Page 58 of Given to the Black King

“No.”

“Use words.”

“Again. Harder.”

He does.

The second bite is deeper. His tongue presses over the place caught between his back teeth. The fang points stay outside my skin, one on either side of my breast.

The sight is filthy enough to make me clench.

He smells it.

A rough sound leaves him.

He works both breasts until the skin is wet, dark, and tender. Every bite is placed with the same precise turn of his jaw. Every time my body moves unexpectedly, his hand catches and steadies me before I can drive myself into a fang.

Then he drags his face down my body.

He scents every inch he uncovers.

My ribs. My stomach. The soft skin below my navel. He pushes the ruined dress and my shift up together, then spreads my legs with his shoulders.

I am already wet.

He breathes me in.

The sound that comes out of him is not a man’s voice.

“Look at me.”

I lift my head.

He is between my thighs, claws buried in the mattress on either side of my hips. He twists his mouth sideways, keeping both points clear of the vulnerable flesh he means to touch.

“Tell me who put you here.”

“I did.”

“Again.”

“I chose this.”

His breath leaves him slowly.

Then his mouth is on me.

He licks slowly at first, one broad stroke that opens me and makes my legs shake. His lower lip presses against my clit. The fangs remain visible above, dangerous and controlled.

I grab his horns.

His tongue presses harder.

He learns too quickly. The exact place. The pressure. The rhythm that makes my hips lift from the bed.

His forearm comes across my lower belly and pins me down.

I pull at his horns.