Page 17 of The King's Pawn
“I can make you forget.”
Nothing would make me forget. But as I turned my head and found his soft eyes looking up at me, his face so beautiful, it seemed as though it wouldn’t kill me to feel again. Noah’s fingers stroked along my jaw, training my gaze on him. He was too fucking pretty to be real, but he wasn’t fragile, not like most believed him to be. The more I knew him, the more I understood what it took to be the coyote in a den of wolves.
I stroked his cheek, touching the forbidden, and when he leaned into me, seeking more—like I needed to feel him—I figured we might be falling together. And would that be so bad?
He tilted his head back, brushed his lips close to mine, and purred, “Stop thinking, Killer. We’re just two fucked-up guys, wearing only towels, in a cabin in the woods, and there’s nobody here to tell us no.” The last words passed his lips in a breathless whisper.
I slipped my fingers into his hair, almost kissed his tempting lips, but skimmed my mouth against the corner of his. As he turned his head, I mouthed his jaw, tasting Noah for the first time.
One taste would never be enough.
Somehow, sometime, he’d gotten under my skin like he’d said, and it wasn’t because of the cabin. It had happened years ago, when his brilliant blue eyes had fixed me in his sights and his smile had punctured my heart like a bullet to the chest. That was why, every time the call had come in about some new trouble he’d gotten caught up in, I’d volunteered to save him. Every damn time. I’d chosen to save him for five years, and he believed his father had ordered me to.
It was better he think that, or he’d know how deep that first smile had cut me.
His soft exhale fluttered over my ear, his cheek brushed mine, and his hands stroked my biceps, seeking to hold on.
“So soft, Killer,” he said against my cheek. “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”
I grabbed his arms, slammed him against the counter, and ravaged his neck, his collarbone, swirled my tongue around a tight, pert nipple, going lower, falling deeper. His fingers tugged at my hair. Breathless, needful moans fell from his lips. I licked up his abs, wild with desperate need, then dropped to my knees, tore his towel free, and swallowed his dick, balls to chin.
“Ah, fuck!” He bucked, hands twisting in my hair, hips thrusting, thrusting his dick deeper down my throat. It wasn’t romance, it was fucking desperation. I’d fucked his mouth and needed to fuck the rest of him, but before that happened, it had been too long since I’d had another man come undone under my tongue, and I needed it to happen now—like he’d said, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, nobody else mattered. Just Noah and me.
“Yes, take it, take it, God, Killian, your mouth was made for me.”
I lifted my gaze, slid off some, and jerked him off with my hand.
Our gazes locked. He knew I was going to make him come in the next few minutes, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop me.
“Fuck, look at you, on your knees for me?—”
He was right. Iwason my knees, where I’d vowed never to be. Noah was ruining me in all ways. I hated him for that, hated how he’d emptied out my heart and sauntered into the space left behind. I pulled off, stood, and crushed him under me, gripping his hair and holding his head back, exposing his throat and wide eyes as I pumped ruthlessly.
“I’m going to fuck you,” I growled over his lips. “I’m going to fuck you so goddamned hard it’ll ruin you for any other man. You understand me? Because after this, there is nobody else.”
“Fuck,” he sneered, breathing hard, breathing fast, his cock trapped in my fist.
“You want to fuck with me, Noah, then know who you’re fucking with. If you’re mine, then you’re mine to the end. I will brand myself on your soul, you hear me?”
His eyes widened, pupils going dark. “I’m gonna come?—”
I stopped jerking him off and gripped his chin. “Say it, say you want me, and know if I make you mine, no one else will fucking touch you, nobody will hurt you.”
He whimpered, but the lust in his eyes made the noise one of need, not fear. “My father?—”
I brushed my lips over his open, gasping mouth. “Is on borrowed time.”
He gazed at me, through me, seeing me, perhaps for the first time. I didn’t fuck people and throw them away when I was done. When I fell, I fell hard. If he didn’t want that, didn’t want me, if he wanted someone to cum-dump in, then I wasn’t his man. But if he wanted me in his life, if he wanted me, my heart, my soul, then I was his. All-in. Under all the sass, the swagger, all the times I’d saved him, he damn well knew it would come to this. Hehadto. We’d been circling each other’s orbits, threatening to collide, growing ever closer, until here we were. Collision imminent.
“Yes,” he whispered.
That one fucking word.Yes.Just a word. But its meaning sealed our fates. Forever.
I dropped my hand to finish him off, but Noah grabbed my wrist and locked on, his fingers tight, like a vise. “Now fuck me like you meant all that,” he snarled.
I spun him, and his tight round ass demanded I dig my fingers in. I held him and rubbed against his cheeks, just my towel between my hard cock and his tight ass.
I tore open the nearby cupboard, found some oil—didn’t care what kind—dropped my towel, slickened my fingers, and parted his cheeks, sliding down the valley to skim over his hole. He stuttered a gasp and shifted his hips, arching his back and lifting his rear.