Deadly Oath

9. Sabrina

9

SAbrINA

“ S hould we go to the diner, or the other ‘restaurant’?” Kian asks as he slides into the truck next to me. “I’m partial to the diner, because it has breakfast food all day and night. But the other restaurant has good steaks. Local.”

He seems like he genuinely wants to know my opinion—another thing I’m unused to in a man—so I hesitate, thinking it over. “The diner,” I say finally. “I’ve never had breakfast for dinner.”

Kian whistles through his teeth as he puts the truck into gear. “You’re in for a treat, then.”

Chrissy’s Diner is a long, brick-walled building with a shingled roof that hangs over the edge. Large windows through which I can see red-vinyl booths and laminate-topped tables, surrounding a U-shaped counter with red-topped barstools lining it. It’s very much what I would imagine a small-town diner to be, and I feel a small jolt of excitement.

Maybe I have been missing out, not exploring the town. Not going out. I bet Marie would have come here with me, if I’d asked her to. Maybe I should be trying harder, like Caldwell said.

The interior of the diner smells like breakfast, which makes me think that Kian is right about it being the best feature of the place. I look around for a hostess stand, but Kian touches the small of my back, guiding me past the entrance and to one of the booths.

“This is a ‘seat yourself’ kind of place,” Kian explains. I nod as I slip into one side of the booth, momentarily disconcerted by the way my heart started to race the moment his hand brushed against my spine. I’ve never felt anything like what Kian does to me, and I want to explore it. I want to find out what other things he could make me feel.

A pretty waitress with dark hair, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up at the elbows and tied at the waist, comes over to take our order. Kian asks for a soda and I get water, and then smile at her apologetically.

“I need just a minute more to decide. I haven’t been here before.”

The waitress rattles off a list of suggestions, and then heads off to collect our drinks. I glance over the menu, and the list of options under the breakfast side sounds surprisingly good for seven in the evening. I feel like they might be onto something with this. When the waitress comes back, I order cinnamon pancakes and a side of maple sausage, and Kian grins approvingly before putting in his own order of loaded hash browns.

“Good girl,” he says with a grin, and my eyes widen, my cheeks suddenly feeling strangely hot. “I was worried you might try to order a salad again.”

“I’m trying new things,” I tell him defiantly, narrowing my eyes. “Expanding my horizons. Burgers. Breakfast for dinner.” I lean back in the booth, looking at him from across the laminate table. “Is there anything else you can think of that I should try that doesn’t involve food?”

Kian’s eyes instantly darken, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “I can think of a few things,” he says slowly, and there’s a subtle rasp to his voice, a hint of heat that makes my cheeks burn even more.

I bite my lip, trying to summon a sense of daring. “Like what?” I manage, and that smirk deepens.

“Well, for instance—” he runs his finger around the rim of his glass, and I feel my mouth go a little dry. There shouldn’t be anything suggestive about the gesture, but somehow, coming from him, it is . Everything he does feels suggestive, and even though I know I’m reading into it, I can’t help the way he makes me feel.

And there’s no one stopping me from exploring it, now.

“For instance,” he continues, “we could go to the Crow Bar for a drink, after this. You ever been to a bar before, princess?”

“Yes,” I say defensively. “There’s a martini bar in Chicago that I used to go to with?—”

Kian chuckles. “Not that kind of bar. Don’t worry. We’ll expand your horizons a little bit more tonight.”

The food, when it comes, is delicious. I can tell from the first bite that I’m going to have to start coming up with some kind of workout routine on my own, if I’m going to keep eating like this. Or maybe not. I look at Kian, who is attacking his own hash browns, who has been encouraging me to enjoy the food at the places he’s taking me. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I were a little curvier. Maybe he doesn’t expect me to stay a size zero, like the men I’m used to.

I eat my pancakes and sausage, enjoying every bite, and I see Kian’s eyes flick to my mouth as I lick a drop of syrup off of my lower lip. “How about that drink, princess?” he murmurs, and that same rasp still colors the edges of his voice.

The idea makes me feel a little nervous. I have a feeling the Crow Bar is a lot rougher than the kind of bar I’m used to going to. But I nod, reaching for my purse as Kian pays the bill.

The bar isn’t far from the diner, towards the end of the strip. “Do you want to walk over?” Kian asks as we step outside, and I nod. It’s not too cold, despite it being mid-November, and I shrug the light denim jacket that I brought with me on over the short-sleeved, rust-colored sweater that I’d thrown on before we went out tonight.

