Page 64 of Corrupt Kingdom

His hands move to rest on my shoulders, and then he pushes me back until I’m leaning back on my elbows.

My breathing comes out in short bursts of air.

“Since the first time I laid eyes on you, all I’ve been thinking about is what you would taste like . . .”

He leans in.

I move back. “Here.” His right hand reaches up, and then the rough pad of his thumb touches my lower lip. “But now that I’ve tasted you . . . I want to know what you taste like here.” As he whispers his fingers lower to cup my face all while continuing to swirl soft patterns on my skin.

I shake my head. The thought of him devouring me is too much right now. I feel like a raging inferno.

“Is that what you want, Sun?”

“Stop calling me that. Unless you tell me why.”

“You don’t want me to taste you here?” He kisses my jaw ignoring my plea. “What about here?” He kisses the hollow of my neck. “What about here?” He lifts his face away from me, and his eyes darken. There is no iris at all now, just the pupil. “Do you want that?” He lowers his head. “Do you?”

“We can’t,” I whisper. “You kidnapped me. I don’t want you,” I say, but there is no conviction in my words. His jaw tightens, and then I feel his hands trying to pull my legs apart.

“Are you sure about that?”

I nod.

“How about I check to see if you’re lying?” His eyes light up with mischief because both of us know what he’ll find. My face warms as I feel his fingers press gently against my core.

“Admit you want me. Admit you want this.”

Then his hand is cupping me.

I watch as his lip tips up. “Tell me.”

“I want you . . .” My voice is low, and he lifts his eyebrow.

“Louder.” He begins to rub on the bundle of nerves hidden beneath my leggings.

When I don’t answer, his pace increases, the pressure getting harder and harder, and I can feel myself losing the battle of wills.

“Say it again.”

“I want you!” I shout this time because there is no denying it. I want him. I’m desperate for him.

I need him.

“Then you’ll have me.”

I expect him to undress. To pull my legs apart and fuck me on the desk. Instead, he gets down on his knees.

“W-What are you doing?” I stutter.

“Tasting you.” The cold air hits my legs, and that’s when I notice he’s pulling off my pants. “Tasting your lies.”

Once I’m bare before him, he spreads my legs wide.

It’s agonizing torture as I wait.

Then I feel it. The first swipe of his tongue against my skin.

A sigh escapes my mouth, or maybe a groan. I can’t hear over the sound of my pounding heart.

He tastes me. Devours me. Feeds off my essence. A man in a drought. Parched and desperate.

He drinks me up as if I’m what he needs to live.

He consumes me with each swipe of the tongue until a wave builds inside me and I’m crashing against the earth.

I open my eyes to find him staring down at me. He lifts his hand and wipes away the remnants from his lips. Then he lowers his head, pressing his lips to mine and letting me taste my lie. I’m not sure what I expect next, but it’s not for him to take a step back.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and he smiles. “I thought . . .” I trail off.

“You thought I would fuck you?” I don’t answer his question, my face warming at the conversation. “I will fuck you. But not here and not like this.”

“Then like what?”

“When you are begging me.”

He touches his finger to my head. “You are still fighting this right here, and until you let go, until you are ready to ask for it, beg for it, I won’t fuck you. Taste you . . .” He kisses me again. “But not fuck you. When you are ready, you will come to me.”

And then like that, I’m left alone again, on his desk, needy and desperate for Cyrus Reed.

33

Cyrus

Fuck me . . . I can still taste her on my lips.

Still feel her coming apart on my tongue. It took everything in my power to walk away, but I had to.

This needs to be her decision and not when she’s floating off the high of coming on my face.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of an asshole. I take, but never like that. So, as much as my dick hates me right now, my brain knows I did the right thing.

A criminal with a conscience. Oh, the fucking irony.

I’m in my room, staring out the window like a love-sick fool.

I should call Z and have him bring the boat around. The weather isn’t bad right now, and who knows how long it will last.

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