Page 99 of By His Vow

Oh shit.

He has a dirty mouth.

Of fucking course he does.

“King,” I moan, unable to stop myself. Thankfully, I’m too far gone to care.

Pleasure builds. I feel myself climbing higher and higher. My toes curl against the sheets and lights begin to flash behind my eyes.

I’m vaguely aware of the fact that it shouldn’t be this good just from someone’s fingers, but it’s too late.

One more graze of that magic spot inside me and I go flying off the edge.

I cry out his name again as he curses behind me.

His dick is painfully hard against my ass as he moves with me, but at no point does he get it out.

He finger-fucks me through every second of my release, and it’s not until I’m relaxed, my breathing heavy and erratic, that he finally pulls his fingers free.

I watch with wide eyes as he lifts his hand. For a second, I think he’s going to demand I clean them, but then he diverts them from my line of sight, over my shoulder.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see. I know what he’s doing. And it’s only confirmed when he moans wantonly.

“So fucking sweet for such a brat,” he muses before wrapping his arm around me again and pressing his palm flat against my stomach.

“King, what?—”

“Sleep, baby. You need to rest.”

He relaxes against me, his head falling to the pillow.

I want to argue. I want to demand he roll over and repay him.

But also…I’m exhausted.

Only seconds after thinking of all the things I could do to him in return, I drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say the next morning when I join Kingston in the kitchen.

He’s already dressed and ready for work. I, however, have just rolled out of bed. My hair is a bird’s nest on top of my head, my eyes are puffy, and I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a pillow crease in my cheek.

What I need is one very strong coffee.

And yet, there doesn’t seem to be any in sight.

“You actually make this shit?” I snarl as I start rooting through the cupboard for the coffee machine.

Surely, he has one. This is America. A coffee machine is as guaranteed as bacon in the refrigerator.

Oh my god, tell me he has bacon.

I pull the heavy refrigerator door open and study the shelves.

“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement filling his voice.

“Seeing how much of a freak you really are.”

He laughs. “It’s too late now, anyway.”