I can hear the music coming out of the Crow Bar before we even walk in, that same country-style music that Marie likes to listen to. I glance over at Kian, trying to get a measure of whether or not he’s also a fan of it, but he doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He gives the live band on stage a cursory glance, striding towards the bar as I follow.

“What’s your drink?” he asks, and when I blanch, he smirks at me. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve had wine and champagne,” I admit. “At parties. Never anything stronger.”

Kian chuckles. “Alright. Time for you to try bourbon.” He turns to the bartender, gesturing to a bottle on the middle shelf. “Jack and Coke for me, please. Give me a shot of Bulleit. And make her a Bee’s Knees with the same.”

He rattles it off like it’s nothing, like he’s asked for an order like it a hundred times before, and I feel an odd flicker of jealousy. Does he order the same thing for every woman he asks out on a date?

Does it matter? It’s not like I think he’s a virgin. His confidence and arrogance would suggest otherwise, even if the idea of any man his age—and who looks like he does—being a virgin wasn’t already absolutely ridiculous. He’s been on dates before, certainly, so why would it matter if he’s got a drink order ready to go?

The only explanation I have is that I already want to be special to him. And that’s a dangerous road to go down.

The bartender slides two drinks over and a shot a moment later—one drink dark and the other a lighter honey color. Kian nudges the honey-colored drink and the shot toward me.

“Take a sip of the shot,” he says with a grin. “I want to know what you think. And then try the drink.”

“You like telling people what to do, don’t you?” I narrow my eyes at him as I look at the shot of whiskey dubiously. “Is that why you went into law enforcement?”

Kian smirks. “Maybe I just like telling you what to do.”

Heat washes over me at that, and I feel my cheeks turn pink. I see him looking at me blush, amusement flickering in his eyes, and it gives me as strange, not entirely unpleasant, feeling in my stomach. A fluttering, like butterflies, a feeling of uncertain anticipation that makes me want to know where this night could go.

I grab the shot, wincing at the strong smell of the bourbon as it hits my nose. I take a tentative sip, my eyes widening with surprise as the sting hits my tongue—but it does taste good. “It’s strong,” I manage as I set the glass back down, and Kian laughs.

“Yeah, it is. You like it?”

“I don’t know.” I take another tentative sip, the spicy, almost vanilla aftertaste settling on the back of my tongue. “Maybe?” I reach for the mixed drink, and try that instead.

Much better . There’s that spice of the bourbon still, but now mixed with the sweetness of honey and a slight tang of lemon, enough to soften it. My eyes widen as I take another sip. “This is actually really good.”

“So the princess likes bourbon. Good to know.” Kian takes the rest of the shot, then follows it up with a sip from his drink. He glances over towards the band, where the space in front of the stage is starting to fill up. It’s mostly couples dancing together, but there’s a group of friends there too, all wearing denim skirts and varying cute tops, with cowboy boots on.

I follow his gaze, and he looks back at me. “Want to dance? Wait—I know this one. You don’t know how, do you?”

I glare at him, taking another drink. “I know how to dance. I know how to waltz, foxtrot?—”

“Line dance?” He gestures at the group of people out on the floor, that ever-present amused look on his face. “If you say yes, you’re lying, princess.”

A part of me wants to try to lie to him, just to take that smirk off of his face if he believed me. But he’d figure out the lie pretty quickly, once we got out there. I definitely don’t know how to line dance.

“No,” I admit. “But I bet I could pick it up pretty quickly. I’ve had dancing lessons since I was a little girl. Ballet, then ballroom?—”

Kian’s gaze sweeps over me, something heating in it as he takes me in. “I should have guessed ballet,” he says gruffly. “You have the build for it.”

Something about the way he’s appraising me makes my skin heat all over again. “It’s been a long time since I did ballet.” I swallow hard, reaching for my drink again. Kian’s unrelenting gaze makes me feel like I need it.

He finishes his off, too, sliding down from the barstool and reaching for my hand. “Come on,” he says, his expression shifting back to amusement. “Let’s see how quickly you pick this up, then.”

I follow him out to the dance floor, grateful that he hangs back a bit, rather than urging me up front with the dancers who look like they actually do know what they’re doing. Kian stands next to me, his hand on the small of my back as the music picks up, and I try to focus on the rhythm instead of his touch.

