Page 16 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

“You are, aren’t you?” I whisper in his ear, the tips of my breasts barely brushing his chest.

“Come and sit on my face, and I’ll show you exactly how nice I am.”

A low chuckle stutters out of me. But I think he means it. Now, wouldn’t that be something ...

I push up and put my hands to the back of the chair, my arms setting the girls to their best advantage. A sight he can’t fail to miss.

“Maybe you’re not so nice.” One hand in his hair now, I fist it, making him hiss. “Maybe you do deserve cruel,” I rasp as I drop into his lap and rock over him.

“ Fuck. ” His eyes slam closed as his body shudders.

Sensation heats and blooms, my skin hot and my pussy aching to be filled as I work over him again, loving how his attention turns inward, almost as though he’s concentrating.

“Wait.” Another swallow. “I think my brain just exploded.”

“Just your brain?”

His expression turns a touch sardonic. “Darlin’, you’re good. But you’ve no worries on that score.”

“Promise?”

His chuckle is so, so smutty that it makes my cheeks burn. I’m almost naked and dry humping him, but bashful at the thought of him coming in his pants? Ridiculous, I think as I put my lips to his neck again, swallowing the low rumble he makes as I press my teeth there.

“I don’t need your brains,” I whisper, working myself over him, loving how he throws back his head, eyes closing under the weight of this pleasure. “What I need from you is here .” The feel of him. I have never been so turned on and can hardly believe the things I’m saying.

“Darlin’, you want the whole package, believe me.”

“All of you?” I taunt. I bite my tongue to keep from asking, To get my money’s worth? It’s just a fantasy, I tell myself, ignoring the pang in my chest. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering how many times he’s heard that. How many times has he been belittled or made to feel cheap?

We have that in common, he and I. Different careers, same judgment.

“You want my mouth, my fingers, my tongue, and my cock.” His voice has a desperate, sandpapery quality to it. “Let me give them to you.”

How his words ache. How his body strains. How my core clenches as those images splash over the walls of my brain. His mouth on my breast. Midnight hair and his tongue buried between my legs. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, I’m so ready for this.

“Let me taste you, Ryan. Let me give you a night you deserve.”

“You feel so good,” I whisper, not giving a damn for my breathy, porn-worthy words as I drop myself over him. Over his cock. “I’m so wet for this. So wet for you.”

“Show me.” This sounds less like a demand and more like a plea for clemency.

I fall forward, my nipples peaked and brushing his chest through my bra’s gauzy fabric. “How bad do you want that taste?” I whisper in his ear, closing my teeth over the fleshy lobe.

He hisses a curse, hips bucking, the heat of my pussy just out of reach. “So fucking much. Look at me—I’m desperate for you.”

And he is as I push up onto my knees, arching my back with intent, cupping my hand between my legs. Those lust-glazed eyes light up my pleasure center like the Fourth of July.

“Ryan, show me more.” His words sound despairing, like those of a man with an endless thirst. “Touch yourself, darlin’. Please.”

My insides pulse with longing as I slip my hand under the waistband of my panties, making a slow slide down. I make a soft noise as the pad of my finger reaches the wet ribbon of my flesh.

“Fuck, yeah. Yes.” His tongue swipes his lips, rendering them unbearably tempting. “Slip your fingers inside, beautiful.”

I close my eyes to his expression and the temptation of his voice.

“No, darlin’. Open your eyes. Watch me want you.”

And so I do. Our eyes connected, I touch myself, swirl and play, until I can’t stand it anymore. I fall forward, our kiss instantly hot and messy and frantic.

“Let me.” His fingers loop my wrist, his eyes bright as he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean, the sensations and the scene making my body buck. “Take off your bra,” he demands as he works those digits like his favorite sucker.

“Who’s in charge?” I whisper, dragging my finger down the ridges of his abs. “Who’s on top?”

“No doubt about it, darlin’. But I thought the aim was to torture me?”

So much temptation in his expression. If he was a work of art, and he kind of is, I’d name the piece Distracted Desire .

Maybe because it seems like he doesn’t know where he wants to look the most. I’m not sure I help his conundrum as I slip one hand behind my back and flick open the catch, then slide the straps down my arms.

“Jesus.” He blinks before his head drops back, and he stares at the ceiling for a beat. “I fucking knew it. Teardrop tits.”

