know why?”
“Why?” The word escapes me on a breathless moan.
“Because I fucking said so.” His fingers press harder against me, circling the edge of my entrance. “I’m the one in charge. My opinion is the only one that matters. And I say you’re utterly fucking worthy. Understood?”
His conviction cracks something inside me. The sheer force of his belief in me is overwhelming, devastating, and healing.
Worthy.
The word hits a wall inside me, but he keeps chipping away at it, his belief louder than the echo of my insecurities.
If Koen Lane says it, who am I to deny it?
I think of how they’ve treated me—not only Koen, but all of them, how they look at me like I’m more than a stripper, a thief. Like I’m someone to be trusted. Someone who belongs. Something more than the broken pieces I’ve been holding together for years.
“Understood.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m worthy,” I breathe out, the admission sliding past my lips like a secret I’ve kept from myself. But it doesn’t feel wrong. It feelsright.Like something I should have always known.
“Yes, you fucking are.” His voice is thick with pride and something else I can’t name but feel in the way he looks at me.
He presses a kiss just above my clit, his lips lingering, not just teasing but reverent, like he’s worshiping the words just as much as he’s worshiping me.
Like he’s claiming them as truth.
“That’s my girl.”
Two fingers slide into me, the stretch slow, designed to make me feel every inch of him. He spits on my clit before his mouth finally descends, his tongue flicking out to tease it in tandem with his thrusting fingers. But as suddenly as he started, he stops, his mouth leaving me. My body clenches around the emptiness as he withdraws his fingers, the wet pad of one tracing a slow circle on the inside of my thigh.
My hips lift toward him once more, a silent plea he ignores. I whimper, frustration bubbling up, tangled with need.
“Please, Koen,” I whisper, not just because I need him but because I know he needs this too. Needs to hear me beg for him, needs to know I want this as much as he does. “I was good,” I press, my voice barely more than a breath. “I said it.”
“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb stroking a slow line up my thigh, barely skimming where I need him most. “We’re not done yet. Tell me how smart and capable you are.”
My head swims, a fog thickening around my thoughts. I can’t think, can barely speak. My body is a taut wire, straining, desperate for his mouth to finally give me the relief I need. But I know he won’t move until I give him what he’s asking for.
I try to focus. Try to find words.
“I’m smart,” I parrot, the word tumbling out clumsily as if my brain is no longer connected to my mouth.
So much for being smart.
His lips curve against my skin, and I swear I feel it everywhere. Then his tongue flicks upward, a tease along my slit, and my hips jerk involuntarily as my fingers fly to his hair, gripping the silky strands.
“And what, precious?” His voice is a low vibration against my core. “Finish your sentence.”
I shudder. “Smart and capable.”
“That’s right,” he purrs, his praise molten, dripping over me, seeping into every crack of my soul.