I’ve danced for so many years that it’s not actually that difficult to pick up on what the others are doing, and the steps I’m supposed to follow. I catch the rhythm quickly enough, and Kian’s hand falls away from my back. I realize, as I dance, I’m enjoying myself more than I thought I would.

When the music stops, I turn to look at Kian, who grins at me. “You picked that up surprisingly fast,” he says, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Do you like pointing out the things I don’t know how to do?” I demand, feeling my nerves start to fray a little. I think I like Kian—I definitely want him—but I can’t pinpoint how he feels about me. “Is that fun for you?”

Kian’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me in closer as his gaze heats. “Maybe I just like the opportunity to teach you things,” he says, his voice taking on that low rasp again. “Maybe I like being the first to show you new things, too.”

It’s impossible to miss what he’s insinuating. I swallow hard, feeling my breath catch in my throat as he pulls me close enough for my body to brush against his. The music is starting back up, the lines of dancers forming again, but Kian doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Want another drink?” he asks, his hand sliding to the very base of my spine, fingers brushing against the thin strip of skin where my sweater has ridden up a bit above the waist of my jeans.

“Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?” I whisper, feeling my pulse flutter in my throat .

Kian’s mouth twitches. “Do I need to?”

The question feels like a jolt. Does he need to? I don’t think so. There’s a buzz in my veins, a foggy feeling in my head, but it has nothing to do with the one drink I had, and everything to do with how close he is. I can feel the heat of his skin, smell his scent, woodsy and spicy and even more intoxicating than the whiskey. I want him closer. I want to find out more.

I want to try this new, formerly forbidden experience.

Swallowing again, I shake my head quickly. “No,” I whisper. “No, you don’t need to.”

His arm tightens around my waist. “My place or yours?”

The question jolts me. It’s one I’ve never heard before, another in a long line of new, unfamiliar choices. I know it’s probably not the wisest choice to let this man I barely know into my home—but then again, he’s already been there twice. Something tells me that if he wanted in, there wouldn’t be much I could do about it. That should scare me, but?—

I’ve spent my whole life around demanding men. Men who don’t know the meaning of the word no , who take what they want, who don’t ask for permission. They’re nothing new to me, and I always expected to be given to one.

What is new is this feeling of having some measure of power. Of being asked my opinion. And deep down, even if it’s probably not the best choice, I want the relative familiarity of my place as I try this new, unfamiliar thing.

“Mine,” I whisper, and Kian’s gaze darkens hotly.

“Let’s go.” He urges me towards the door, his hand splaying possessively over my hip as we walk out into the chilly night. “I regret not driving here,” he growls, looking impatiently up the street as if the short walk back to his truck is already too far.

My heart stutters in my chest. This level of wanting is unfamiliar to me. Even if any of the men who vied for my father’s approval ever desired me this much, they would never have admitted it. Never let me see. Kian’s need feels raw, demanding, and my pulse is racing at the thought of what that might mean .

I’m in uncharted waters now, and I’ve got to quickly figure out just how deep I want to go.

Kian isn’t going to give me much time to make up my mind, that’s for certain. The minute we reach his truck, instead of opening the door for me, he backs me up against the side of it and crushes his mouth to mine.

The kiss is hot, forceful, his lips pressed against mine like he’s trying to steal the breath from my mouth. His tongue licks over my lower lip, his hand still gripping my hip, his other hand braced against the side of the truck as his hips meet mine, his throbbing erection pressed against my thigh.

Even through two layers of denim, I can feel him, hard and eager—and huge . I feel that flicker of uncertainty again, as Kian groans against my mouth.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, pulling away from me with some difficulty. “Before I fuck you right here in my truck.”

I let out a small, shocked whimper as he tugs me away from the door, opening it so that I can slide in. I don’t even know if I’m going to fuck him yet— there are steps before that, right? —but the way he says it sends heat blooming through me, weakening my knees and my resolve to not go too far, too fast.

Kian doesn’t drive anywhere close to the speed limit as we head back to my house. He casts one heated glance over at me when I mention it, that smirk on his mouth again as he veers onto the road that heads to my house.

“Who’s going to give me a ticket?” he challenges. “One of the cops that works for me?”