“I beg your pardon?” I almost reach up to cover them. But I guess he’d like that too.

“You have teardrop tits. The shape so perfect, they make a man want to weep.”

“No need to cry,” I croon as I lean closer teasingly. I don’t even complain when he fills his hands with them, putting his thumbs to good use.

Complain, no. But moan . . .

He puts his clever fingers to work, learning me.

A soft swipe of his thumb, a delicate roll.

A tight pinch that rides the delicate line between pleasure and pain.

I slide my hands into his hair, offering myself up when he takes my wrists, pulling them to the small of my back.

The position changes the dynamic immediately as I go from torturer to captive.

But I don’t care, and the only protest I make is when he licks his thumb to paint the moisture over my nipple.

“ Oh, God. ”

“You’re so sensitive.”

I shiver, the result of his soft-blown breath. But he’s not unaffected, as I note the pulse jumping in his neck. Anticipation shoots like stars through my veins as he lowers his head, and I whimper, though not from an expectation realized, as Matt presses his teeth to the curve of my breast.

“Make that noise again.” His eyes shine with a dark possessiveness.

“What noise?” So much for sass as I whimper again, thanks to the long stroke of pleasure he applies with the flat of his tongue. I arch my back, my nipples aching for more, and when he finally pulls the tight bud into his mouth, I cry out.

“So perfect.” His eyes are like coal as he engulfs the other tip.

I feel it everywhere and sense how it might be when he’s finally pressed between my legs.

Which I suppose is the idea, as he subtly sets me back.

“Let me see.” Puzzlement must reflect in my expression, as he adds, “Show me again how you like to be touched.”

I don’t need the invitation but take it anyway as I slip my hand inside my fancy panties. “Oh, God.” I flex into my palm with a hum, my hips bucking needily, my body so very primed.

“Tell me, darlin’. Tell me how it feels.”

“Wet,” I whisper, sliding a finger where I’m slick, not quite able to believe I’m doing this. That I’m touching myself so blatantly, desperate to drive a man wild. And he does look wild, his eyes more golden than green. More dark angel than man.

“What else?”

“Hot.” The t as sticky as molasses.

“So fucking hot.”

“And empty.” Playing my part, I give a little pout.

He gives a stuttering laugh that doesn’t speak of amusement. “You’re fuckin’ killing me.”

“I like that for me.”

His hum seems to agree. “Deeper. Push them in deeper. Take away the ache.”

His counsel so tempting, his words as hot as a fever dream, I can do nothing else but follow it. Because I want to. I want us both to get off on this.

“That’s it, teacup. Right up to the knuckle.”

My insides spasm, despite the misnomer. “I’m not a teacup,” I pant, undulating into my palm. “Fragile and breakable.” Fuck that.

“You’re my teacup,” he repeats. “Dainty yet practical. Delicate and curved.” His hands cup my hips and slide up to my breasts.

“And like a teacup, you sit so well in my hands.” I don’t have the wherewithal to complain as his thumbs slide across the pebbles of my nipples.

“And my God, I can’t wait to drink you up. ”

“Oh,” I rasp, sliding a little wetness across my clit. “ Yes. ”

“But you’d better be ready, because I’m a bit of a brute. A greedy drinker,” he says, his words rougher, his touch too. “Too hard for a little teacup, maybe.”

“No.” Faster I swirl.

“Because I’ll slurp and suck and gulp until you’re so wet you’ll drip all over my face.”

“Yes!” I pant, my hand jerking in my panties, those nerve endings having multiplied somehow.

He pulls my mouth to his, the air between us all breath and want and heat as he kisses the fuck out of me. “Let me,” he rasps. “Let me taste, Ryan. I’ll make it so good for you.”

I barely nod when he stands, his strong arms trapping me against his body as he carries me across the room. I jerk a little as something distinctly hard and cool touches my butt before we reach the bedroom. Is that ... the dining table?

“What—” I get as far as lifting my finger, intending to point out the perfectly usable bed in the other room.

“I told you I was starvin’,” he says, his accent so rough. He tears off his cuff links, his movements swift. “And surely it would be uncivilized of me to feast anywhere else.”

I push up onto my palm, dazed. Pulsing. Turned on more than I ever have been.

“And I do intend to feast.” His eyes burn as he strips off his shirt. “I’m gonna make such a meal of you.”