Page 18 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Belt buckle loose, my pants drop to the floor, and I kick them away.

With a deep exhale, I run my hand down my chest and the ridges of my stomach, playing my part.

Only, this doesn’t feel like pretend or just getting my rocks off.

It feels ... like everything that can be right between two bodies. Between two souls.

“You’re all about the tease, aren’t you?” Despite her bold words, her voice wavers. Maybe because I’ve stuck my hand into my boxers to give my poor, neglected cock an experimental tug.

I give a low groan as my head rolls back. “Takes a tease to know a tease.” My answer is low and rumbling as I slide my other hand under the waistband.

“Two hands?” she asks, before her teeth dig into her lip.

“I thought two hands were supposed to be better than one.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she whispers, and with that, she brings one heel to the table. She lets her knee fall, exposing the center of her femininity.

“Teacup,” I say on a groan, “you don’t play fair.”

“Never have, never intend to.” She swipes a slow finger through her wetness. Fuck me, she is amazing. “Oh!” she adds as I whip off my pants.

I flip the condom up and tear the corner with my teeth before unceremoniously sheathing my straining cock. Like I’ve done hundreds of times. But never like this. Never with a tremor in my hand and a desperation clawing at my guts with a need to plunge. To pillage.

I grab her hips and slide her to the edge of the table. My hands look huge against her, my skin dark where she’s pale. I grit my teeth as I line myself up, white-hot need pulsing through me.

“Matt?”

I glance up. “You really are a good man.”

I don’t answer—can’t for the sudden lump in my throat. Guilt, I think. Contempt for myself, maybe. But desire wins out. Isn’t it always the trump card? Especially as her hips tilt to meet mine, her fingers reaching out to curl around my shoulders.

“You’re worth a hundred of them,” I whisper. A hundred of me, I think as my mouth catches hers. Breath frozen half in and half out—both of us. I drive my way inside, swallowing the sound she makes.

This. The sentiment beats in my chest as I hold her there, pulsing around me. Me in her. Her in me, somehow.

As I retreat, her back arches with a silent plea.

“Please, I—”

I grant her appeal, dropping my head to her shoulder with a curse as I watch the wet, ruddy slide of my cock.

“ Fuck. ” My whole body quivers as she draws the inside of her foot along my thigh.

I kiss her, wetly and messily, and the noises we make are multilayered.

Feminine moans and rough grunts, sharp gasps and ragged breaths.

“ Me encanta el sabor de tu cono. ” I love the taste of your pussy. Fuck, yes, I do.

“That sounds so hot.” A gasp. “Spanish.”

“You’re hot,” I say, surprised I slid into the language. “And you feel so fucking good.”

“Not ... not ... that I don’t like the way you usually speak. I should’ve made my boyfriend Irish.” Her words almost run together.

“You like a bit of the Irish,” I assert, laying my accent on thick.

“I like it from you.” Her eyes are dark and glossy as I slide my hands under her backside, her body an elegant arch. I bring her closer. Closer to me. To the edge of the table. To ecstasy.

“Ryan,” I whisper, rolling the R , using my raciest of intonations. “You’ve an arse like an onion.” I tighten my grip on said excellent arse.

“What?” Her mouth curls, but with a snap of my hips, she cries out.

“It makes me want to cry, because it’s so fucking lovely.”

“That is ...” Amusing, judging by her expression.

“C’mere till I get ahold of ya,” I say, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her body with mine as I fall back onto the dining chair. “Let me wear the face off ya.”

She’s all smiles as she leans back a little. “Gonna need a translation.”

I grip her thigh, and fuck me, the sight of her. All pink and wet, stretched around me. I can barely stand it.

“It means I want to kiss you.” My hand almost covers the entire back of her head as I bring her mouth to mine and do just that.

“ Wow. ” Her mouth falls open in a soft O as I thrust and simultaneously pull her down against me. And again. “ Yes! ” On the tips of her toes now, riding me. “God, you feel so big.”

“Just the right fit.” Her velvet walls pulse around me, stealing my wits. But I’d seriously become an idiot for this. “Give me your mouth,” I demand, dragging her lips to mine again. I can’t get enough.

Joined in two places, we’re all swallowed moans and lewd sounds as our bodies meet. With each flex of her hips, I drive myself deep. No teasing, no games. This is primal. Primitive. From the way her nails pierce my shoulders to the overwhelming war rising through me.

This, my pulse pounds. Mine. I want to own her. Make her bend. Fill her. Fuck her until she submits.

“Yes!” As though hearing my thoughts, she cries out, her pussy grasping me like a fist.

“That’s it, darlin’,” I rasp. “That’s it.”

Her back bows, her pussy throbs, and I swear by all that is holy, her eyes roll back in her head.

But I’ve no time to dwell, to enjoy the signs of her pleasure—of a job well done—as demand rushes through me.

My pleasure swells, heat and sensation spreading through me as my body is pulled under by the rhythm of hers.