“You have a point,” I manage, as he pulls into my driveway and kills the engine. I don’t get another word out before he’s out of the truck, coming around to open my door, his hands on my waist to pull me out. My feet are barely on solid ground before his mouth is on mine again, his hands pushing up the edge of my sweater.

The way he kisses me takes my breath away. I’ve heard that said before and read it in books, but I never actually understood what it might mean until this moment. My heart pounds in my chest as Kian crowds me against the truck again, his tongue pushing into my mouth the moment my lips part to try to catch a breath. His hands are sliding under my sweater, up towards my bra, and it takes a monumental amount of effort for me to reach up and push at his chest, trying to get a moment to breathe.

“Inside,” I manage, the moment he breaks the kiss. “I have neighbors, Kian.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, but he steps away from me all the same, his hand on my back as he urges me towards the stairs. He steers me inside with a single-minded purpose, barely giving me a moment to lock the door before he kisses me again, his mouth devouring mine.

Inside, without the worry of prying eyes or judgmental neighbors, the heat that he summons every time he touches threatens to consume me. I feel like I’m on fire, every touch lighting me up as his mouth drags over mine, as his hands work their way under my sweater again and up to the edge of my bra.

“I want this gone,” he growls, his fingers sliding around to my back, his lips dragging along my jaw as he undoes my bra strap with a quick flick of his fingers.

How many times has he done that? The thought sends another of those sharp jolts of jealousy through me, one that I have no business feeling. I don’t know what this is—if it means anything, if I want it to mean anything. But suddenly, as he shoves the cups of my bra up and I feel the rough brush of a man’s palms against my naked breasts for the first time, I want this to be something for him .

I want to be more than just another conquest. And from the way he’s devouring me, even in my inexperience, I think it is more than that to him. I can’t imagine someone being this hungry all the time.

The way he touches me is overwhelming. I want him to slow down, and at the same time, I don’t want it to stop. Every sensation is new, and they’re flooding me all at once in a riot of pleasure that I barely have time to catalog before some new feeling hits me. His palms rub over my stiffening nipples as he cups my small breasts in his hands, the warmth of his skin against mine, the way his lips on my throat make every small hair on my body stand up, prickling heat flooding over my skin. He pushes me back against the door, grinding his hips against mine as the hard ridge of his erection digs into my thigh, and I can feel his urgency. His need.

His thumbs roll over my nipples, his lips sucking at the hollow of my throat as he drags his mouth across my collarbone, and I let out a needy gasp that doesn’t even sound like me to my own ears. I’ve never felt any of this before. I didn’t even let myself imagine that I ever would.

“Fuck,” Kian rasps, his hands dropping to the top of my hips as he curls his fingers around them, lifting me up effortlessly. My legs go around his waist instinctively, and his lips crush against mine again, his tongue licking into my mouth as he pivots and carries me toward the living room. “God, I want to fucking taste you everywhere.”

My mind spins with the possibilities as he carries me, one hand wrapped around the nape of my neck, sinking into my hair as he kisses me again. I half think he’s going to run into something—he doesn’t know my house well, and he’s barely looking where he’s going. But he stops abruptly at the edge of the couch, giving me one more hard, searing kiss before he spills me back onto it and follows me down.

“Kian—” I gasp his name as he pushes my sweater up, his every movement sharp and urgent. “Kian?—”

His hands go still halfway up my ribs, my sweater shoved up to just beneath my breasts. His blue eyes are dark with need, his fingers curling into the fabric, and I can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against me, his hips against mine, my ankles caught around his legs. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?” he rasps. “I should be going slow. Drawing this out. Making it so good for you that you can’t ever get enough.”

Every word seems to send flame licking across my skin, heating me from the inside. When he starts to push my sweater up again, this time more slowly, I moan when I feel his palms graze over my naked breasts, all of my skin suddenly so much more sensitive than it ever has been before.

He drags my sweater and half-undone bra off at the same time, tossing them onto the coffee table as he pulls back and looks down at me. Instinctively, I go to put my arm over my breasts, and he grabs my forearm, pinning it to one side as his gaze drinks me in thirstily.

“I’ve never been—no one’s ever seen—” I can’t seem to get an entire sentence out, as Kian’s eyes rake over me like he’s never seen anyone or anything he wants so badly.

“I know,” he growls, his head dipping as he licks the hollow of my throat before his lips slide lower, down into the valley between my small breasts. “I’m the first. I’m gonna be the first for everything , princess. And you’re never gonna forget me.”

It’s a promise that sounds almost like a threat, but I’m too lost in the sensations that his touch is rousing in me to think about it very hard. His lips close over one of my breasts, his tongue rolling over the nipple as he sucks the flesh around it into his mouth, and my back arches as I feel the jolt of pleasure directly between my thighs.

Without thinking, I grab at his shoulders, my fingers digging into the soft flannel as he sucks harder, his teeth grazing against my nipple. Just when I think he’s going to bite down, when it almost feels like it might be too much, he releases it, his mouth fastening over my other nipple as he does the same.

I dig my nails in harder to his shoulders, crying out as his teeth scrape over my flesh. I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin, like the pleasure is almost too much, and I writhe underneath him, a steady, pulse-like throb of heat building between my legs.

Kian reaches down, thumbing the button of my jeans open as his mouth slides down below my breasts, skating over my taut skin as he starts to slide my jeans down. He hasn’t taken off a stitch of clothing, and I feel more bare, more vulnerable because of that.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” I gasp, and Kian chuckles, planting an open-mouthed kiss just above my navel before he pulls my jeans and panties down my hips, baring me even further.

“We’ll worry about me later, princess,” he murmurs, his mouth dragging down to one hipbone. I squirm when his lips close over the sharp edge, sucking at my flesh again as he drags my jeans down my legs. “Right now, I’m going to make you come for me. ”

“I—” My breath catches in my throat, my chest squeezing almost painfully with frightened anticipation. “I’ve never?—”

Kian looks up sharply as he strips my jeans off fully, leaving me entirely naked beneath him. “Never?” he purrs, his eyes narrowed. “Not even by yourself?”

I shake my head quickly, my teeth sinking into my lower lip. “I’ve—touched, before. But I’ve never—finished.”

“ God ,” Kian growls, and he pulls back slightly, his gaze sweeping over my bare skin. His eyes drop to the space between my thighs, his hand on my leg sliding up until his thumb is brushing over my inner thigh. “ Fuck , Sabrina. It’s gonna feel so good. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Before I can say anything, his arm hooks beneath my knee, pulling my legs open so that one drapes off of the side of the couch, my foot hitting the floor. His other hand slides beneath me, gripping my ass as he adjusts me, and I feel myself opening up, my soaked folds parting as he looks at the most intimate part of me.

He reaches down, his fingertips ghosting over the curling blonde hair there. One dips between my folds, his fingertip brushing over my clit, and the jolt of sensation from even just that small touch makes my mouth drop open in a startled cry.

“You like that?” Kian rasps, his finger pressing down harder on the swollen flesh. “You’re going to come for me just like this, princess. Just from my finger.” His gaze flicks up to mine, then back down again as my cheeks color, imagining what he sees.

“I—”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmurs, as he rolls his finger over me a little more firmly. “You look so beautiful like this, Sabrina. Spread open and wet for me, all pink and flushed and swollen. So innocent. But you’re a little less innocent now, aren’t you?” He adds a second fingertip, rubbing them firmly back and forth over the swollen, sensitive flesh. “God, I’m so fucking hard, just touching you like this. Seeing you feeling all of this for the first time makes my cock fucking ache. You’re never going to forget this, are you, princess?”

I open my mouth, but I’m speechless, dizzy with the feeling of his fingers stimulating me and the demanding tone of his voice. Some part of my mind is shouting that this is happening fast, maybe too fast—but it feels so good. I can feel something building, something warm and tight coiling in my abdomen, and every time his fingers roll over me, every protest that I might have had dies on my lips.

He leans forward, capturing my wrist with one hand, pinning it above my head as he looms over me. His other stops touching me just long enough to grab my other wrist, wrapping his fingers around them both tightly as I mewl in protest, squirming beneath him at the sudden loss of sensation.

“You want it so badly, don’t you, princess?” Kian chuckles roughly, and there’s something dark in his tone, something that I can’t quite pinpoint. “You want my fingers on your clit. You want me to make you come.”

“Yes—”

That’s all it takes. That one whispered word, tight in my throat, and Kian’s fingers are between my legs again, rubbing swiftly over the spot where I need it so badly. “Let go, princess,” he murmurs, rolling my clit between his fingers. “Come for me. I’ll give you more, don’t worry. Just give me the first one now.”

I’m almost afraid to do what he’s asking. It almost feels like too much, the pleasure building to a breaking point that feels overwhelming. I feel the muscles in my thighs tense, and I have the urge to fight against it, but I don’t think I can. It’s building past my control, the pleasure of Kian’s fingers rubbing between my thighs and the intensity of his gaze on mine driving me to a point where I can feel that I’m about to come apart at the seams.

“Kian. Kian —” I cry out, something almost like fear in my voice as I feel myself reach that tipping point, my fingers scrabbling at his hands where he holds my wrists pinned. “I think, I think I?—”

“Come for me, princess,” he commands, and it’s as if his voice flips a switch in me that I couldn’t reach for myself.

When the orgasm hits, I hear myself scream. It’s a pleasure like nothing I’ve ever felt, like weeks or months or maybe even a lifetime of tension comes unraveled in me all at once, centered between my thighs and exploding outwards like a blast of pure, blissful ecstasy. This is why, I dimly think as my back arches, my nails dig into his hands, and my entire body convulses underneath him, my mouth open and eyes closed as my head falls back. This is why people chase this feeling. Why they do stupid things for it. Why they act like it’s the only thing that matters sometimes. Right now, it feels like it’s the only thing that does matter. Like I’d do anything to keep feeling this way forever.

Kian keeps stroking me, fingers rubbing in tight, hard circles as the sensation crests and ebbs, and when my eyes open, I see him hovering above me still. His hand is locked tight around my wrists, and there’s something hungry and dark in his gaze as he looks down at my face.

Slowly, he pulls his hand away from my clit. His eyes never leave mine as he lifts his two fingers to his mouth, dragging his tongue lewdly over them as he laps up my arousal from his fingertips.

“Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, his voice a husky growl. “I want more. Do you want more, princess?”

“I—” My voice is a squeak, my gaze unfocused. “What?—”

“Do you want to come again? Or do you want me to let you out of your trap, little rabbit?”

I can’t think. I feel dazed, limp, still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. “There’s more?” I whisper, and his lips curl up into a wicked, hungry smile.

“Oh, I’m going to devour you, rabbit.”

He lets go of my wrists, circulation rushing back into my fingers as he grabs my hips, lifting me with his hands as he slides down between my thighs. His hands drag down, underneath my thighs, lifting and spreading me open as he looks down at me.

“ Fuck , you’re fucking drenched ,” he growls, and his warm breath ghosts over my swollen, sensitive skin, making me whimper. “Let’s see how fast you can come again, Sabrina.”

I barely have time to register what’s happening before I feel the hot, wet slide of his tongue across my oversensitive clit. I grab at the arm of the sofa above my head, my back arching and hips thrusting up as a sensation even better than what came before washes over me. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue ? It feels so good I can barely comprehend what’s happening.

Kian laps at me with his tongue, dragging it down to my entrance and back up again, circling my clit as I gasp and moan, thrashing beneath him. “Kian—Kian!” I cry out, grinding against his mouth as he slides his tongue back up, and I think I hear the muffled sound of his laugh before his lips fasten over my clit, and he sucks it into his mouth.

The sound I make is almost animal, keening as he sucks and licks at the same time—his mouth fastens between my thighs as he holds me up like I’m something for him to feast on. I grip the couch like I’m holding on for dear life, a second orgasm roaring up to follow the first. I feel like I’m losing control of my body, my mind, of everything as the pleasure rolls over me, overwhelming me, and all I know is the sensation of Kian’s hot tongue, his sucking mouth, and the way it feels when he makes me come for a second time.

I feel as if I’ve lost all control as I grind against his mouth, the sensations crashing over me, until I’m lying there gasping and feeling as if I’ve partially left my body.

Kian pulls back, his eyes glinting wickedly as he drags his hand lewdly over the back of his mouth, lips glistening with my arousal. “You taste fucking delicious, princess,” he rasps, as he leans back against the couch, looking over at me as casually as if he weren’t sitting there fully clothed while I’m sprawled out naked and breathless next to him.

“I—” I can’t find words, at first. I sit up, slowly, my hair tangled around my face. I glance down, and see his cock still straining against the front of his jeans, pushing against the zipper. Kian reaches down as his gaze follows mine, his hand covering the bulge as he adjusts it, and I feel my mouth go dry.

Slowly, before I can stop myself, I lean over and slide my hand beneath his.

“Let me,” I whisper, as my heart starts to beat a nervous staccato in my chest.